Untitled Book 2 (4 page)

He shrugs his broad shoulders flippantly. “You know what I mean. Don't be a brat. Make my time here a little more pleasant.”

How have I not been pleasant so far?

Gritting my teeth, I stand up and leave the room without a word. Yeah, he is good-looking, with those brown bedroom eyes framed in thick lashes, his sensual lips—even if they've mainly been pursed in a tight line in my presence—and the delicious body I know is hidden underneath that black T-shirt, but he is a dick.

He wanted me to
behave
?

How old is he? A couple of years older, at the most, and he's acting like I'm a kid and he's in charge. I walk upstairs to my bedroom and lie back on my bed, the white sheets soft against my skin. As I stare at the ceiling, I think over everything he's said to me today.

He thinks I'm a brat?

A plan forms in my head.

I'll show him just how bratty I can be.

I think it's time to teach Vinnie a lesson.

*  *  *

The next morning, after yoga, I take a shower, washing my long dark hair, then toweling it dry. By the time I'm dressed in my jeans and a white top, and my hair and makeup are sorted, it's
only 8:00 a.m., so I clean my room to pass the time. When it's spotless I grab my Chanel bag and head downstairs. I come to a standstill when I look outside and see Vinnie doing push-ups outside by the pool. It's like a view from a movie. Gorgeous pool, beautiful sunny day, and a man too sexy to be real. Where did this guy come from? I need to go there.

His body is even better than I'd imagined.

His back is perfectly muscled and covered in tattoos, a sheen of sweat glazing his skin. I press myself against the sliding door for a closer look. Who knew a man doing push-ups could be so sexy? I watch as his arms flex with each movement, mesmerized. I continue to hover by the door, just staring at him like a creep.

Why are the good-looking men always egotistical jerks?

When he quickly stands and looks up, straight into my eyes, I mutter a curse under my breath. I'm standing, body pressed against the door, perving on him, and he caught me. Just great. Trying to cover up, I open the door and call out, “I'm ready when you are,” then walk away to the kitchen, mentally cursing myself. A few seconds later I hear the sliding door close before he joins me. He doesn't comment on the fact that I'm up early and ready before him. Instead, all he says is, “Enjoy the view?”

I open the fridge and look inside, avoiding having to look at him for as long as I can. “What view?”

Oh, I knew what view, but I had to try to save face. The last thing he needs to know is that I find him attractive. No, he doesn't need to know that at all, especially because it doesn't matter, since nothing is going to come from it. Except maybe his ego inflating even further.

I close the fridge and make myself look at him.

My gaze instantly drops.

Oh, shit.

His abs. They are perfect. No—they are everything. Not too ripped, but deliciously defined. Abs you'd see on the cover of a magazine.

I didn't get a good look at those before, but now I do. I let my gaze linger for only a second before I look into his eyes. “Can we leave earlier? I'm ready and eager to get out of the house.”

I change the subject and hope that he doesn't call me out on it.

He smirks knowingly but replies only with a “Sure, let me grab a quick shower and we'll go.”

Yet he doesn't make a move to leave.

“What?” I ask when he continues to stare at me—that smug, amused expression on his face making me want to punch him.

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Just didn't think I'd be your type.”

So much for his leaving it alone.

“That's because you're not my type,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes at him. I can't believe the things that come out of this man's mouth. If he were a gentleman, he wouldn't have mentioned anything at all. So what if I checked him out a little? I don't know any women who wouldn't, although I'll never admit to that out loud.

“Your wide eyes and shallow breathing say otherwise,” he says, grinning, his brown eyes alight with humor.

“I think you must have a really big imagination,” I say, tilting my head to the side and studying him. “You one of those men who needs attention from women to feel validated?”

His lip twitches a few times, like he wants to smile but is trying to fight it.

“You can smile, you know,” I advise him. “It won't make you any less badass. Maybe more likable though.” I take a step toward him, enjoying it when his gaze drops to my mouth. “Pretty sure you said you were going to jump in the shower so we can leave. I've been ready and waiting for a while now. Maybe you're the high-maintenance one out of the two of us?”

I flash him a smug look and then walk out of the kitchen, brushing past him on the way, my shoulder touching his lower arm. Feeling happy I got to have the last word, my foot is on the first step when I hear him mutter, “I can see why no one else wanted this job,” which hits me like a shot to the chest. I pause for a second but then continue making my way to my room, pretending like his words don't mean anything to me. And I mean, why should they, right?

“I
CAN
see why no one else wanted this job,” I growl, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. She's beautiful. Even more so up close. I can almost ignore the mouth on her because of how fuckin' pretty the lips those words come out of are. I make sure to take a quick shower, throw on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, then head downstairs. She's sitting on the couch, typing on her phone, bag by her side, obviously eager to go. How long has it been since she was allowed to leave the house?

“Where are the keys?” I ask her, wishing I could take my bike instead. I'm assuming she's going to want to buy a fuckload of things, so we're definitely going to need to take her four-wheel drive. Or whoever the fuck it belongs to.

She points to the coffee table in front of her, where two keys sit, hanging off a key chain of the Eiffel Tower. I grab the keys and say, “Let's go.”

She quickly shoves her phone in her bag and stands up, sliding it over her shoulder. She follows me outside and gets into the passenger seat as soon as I unlock the doors. I drive up to the
gate, then put the car in park while I hop out to enter the gate code. As it opens, I get back into the car and drive through, then hop back out to close it. Glancing around my surroundings, I look for anything or anyone suspicious before I drive down the road.

