Now that I’d listed all of her little stunts, I had to admit, she’d crammed a lot into a short period of time. The door shook more prominently now. I banged my palm against it. “Go away.”
“All right.” She pouted. “Guess it’s only fair, since I don’t seem to be able to get you to quit. Truce?” She raised her pinky finger, offering it to me.
I unlocked the lavatory and stalked out, passing by a man in a suit with a white moustache. Assumingly the shit who’d tried to rush us out of the restroom.
“Congratulations on joining the Mile High Club, boy, but some of us have to drop the kids at the pool.”
Home.
A pleasant tingle ran up my spine, and my heart filled with unabashed, explosive warmth. I ran hesitant, shaky fingers along the smooth surface, shivering again in pleasure. I imagined this was how people who reunited with their loved ones after war had felt.
My phone.
My precious, wonderful phone was back in my hands again.
Immediately, I took the internet package the airline had to offer and read through my messages. I plugged in my earbuds and listened to the dictated version of them, angling my phone so he couldn’t snoop over my shoulder.
Keller: Please show signs of life. I really don’t want to call 911. The person who answers always gives me SO much anxiety. No pleasantries.
Keller: Or maybe he just took your phone again. Merp.
NeNe: How’s your hot bodyguard doing?
Natasha PR Manager: Hi Hallie! Hope you are doing well and keeping safe. We were wondering if you would give us the utmost PLEASURE and grace us with your presence tonight. We are launching a super exciting product. It’s called Totes for Toddlers. Did you know an increasing number of toddlers in the world feel anxiety at the prospect of not bringing their beloved toys and attachment objects with them when they travel? These are DESIGNER tote bags, all handmade and from organic material. I can send a taxi if you are interested?
Wes Morgan: Your new bfrnd is a syco.
Wes Morgan: *sycho
Wes Morgan: Psycho?
Wes Morgan: Anyway, that’s what he is. And forget about the zoo. I already got what I wanted from you.
Hera: Please, for the love of God, don’t forget to pack something semi-respectable to wear. Have a safe flight.—H.
Tara: Do you think I can pull off ankle boots? You know my cankles are, like, my worst feature. But idk. They’re just so in right now.
I pressed my phone to my chest, closing my eyes. I finally felt connected to the outside world. Even if that world kind of sucked.
When the plane landed, a private chauffeur was waiting for us on the tarmac, Ransom’s doing, probably. Normally, my parents sent their driver to bring me home. The entire trip to the hotel, I tried to focus on my surroundings and not on the fact that earlier in the lavatory, when Ransom pressed against me, I didn’t feel the usual fear and dread that accompanied being close to a man. No. I’d wanted him. I’d craved him. When his blood trickled between my breasts, I knew the slightest touch between my legs would have made me come.
It’s probably just the wine. It had to be the wine. And the altitude.
Melancholy always fluttered through me whenever I came face-to-face with my family’s hometown. Perhaps because I was not a part of it. The skyline was beautiful, dotted with skyscrapers and washed by the pink hues that signaled the beginning of another Texan morning.
I redirected my thoughts to my deal with Ransom. I had to think about what I wanted to do for a living. My options were limited, considering I didn’t even possess basic skills. Was there a job out there that didn’t require literacy and basic knowledge of Microsoft Anything?
I guess I could sweep floors. Sweeping floors didn’t sound too bad. Maybe even therapeutic. But I knew my family wouldn’t allow just any job. No. It had to be something they deemed respectable and Thorne-worthy. Something with a long title and vague job description. Problem was, I wasn’t Hera. I wasn’t capable and brilliant. I didn’t get 1250 on my SAT.
Besides, getting a job was risky. If I got fired, it would be the final nail in my confidence coffin. And that sarcophagus was already hermetically sealed.
We arrived at Tortoise Creek Mansion. The palatial hotel, once a private estate, boasted sixty-five rooms, a Michelin-starred restaurant, and a world-famous spa. It also housed one of the best bars in Dallas. Since a sober sighting of me rarely happened in Texas, a good, well-equipped bar was an amenity I cared about deeply.
Rather than drive toward the main entrance through the golden cobbled road, our driver used a back alley leading to the underground parking.
Two bellhops who wore exclusively dark suits and grave expressions carried our suitcases to the master suite. I quietly admired the weathered barnwood of the walls, the exotic plants bracketing each door, and the industrial, brand-new scent of a luxurious hotel as the security men spoke to Ransom, ignoring me completely.
“We wired the suite nice and good,” one of them said. “Sixteen devices. All of them linked to the room next door.”
“And that room will be manned around the clock,” Ransom reminded them. “Two at a time.”
“Correct. I can give you the shift schedule, so you can get to know the team.”
“Email it to me.”
A dollop of anxiety hit the bottom of my belly. What if Ransom and I spoke about something intimate and they heard? （Unlikely）。 Or what if I said something on the phone that I didn’t want them to hear? （Much more likely）。
“Stay here, Brat. I’m going to check the suite first,” Ransom instructed, using the electronic key to enter the room. I stayed in the hallway, smiling at the two mammoth men he’d spoken to a minute ago.
“Having a good day, ma’am?” one of them offered in a friendly Texan drawl.
“Everything’s a peach,” I cooed.
“Ya know,” one of them sighed, “it is a travesty to me that a Thorne child ain’t living in her home state. Rankles my sensibilities.”
“Oh, please don’t take it personally. I love Texas.”
Or I would, if I knew it.
The Lone Star State had some small pleasures that I found celestial. The vastness of the sky. How it stretched above your head like loving arms. The endless iced tea refills. The bluebonnets. The way people were friendly as a way of life, and not because they wanted to be invited to Heidi Klum’s next Halloween party.
“Thank fuck for open carry states.” Ransom strode out the door of our suite, tucking his gun into his waistband.
Ransom stopped, scowling at me. “There’s steam coming out of your ears. Don’t think too hard, Brat.”
“Are you insinuating I’m stupid?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“It was more of an open statement.” His mouth quirked to one side mockingly. “Ready to roll?”
No, but my stomach was. It churned violently, warning me that making an unannounced trip to my parents’ house was not a good idea. Ransom, however, acted as if nothing had happened between us on the plane. Probably because to him—nothing had.
“I don’t think we’re expected at my parents’ right now.”
Normally, I only arrived at their mansion when I was summoned. When they couldn’t take it anymore and threatened me with sanctions if I didn’t show myself. The majority of my time in Dallas, I usually spent drinking in my room or working on mockups of my next tattoo. Sometimes I’d catch a movie.