Page 4 of Any Means Necessary

“Don’t worry about that. The place is still yours to use how you want.” Something shifts behind his eyes and the air around us turns more serious. “But from this moment on, you don’t answer the door. Not while I’m staying here. And my office is off limits.”

I blink at him a few times, absorbing his instructions and the ominous threats simmering just below the surface. Then I nod, forcing back my nerves before I respond.

“I’ll let you answer the door and avoid your office like the plague, promise.” Great, Lexie, now it sounds like you’re mocking him. My comment doesn’t seem to irritate him. In fact, he barely registers that I spoke at all. He just stares at me, still solving a puzzle only he can see.

Hopping down from the stool, I carry my dishes to the sink and give them a good rinse before loading them into the dishwasher. I can feel Callum’s presence behind me while I work, his tracking gaze giving me a complex. It’s too bad a stranger appeared unannounced on a night that I’m not dressed for company.

“I didn’t touch your bedroom.” I address him over my shoulder as I clean up the mess I made while cooking. This silence is killing me, I always compulsively need to fill it. “It didn’t feel right to take the primary suite, so I’m staying in the downstairs guest room.”

“Perfect.” He sounds distracted, and when I turn around he’s typing on his phone.

“I’m going to my room, so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Doc.”

“I’m a nurse.” There's definitely a dose of sass in my correction, and as I turn to leave the kitchen, I swear the corners of his lips quirk in a smug smile. Rolling my eyes, I’m heading to the guest room where I plan to read until my eyes close.

***

The clock tells me I’ve stalled as long as I can, it’s time to go to sleep. Lying in the darkness, I will unconsciousness to come before my demons make their nightly appearance. Anxiety washes over me, hot and itchy. The silence in the large bedroom is deafening as my thoughts wrestle for dominance.

Just one night, I can survive just one night in the dark.

The first face appears behind my eyes; curly blonde hair, wide brown eyes lit with pain, and two missing front teeth. She’s so little, with so much life left to experience. But the light is dimming from her eyes.

Wrenching my eyes open, I sit up abruptly and try to regulate my breathing. Heart still racing, I reach for the tv remote on the nightstand. I click on the same show I choose every night, the familiar opening sequence playing. Comforting voices fill the room as I lay back down and close my eyes.

“The best home bakers from across the country applied in the thousands. Just twelve have made it to our bubble. Every aspect of their baking skills will be tested. Everything they create will be judged.” Soothing English accents wrap around me, chasing away the shadows in my mind that threaten to swallow me. “Welcome to the Great British Baking Show.”

Chapter Two: Lexie

The music playing in my headphones flows through me as I shimmy up to the cabinet, swaying my hips from one side to the other. Grabbing a glass from the shelf, I sing along to the song softly—I know better than to belt with headphones on. I save the Broadway-level theatrics for karaoke nights when I’m a few margaritas deep.

This fancy fridge dispenses the best pellet ice—the crunchy kind you find at gas stations—and perfectly chilled water. A glass of cold water from this fridge just hits different, especially after my morning workout. The first two gulps send a shiver through me, the ice cold shocking my system. The third swallow washes over me like a cool wave. I flip my high ponytail to the beat when the song changes, long blonde hair whipping around me from one shoulder to the other. Needing another dance break, I place my glass of water on the counter so I can spin around.

Turning, my gaze collides with a pair of hazel eyes and I freeze, letting out a breathy laugh of surprise.

Callum stands leaning in the doorway of his office across the open living space, arms crossed. His focus on me is intense, but the stoic look on his face gives away nothing about the thoughts that are brewing. Pulling the earbuds from my ears, I pause the music and offer him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I completely forgot you’re here,” I admit. His eyes flicker to my navy athletic leggings, matching navy sports bra, and white mesh crop jacket. The sports bra is one of my favorites with good coverage and decent support for my enormous chest, my jacket left unzipped. Despite the amount of fabric on my body right now, my outfit makes no effort to hide my extra weight—apron belly included. I look cute for the gym downstairs, but Callum is seeing me when I’m not dressed to impress. Again.

“You’ve definitely made yourself at home.” His eyes break away to look at the collection of houseplants I’ve added to the expansive windows in the living room, before returning to me. “Something tells me it wouldn’t have made a difference if you had remembered,” he says, raising dark brows in question.

I think about it for a brief moment. Going to walk on the treadmill, doing a few sets of weights, then coming back up and drinking a giant glass of water is my routine. And I always enjoy my music every step of the way, even in public. I’m not exactly shy.

“Honestly, probably not. Just let me know if I’m being too loud. I don’t want to disturb your business.” It’s a sincere request, though probably unnecessary. Callum seems like the kind of guy who would bring up an annoyance the second it became an issue.

“I’d never allow you to disturb my business,” he says simply, his face still giving no indication of how he’s feeling. On one hand, I can’t feel his irritation. But that just means he could be silently plotting my very slow and painful death and I won’t know until it’s too late.

I open my mouth, planning on asking him to warn me before he gets annoyed to the point of homicide, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell. Callum flashes me a look—a reminder of his rule not to answer the door—and moves to get it himself. I stay back, finishing my almost forgotten glass of water as he greets the newcomer.

“You look like hell,” Callum says instead of a hello. Kinda rude, but ok.

“Red-eyes from California will do that.” The responding voice is deep and gruff.

The door closes and Callum walks back into the open living space. He’s followed closely by a man who looks like he stepped out of a mafia movie casting call for burly muscle-men.

Though a few inches shorter than Callum, he’s still tall and wide, sturdy as an ox. His head is shaved bald, his broad face covered in salt and pepper stubble. If Mia was here, I’d bet her twenty dollars that his name is Boris or Ivan—something like that. When his eyes land on me, it's as if he’s assessing whether I’m a threat.

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