“Do you want me to give you directions?” she asks, looking down at her phone.

I shake my head. “I had a look last night, it's only a few minutes' drive away. I know where to go.”

She nods and looks out her window, then puts the window down and smiles as the wind hits her face.

“When's the last time you left the house?” I ask her, staring straight ahead.

“Other than to move to a different location?” she asks. “Ummm. About a month.”

Fuck.

No wonder she wanted to get out so badly.

“None of the guards, or whoever, could take you somewhere just to give you a change of scene?” I ask, feeling angry on her behalf. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. What kind of life did she have? Sitting inside a house and doing nothing?

“They prefer to have me in a controlled environment in case anything happens,” she says, not sounding angry over the fact.

“Then they're obviously not very good at their job,” I say through clenched teeth. “Or they're just fuckin' lazy. Yeah, it's an added risk, but if you take the proper precautions, I don't see why you can't go out now and again. If you don't, you're gonna go fuckin' crazy.”

She shrugs her dainty shoulders. “I never really asked them to take me out, or badgered them about it.” She sighs dreamily,
the sound making my dick harden. “Really happy to be getting away right now though.”

She never asked them or hassled them about it? No diva demands? Who is this girl? I'm starting to think I was wrong about her, at least about certain things. She was still rich and spoiled, but maybe she isn't so bad as a person.

Maybe.

I should probably be asking myself why was I so angry. Over someone I didn't know, and wasn't even sure I liked. I'd thought she was like Eliza, but after just a few conversations with her, I think I might be wrong. I'm not usually one to judge others, in fact, I'm usually the one to be judged, but something about Shayla has me all fuckin' twisted.

“Well, while I'm here we can go and do whatever you like,” I tell her, the words flowing out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. “I'd prefer to stay away from large crowds though.”

“Really?” she asks, and I can hear the hope in her voice.

“Really,” I say as I park the car in front of the sports store. “Stay by my side; don't wander off anywhere, all right?”

She nods eagerly and opens her car door. I do the same, quickly walking around to her side. We enter the store in silence, and she follows me around as I grab some weights, a boxing bag, and some gloves.

“Do you want anything?” I ask her, scanning the store.

“No, thanks,” she declines politely. She'll probably ask me to take her to some fuckin' expensive designer store next, one I've never even fuckin' heard of. I pay for my goods, my brows raising when she takes the bag and gloves in her hands to carry them to the car. She must notice my expression because she says, “Contrary to popular belief, I'm not a spoiled brat.”

She storms off to the car, giant boxing bag in her hand, almost the size of her, making me feel a little bit like the asshole. I grab the two weights and follow behind her, opening the trunk, freeing my hands, then helping her.

“Thanks,” I murmur, slamming the trunk closed. “Where to next?”

She looks down at her hands and winces, her cute little nose scrunching up. “Kind of a weird request, actually.”

I stare at her expectantly. What is it? Prada? I rack my brain for another designer name but come up empty. I only know Prada because Faye, Sin's wife, once bought herself a bag and we didn't hear the end of it for a whole week.

“What?” I ask when she still doesn't say anything.

“Can we go to a pet store?” she asks, glancing up at me. Fuck, she's pretty. I've seen a lot of beautiful women over the years, but there's something about Shayla. Something that makes me want to protect her. Something that I'm sure as hell going to ignore.

“A pet store?” I ask, furrowing. “I don't think now is the best time for you to be a pet owner.” I pause. “Unless you're getting an already trained German shepherd or rottweiler.”

She purses her lips. “You asked, and that's where I want to go. Will you take me or not?”

“All right,” I say, nodding slowly. “Pet store it is.”

She never does what I expect.

I don't like it.

*  *  *

“Oh my god, how cute is she?” she beams, pressing the puppy's nose against her own. I watch in fascination as she puts the black puppy down and picks up a tan mastiff-looking pup.

“Aren't you adorable? Yes you are,” she coos, a peaceful expression on her face.

Of all the places she could have chosen, she wanted to come to a pet store.

To hug puppies.

Not sure what to do with this information, I just watch her in her element, hugging each and every puppy, rubbing their bellies and baby talking to them. For a split second I wonder if it's possible for her to take one home, or maybe even ten, because it obviously makes her happy as fuck. It looks like this right here is her happy place.

I glance down at my watch and realize we've already been here an hour. The pet shop owner keeps giving Shayla dirty looks, probably because she knows she's here just to get her puppy fix. Every time she looks like she's about to say something though, I send my own look in her direction, which shuts her up.

“Vinnie, how cute is this little guy?” she asks, lifting up a giant puppy in her hand.

“Do you want to get one?” I ask, once again without thinking.

Fuck.

What was wrong with me?

“No,” she says, smiling and shaking her head. “I'd love a puppy, but I wouldn't buy one from a pet store. I'd rather get one from a registered breeder.”

I open my mouth, then close it, having no idea what she was raving on about. Why did she want to come here then?

“I just wanted to see some puppies,” she says, shrugging with a small smile on her delicious lips. “Do you want to get something to eat now?”

“Sounds good,”
I tell her, rubbing my stomach. “I could seriously go for a burrito.”

“Burritos it is,” she says, easily agreeing when once again I expect her to argue. This is her chance to go and eat in a fancy restaurant or something, after being cooped up for so long, eating nothing but takeout.