Payton continued to take everything in as we made our way to our room––no questions, no stopping to look at anything, just silently observing. And it’s starting to stress me out.
When I open the door to our bedroom, and she steps inside ahead of me, still not speaking, I finally break. “Do you like it?”
She looks over her shoulder and nods. “It’s a really nice room.”
“And the rest of the house, do you like it?” When she doesn’t answer right away, I continue. “You can change anything you want. Furniture. Paint,” I shrug. “We can gut the whole place or just buy something new.”
Her eyes widen. “Why would I want to gut it?”
I don’t need to look around to know what it’s like in here. It’s dark. Black everything. Huge four-poster bed. Modern with no frills, including the nightstands and lamps. A long table and a single chair sit against the wall; I occasionally use it as a desk, but it mostly sits unused. A walk-in closet too large for any one person to fill. And an equally dark and impersonal bathroom.
“We can add some yellow,” I suggest lamely, remembering the touches of sunshine she had in her little apartment.
Funny how just a little color can make that small, shitty place feel like more of a home than this mansion I’ve lived in for more than a decade. I’ve never had a problem with this house––until right now.
“It’s really nice.” Payton trails her fingers across the bedding.
Knowing she’s too nice to say anything bad about it, I drop the subject, already deciding what I’ll do about it.
“Here.” I put the bag of food on the empty table, then set her things in front of the closet. “Let me go grab a second chair, then we can eat.”
Moving quickly, I find an ugly antique chair in one of the never-been-used guest rooms down the hall and carry it back into our room, where I find Payton carefully laying the tacos out in a row. She balked at the number I ordered, but fucking her into submission took a lot of energy and I’m starving.
A comfortable silence descends as we work our way through the tortilla wrapped meat and cheese. Payton looked at me out of the corner of her eye during the first few bites she took, like she was nervous about eating in front of me, but soon fell into her meal, same as me.
After finishing her second one, with me four and a half in, she wipes her mouth with the scratchy paper napkin and turns in her seat. “What did you mean when you told King to check the footage?”
I was wondering when she’d ask about that.
“After I met you, I had cameras installed in the hallway outside your door.” I say it without one shred of remorse.
“Oh.” She doesn’t sound surprised. Or upset. “Did you know that I’ve met King before?”
I nod, chewing.
“He came to the cafe one morning,” she elaborates. “Did he tell you?”
Swallowing my final bite, I shift so we’re facing each other. “I was in the car.”
“You were?” Her brows arch behind her bangs.
I nod. “He gave me that latte you made. The one you said was your favorite.”
Payton gets a pensive look on her face. “Is that why you ordered it… that day?”
“It was good.”
This gets me a small laugh. “Somehow you strike me as more of a black coffee person, not a frilly latte person.”
My lips quirk into a smile, but my reply is halted by my phone ringing. It’s King.
I hit answer and put it on speaker. There won’t be any secrets between Payton and me.
“Did you get him?” I ask.
“I got her.”
“Her?” I hate that I never even considered it would be a woman. Stupid assumptions can get people killed.
King grunts. “Yeah. The bitch tried to cover her face with a hoodie and sunglasses, but I got ID.”
Payton’s eyes are traveling over my face, watching the anger take over my features.
“Who?” I grit between clenched teeth.
King tells me.
“What’re you gonna do?” he asks, knowing I won’t be violent toward a woman.
I unclench my fists and roll out my shoulders. “I’m gonna call your sister.”
