I watch her eyes as she takes me in and I saunter toward her, dick hard and ready for her next move.
She raises an eyebrow at it.
Totally not what I was hoping for.
Her face quickly pales. “I think I need a drink,” she whispers to herself.
Damn, is she…is she scared?
Claire’s scared of me? I mean, I get we have issues and we’re angry with each other, but she can’t think I could ever hurt her, could she? Nah, no way. I’m overthinking.
“I could use a drink too,” I sigh. “There’s a small dry bar inside the living room. I already hit it before you went storming out into the snow making us end up back here. Naked.”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh, so us naked, this…what just happened… all my fault, right?”
I shift in front of her and lift her chin with a gentle nudge of a crooked finger. “No. No, we both just did that.”
Sad eyes stare up at me through long, thick lashes. She mumbles something under her breath, something about her mother.
“How about we get that drink, huh?” I ask, brushing my thumb along the bottom of her chin. I can’t help but want to touch her. “We can be civil to each other. We could talk.”
She stumbles sideways, hurrying toward the bedroom door, tripping over her own feet. I stand for a moment, folding my arms across my chest watching her walk out the door, stunned. Claire Radcliffe is absolutely terrified of me.
And I don’t think she hates me at all.
“Bring the wet clothes, Vaughn. There’s a washer and dryer!” she shouts after a beat. “Because of course there is,” I hear her mutter to herself.
Shaking my head, I scoop up our wet belongings and follow the sound of her mumbled curses.
I find her in a small laundry room off the side of the kitchen, wearing a button-up shirt that barely covers her ass. Without making eye contact, she grabs the wet clothes from my arms and tosses them into the dryer. Then, after turning it on, she shoves a soft, terrycloth robe into my chest. “Here, I found this. It’s like a luxury hotel here. The price tag is still on it. Look,” she flicks the tag aggressively at me. “It’s Versace. And it only cost a little more than a grand.”
I unpin the tag and let it drop to the floor. She’s right, it’s Versace. Smooth and soft and elegant, and assuredly one of my father’s. I slip my arms through the sleeves and smile at her.
“That robe you’re wearing cost more than my rent!” she huffs.
“Do you want to wear it instead?” I ask, before tying it closed.
“Fuck no,” she growls, stomping her way into the living area, still unable to meet my eyes. “My phone should be here somewhere. Right? I’m going to call 911 and tell them a mountain fell on me.”
She definitely needs a drink. I walk over to the dry bar as she searches near the front door. I grab the expensive stuff and glance quickly out the front window. The snow is still coming down and the world outside is pure white. I’m going to need the biggest whiskey tumblers my father keeps here.
“I found it, but guess what?” she thunders. “It’s all wet. It won’t work.” She’s cursing and wringing the phone in her fists like she trying to choke the life out of it.
I finish pouring two enormous glasses of whiskey and offer her a trade for one of them. “Give me the phone and take this.”
She still won’t look directly at me. “Why?”
“Claire, stop being difficult. I’ll find some rice to dry the phone in while you take a sip. Nothing more,” I reason.
“I bet they have golden spun rice here,” she mutters, pushing the phone at me. She takes the whiskey and brings it right to her lips and sips.
And sips again.
Then she blinks up toward my hairline, still refusing to make eye contact. “What is this?”
“It’s a seventy-two-year-old single-malt Scotch Whiskey that’s way more expensive than this robe I’m wearing.”
“I don’t even want to know how much, Vaughn. Please don’t tell me. It’ll just make me sick,” she huffs.
I shrug and smile. “My lips are sealed,” I say as I start searching through the kitchen’s pantry closet for rice. My eyes land on it right away, and I rip open the bag and shove her ancient cell phone right inside. Rice spills out all over the floor. I walk over the mess, crunching through it uncomfortably with my bare feet, carrying the bag with me. I plop it on the rustic-style coffee table in front of the couch and go and grab my drink.
It goes down smooth.
Claire walks over to the window, shaking her head in disbelief. “How much snow do you think is out there?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”
We both sit on the couch and sip our drinks in silence.
I know what she’s thinking. She wants to know how long she’ll be stuck here with me. Maybe she found the offshore accounts and wants to run out of here. At first I didn’t think so, but maybe they really exist. It didn’t occur to me until just now. My head swims with questions, and it still smarts from whatever the hell collided into me outside. “So, you’ve really never been here before?” I ask.
“No,” she sighs.
“Who are the texts from?” My tone sounds needling, too curious.
“Apparently, my dead mother,” she whispers.
“Wait what?” I know that because I read through them, but the way she says it sends chills down my spine.
“Yeah,” she says, taking another sip of whiskey. “That was the last phone number I had as her contact. I don’t think I’ve talked to her in the past couple of months.”
It had been a year, but I don’t say the words, she’s looking down at the bag of rice with a sad, far-off look in her eyes. “If you’re wondering…she is dead. I saw…the body.”
I clear my throat, not knowing what to say. “That’s an old phone you have.”
“Yeah, well, we all aren’t born with a silver spoon up our asses like you,” she says, glaring at me. It’s the first time since being in the bedroom she’s looking me dead in the eyes.
“And you’re here to find money that isn’t yours and take it, aren’t you?” I seethe.
She looks down at the floor and her voice cracks with emotion and shame. “I don’t want anything from your father. That’s dirty money to me. I want nothing to do with their affair, but that person texting me is threatening to send those pictures to my school.”
“So?” I say, crossing my arms.
“So? I work for a private school, all the parents and my principal, and the children? I’ll lose my job, my career.” Her nostrils flare. Her eyes turn glassy.
“Why should I believe you?” I fight. “What if—"
“Look,” she cries, clapping her hands together. “I don’t care what you think. I stopped caring about you and your family a long time ago.” She bolts up, body ramrod straight and looms over me. “Before I identified her body, I hadn’t seen my mother in five years—maybe more.” She plants her bottom on the coffee table meeting her knees to mine. Suddenly, her body seems to deflate like a worn-out balloon. “I never knew she was here or that she lived like this.”