Page 54 of The Lair

When Travis toldme he was going to come back for the apartment tour, I didn’t think he was going to drive me there. That may be why I’m now standing in front of him, confused.

I hike my bag higher on my shoulder and play with my car keys in my hand. “You don’t have to drive me, Travis. I’ve got my own car.”

“Not the point.”

The look he gives me leaves no room for arguments. But because I haven’t slept well and my brain isn’t functioning as well as it should, my voice takes a teasing turn, and I say, “Careful, boss man. I might start thinking you tolerate me after all.”

“I more than tolerate you, Allie.”

My heart fills with adrenaline. What doesmore than tolerate youeven mean?

“Come on, get in the car.”

Does it mean Travislikesme?

I should probably fight him a little more on the car thing, but after two nights in a row of getting barely any sleep, I’ll be happy to let him take the wheel today—literally.

Travis starts the car once I get inside. “Where to?”

When I rattle off the address Charlie sent me last night, he only nods and drives away. I sit back in the passenger’s seat, taking in the interior of Travis’s pickup truck for the first time. It smells clean and isn’t full of shopping tickets and coins like mine is.

“Did you get any more sleep after I left?” he asks.

I need to know who took my grouchy boss and replaced him with this—dare I say—caring man who drives me places and asks about my sleeping habits.Stat.

“I didn’t, but I’m not that tired.” And because we are apparently on friendlier grounds now, I ask him, “And you?”

He shakes his head, eyes on the road. “Did you eat anything for breakfast?”

“I thought about making an omelet, but I got lazy.”

I check my phone to see if I have any new texts from Jada, but there’s nothing. Nothing from Paul either. I decide to wait until I check the new place to tell them about me moving. They don’t know about my car or the break-in next door, and I don’t want to alarm them when I’m fine. Mostly.

According to the map on my phone, the apartment is at least ten minutes away from my place, so when not even three have passed and the car stops, I slide my confused eyes to Travis, a silent question in them.

“You can’t start the day on an empty stomach.” He gestures with his chin toward the small bakery he’s parked in front of. “Let’s go.”

With far more ease than I would’ve expected given his massive size, he’s quick to exit the truck, but I pause with my hand on the handle. Is he about to buy me breakfast?

“Travis, wait,” I call out. His truck is so tall, I have to use the footboard to get down. My boss stops, looking at me over his shoulder as I reach his side. “We don’t have to stop. I’m really not that hungry.”

“You’ve barely slept, and you have a long day ahead. A muffin won’t kill you.”

He’s right, a muffin won’t kill me—but his sudden concern for me might.

Travis opens the door to the bakery, says good morning, and holds it for me so I can follow him inside.

“What do you want to get?” he asks me, wallet in hand.

I’m about to tell him once more that he doesn’t need to buy me anything, that I’m genuinely not that hungry, and that I won’t pass out if I wait until lunchtime, but then I see a three-layer carrot cake and shut my mouth again.

The old lady behind the counter smiles at me, her eyes kind, as I say, “I’ll have a slice of carrot cake, please.”

“Excellent choice.” She beams before sliding her gaze toward my boss. “How about you, Travis?”

She knows him?

“I’ll have the usual. Thank you.”

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