“Did you seriously just use a ten-dollar bottle of water for a cat?”
Technically speaking, it’s more like thirteen dollars, but I don’t give him more ammunition to taunt me. He already has enough in his arsenal.
“Cat has expensive taste just like her owner.” He cackles.
“Why are you still here?” I ask, then get up to grab her cat food. “You need a shower.”
“Thanks for noticing. I was about to before I saw you trying to Tom Cruise your way into the kitchen.”
Rolling my eyes, I proceed to feed Chanel. If he thinks her water is high maintenance, he’d probably burst a blood vessel at her custom-made organic cat food. She purrs and immediately rushes over.
“Why are you sweating anyway?” It’s in the thirties outside, so running shirtless outside isn’t an option.
“Wanted to work out before starting this beautiful first day of quarantine with you.” He beams, furthering my irritation.
“You’re taking the whole make yourself at home thing to the next level.” I grunt that he used the home gym that my mother insisted on building in the basement. Not sure why she bothered, considering she visits once a year, and it’s never to work out.
“And for my next trick, I’m going to cook breakfast.” He flicks his fingers in the air, mimicking a magician. Then he grabs a pan and sets it on the stovetop. “Or is that off-limits, too?”
“At this rate, I’d expect nothing less.” I force a smile, push off the counter, and grab a mug from the cabinet.
“I’m making an omelet. Would you like one?” he asks, digging into the fridge as I mess with the espresso machine.
I raise an eyebrow. “Depends. Will it be poisoned?”
“If by poisoned, you mean it won’t be some fake meat bullshit, then yes. But it’ll taste heavenly.” He whips eggs in a bowl, and considering my options are cereal or a granola bar, I contemplate it. Then on cue, my stomach roars and grumbles loudly.
“Fine, but at least use the low-fat cheese in mine.”
He snorts. Fucking snorts, then laughs. “Whatever you need to make yourself feel better.”
“What the hell does that mean? Do you have to make a comment about everything I say?” I shake my head.
“Only when you say things like low-fat cheese. Sounds gross and would ruin my masterpiece.” He grabs more ingredients from the fridge. “If you’re going to survive being in a house with me for God knows how long, you’re gonna have to loosen up.”
“Or you could just be a decent human and stop antagonizing me every second?” I push buttons on the espresso maker, and it starts grinding the beans. Thank goodness. I can’t deal with him much longer without caffeine.
“But bothering you is the only thing on my to-do list today.” He flashes a devilish smirk.
Groaning, I open the silverware drawer, grab a spoon, then slam it closed.
“C’mon, Cami. You can’t be this wound up all the time. Let your hair down and relax a little.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have paparazzi following you everywhere. If I’m bloated one day, pregnancy rumors are blasted the next week. If I yell for them to stop following me, they say I’m on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.”
“Sounds like you can’t win either way, so why bother? Just be you, and they’ll get bored.”
I shoot him a death glare. “Are you inferring that I’m boring?” Turning away, I grab the sugar-free creamer, and when I spin around, Eli’s standing in front of me so I can’t move.
“That’s not what I said,” he softly states. I lower my eyes to avoid his, but he tilts up my chin, and our gazes connect. “I meant, the more you give in to what they expect, the more they’ll demand it.” He drops his arm, and I swallow hard. “They want to sell scandalous tales to magazines by twisting reality. You play into it, and it makes you look bad every time, so if you quit giving a shit, maybe they’ll stop targeting you.”
I gulp, blinking hard. Eli’s split personalities give me whiplash.
“Well, that’s easier said than done.” I shrug. “The media portrays me in a negative light no matter what I do or say, but I’ve learned that if I’m presentable and look like I have my shit together, it’s harder for them to make up bullshit headlines.”
Eli looks around, squinting before meeting my eyes. “You don’t have to worry about being judged here. No paps to follow you around, and I swear I won’t take pics of you looking like a hot mess and sell them to the media.”
“Do I need to get that in writing?” My shoulders fall as I release a small laugh. “Actually, the idea of being secluded and away from all that was what drew me to the cabin in the first place.”
He presses a hand to his bare, sweaty chest. “Was I the second?”
“Hardly,” I reply dryly, holding back a smirk, considering I was shocked to see him.
“Well, don’t worry…” He steps back and mixes the meat and cheese into the bowl of eggs. “You won’t even know I’m here. Bruno and I are very chill.”
Furrowing my brows, I shake my head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Once my espresso is done, I set it on the table and walk back to my room to grab my phone. Zane hasn’t responded to my last text, so I send him another one.
Cameron: Babe, are you on your way? There’s been a little mix-up. Ryan told his friend he could come here, so he’s staying in the guest room. Just a heads-up. Let me know when you leave the city. I miss you!
I go downstairs and am immediately bombarded by Bruno. He gallops into the house after being outside, and he’s in my face, sniffing me.
The dog has never heard of personal space. Another reason I love cats more.
“Okay, go away…” I shoo, stepping back, hoping he doesn’t follow. Before I can say another word, Chanel charges at him, hissing.
“Chanel, no!” I scold, though she couldn’t hurt Bruno even if she tried. She might piss him off, but that’s about it. “Elijah, get control of your dog!” I squeal, running around the kitchen table. “Stay! Sit! Stop!”
Of course, the asshole laughs.
“Bruno, heel,” Elijah commands. The dog immediately stops, goes to Eli, and sits as though nothing happened.
I’m nearly out of breath from chasing Chanel, who doesn’t listen at all.
“Your dog…or horse, rather…is trying to kill my cat and eat her as a snack. Can’t you lock him up or something?”
Bruno licks his chops and pants with his tongue out. I shoot daggers at him as Chanel finally saunters toward me.
“My animal listens. Yours is the prissy bitch,” he states, busying himself in the kitchen.
I gasp, ready to murder them both.
“It’s not his fault,” Eli says, looking over his shoulder at me. “She looks like a meaty, hairless dinner.”
Grabbing Chanel, I hold her tightly to my chest. “She does not. She’s adorable and better for my allergies.” I kiss her head, and she leans against me.
“Do you like ham?” he asks, pouring the egg mixture into a pan.
“What?”