Page 77 of Collided

Don’t rich people have a doorbell?

Making a fist I knock, and cup my hand when it throbs. Geez, how hard is that thing?

A bodyguard in a fine black suit comes out and scrutinizes me. “Who are you?”

I squirm under his hard gaze.

However, I can’t back down now. I walked thirty minutes to get here. I won’t go back until I have that account.

“Hi. I wanted to meet Heath. We go to the same school.”

The man studies me and speaks into his intercom, probably to call for backup to throw me out. I mean he doesn’t have to. He’d been fine alone with his massive body.

Chills dance on my spine and weaken it, but I refuse to let him intimidate me. There’s only one person who scares me. My father. From plaguing my reality to my dreams, he’s everywhere. I can’t escape him. My nights are spent wide awake because I’m scared of him moving back in which won’t happen. Mom won’t let him, especially when he’s drinking. Or maybe she will. The probability keeps me up day and night. After all, love conquers all, even abuse, toxicity, and addiction.

The bodyguard escorts me inside. I stand on the front porch when a familiar man greets me and asks for my name. I’ve seen him before when he came to inform Heath about the dinner. Seeing all the staff, bodyguards, and the luxurious mansion, I’m astounded. This is something I’ve never seen before. Only read in books.

People are rich. Heath is filthy rich.

I wait outside as he leaves to get Heath.

The enormous mansion is magnificent. I look like an ant in front of it. In ways it’s intimidating. The garden and the array of flowers bordering it is a beautiful sight. Also, the open property gives a marvelous view of the setting sun.

The door opens. Heath steps out panting hardandhalf-naked.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

Don’t—

My eyes trace his face before dropping to hisverynaked chest and torso. Oh my God. He’s ripped. His body is toned and filled with muscles that make a perfect six-pack. With each breath he takes, his chest moves, and my gaze notices every time. He’s in black shorts that expose his beautiful, muscular, and strong body. He’s tall and built like a professional player.

Heat curls in my stomach. I lift my eyes to his face that’s equally gorgeous. He’s straight out of a book with all this beauty and perfection.

“I can come back later.” I try hard to not stare at his sweaty, hard chest.

He shakes his head, “No. Come in.” Holding the door open, he widens the space for me to walk in.

This time I’m not flustered by the extravagance of his home. The architecture is modern and sophisticated, and the interior design is in soft tones of colors.

We stand in the foyer with a beautiful chandelier hanging above our heads that must cost a fortune.

Heath watches me for a minute then says, “Give me a few minutes to change.”

I see his bloody knuckles. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I can wrap them for you.” I dislike myself for being nice to him, but I can’t help it. That’s just how I am to the core. I like helping people.

“No need.” With that, he leaves.

I stand in the foyer alone until that man in the uniform arrives like a ghost. I gasp and he gives me a crooked smile. “Ma’am, let me take you to the living room.”

“Please call me Hope.”

He nods and takes me down the hallway to the living room that could fit an army in it. It’s spacious and well-lit with chandeliers and golden lights. Expensive sofa sets, imported rugs, and thick curtains complement the aesthetic of the room. Magazines and a vase sit on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

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