Page 48 of Contention

As it appears, Kara is unmolested.Where the heck am I?

The floor is marble and cold, but welcome, as her body feels heated and dehydrated. Flipping the lights on in the bathroom, complete with a shower and fancy cream vanity, Kara stares at herself in the mirror and shudders; raccoon eyes. Her mother’s favorite.

Splashing water on her face, rubbing away the majority of the last nights makeup, Kara also gargles a bit of the water to de-fuzz her mouth the best she can. When she realizes that she can see perfectly, she cringes in misery; she fell asleep with her contacts in. Joy. Those will be a pain to get out. She makes a good attempt, but the lenses are still pretty dry; she’ll need to get her eyedrops at home to do this.Ugh.

Decently clean and makeup-less, Kara decides it’s time to figure out where she is and why she’s here. So far, she hears nothing, no sounds at all, aside from general city noise outside.

She wanders out into the main area of the place after peeking carefully from behind her door. Empty. No one. Pale marble floors, elegant Persian rugs, sophisticated fixtures on the walls, expensive standing vases. Everything is a lovely modern white, appliances stainless steel, andoooh look at the tv! It’s practically the whole wall. It is the wall!

Walking on, she notices French double doors for another bedroom. Curiosity getting the better of her, she takes a few steps inside, loving the plush carpet within. She doesn’t get far before Calais’s cologne hits her and she realizes this room ishis bedroom. And he slept here, if the duvet on the floor is anything to go by, along with his sport coat hanging off the back of a chair.

It’s a stunning realization. Kara slept alone last night. This…this is Nicholas Havenwood-Calais’s place.

She’s not sure how that makes her feel, aside from vaguely annoyed that this likely means she’s going to have to deal with him. Perhaps even anxious, considering her memories from the night before include her sitting in his lap, or the way he smiled when he had her pressed up against the side of the limo. Kara flushes, hoping there’s nothing else she’s forgetting. Now, more than ever she’s glad that she’s fully clothed.

As she stares at his empty bed in consideration, she thinks, where is that fucking cologne?She sneaks in carefully, because it would be embarrassing if he caught her snooping. She walks into his master bathroom and tries to not be stunned by the fancy standing tub by its lonesome, the giant stone shower, complete with a rainhead nozzle. Or; the heated floor tiles that are dizzyingly warm.

She spots a black cologne bottle, adorned with gold, sitting inside of an obsidian case with a skull on top of it. Kara spots it with glee and tiptoes over, reading the inscription, committing it to memory. Lifting the top off, she inhales and feels her eyes roll up as she sighs. Yup. That’s the one. She wants to bathe in it.

Feeling feisty, she sprays it on her neck and wrist before guiltily sneaking out, sniffing at her skin with a certain amount of glee.

Backpedaling out of the bedroom, she continues on as she distantly hears the faint clatter of dishes, coming from around the corner. Gentle light spills into the next living space, provided by another set of double doors opening up to a grand terrace, looking out at the city and the parks below.

The extremely nice end of the city, if looks are anything to go by.

Calais is sitting with one ankle resting on his knee, drinking from a fancy little porcelain coffee cup as he reads a newspaper, of all things. He’s in dark grey sweatpants and a tight black shirt, seemingly unbothered by the slight chill in the spring morning air. Birds are singing below.

Kara almost can’t reconcile the man in the suit to the man in casualwear. He almost seems approachable, his usually perfect hair slightly mussed from sleep.

He’s sitting in one of those fancy chairs, at one of those fancy outdoor tables that seats four. A stone table, surrounded by lovely wicker chairs with nice, fluffy cushions. The sun is on his hair, giving it a slight hue of gold and red amongst the light brown.

This is the guy. The one that brought her home with him. The one who-

Kara scowls at him, angry at him, angry at herself for allowing this to happen. “Care to explain why I’m here?”

He folds down the newspaper a bit to look at her, scoffing. “In polite society, one bids the other ‘good morning’, you know.” After giving her a brief once over, he unfolds the paper and continues reading. “Go get yourself a cup and have some coffee. Aspirin is by the coffee pot.”

“Yes, dad,” Kara replies snidely as she turns to go find the coffee pot and cups, fists clenched.

He glances at her sharply, likely because of her words. Kara ignores him, returning with a small porcelain cup that matches his and two white pills. She leans against the doorway. “Alright. I’ve done as you commanded. Now tell me why I’m here and not asleep in my own bed. Alone.”

“I tried to drop you off at your place,” he supplies blandly, flipping to the next page of his newspaper. “But your stubbornness refuses to give up the ghost, as it were. You wouldn’t tell me the code to your complex and then you passed out. Don’t blame this on me.”

An ugly feeling boils up Kara’s esophagus. Of course, the knobhead would try and take the high road, like he’s absolved of all sins. “You could have just left me in the street,like last time.” Ugly feelings produce even uglier words, it seems.

The air chills substantially as he turns his face towards her. His expression is stony, eyes hard, lips thin. “Most girls who work the streets live in the streets,” he replies coolly. “You aren’t a streetworker. I’m not about to make the same mistake a second time.”

She stares at him, her head pounding, stomach eerily unsettled. She looks down at her body, fully clothed. “You- You didn’t undress me.”

Though he doesn’t look at her, one of his eyebrows rises up, his only giveaway that he’s amused. His focus has returned to the paper. “I had the distinct impression that you wouldn’t want me to. Was I wrong?”

Red flashes in Kara’s vision, her head pounding, anger in her veins. “Of course not, you fancy blueblood asshole.”Breathe, Kara, breathe. Don’t lose your head so early in the morning.

He’s like a cool glass of water in the desert, unfazed by her response. The look he gives her feels like he’s scolding her for being ill-mannered andKara doesn’t like it. He turns the page again. “Well, then perhaps you should be thanking me, shouldn’t you?”

As if she’d thank him for anything.Try again, prick.

“Your actions allowed my bra to stab me in the side all night long, I’ll have you know.” Her side and her boobs are sore, her bra too tight and the underwire too stiff. Kara realizes it’s still unclasped. Awkward. “Fucking ungracious to not wake me up so I could take care of myself. Plus, I wear contacts, you know, you’ve seen my glasses. Know what’s stuck in my eyes right now, like a dried-out condom? Take a guess. My dried-out contacts!”

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