Page 111 of Rush of Jealousy

I scurry off into the bathroom, use the toilet, and then hop into the shower. It doesn’t take me long to wash, rinse, and shave with the disposable razor that is still in its packaging. I dry off, brush my teeth, and blow out my damp locks. I apply the bare minimum makeup to cover up my bruising and swipe on some mascara to help my eyes look a little less tired.

In the bedroom, I slip on a more practical underwear and bra set, a pair of gray leggings, and a pink cashmere sweater. Graham may need to continue picking out my clothing, because the man has style. Cute silver ballet flats complete my look. I down the glass of water and hope that my head feels better soon.

I find Graham in the kitchen preparing to-go cups of coffee and some bags of pastries that must have been delivered here at the house. He hands me a few things to carry and locks up the house, escorting me to the waiting car.

“Good morning, Collins,” I say softly.

“Same to you, Miss McFee.”

I slide into the backseat and kick off my shoes for the long ride. I snap my belt into place and use the cup holder to rest my coffee after taking the first sip. It is delicious and exactly how I like it.

Graham joins me in the back and places his coffee adjacent to mine. We arrived at this lake house angry with each other and are now leaving mutually in love. What a difference a weekend away can make.

“I’m going to miss it here,” I say, watching the house disappear as we move up the path.

“We can come back anytime you want,” Graham says softly with a smile. “How’s your head? I brought you a bottled water to drink in between your coffee.” He hands me the bottle after he opens it and holds onto the lid. “Drink.”

I listen and take a few huge gulps before handing it back to him to seal.

“Thank you for a wonderful weekend. I really did enjoy myself.”

“I did too.”

“When can I get my phone back?”

“When you promise me you’ll not try to ditch your guards.”

“So you are holding it hostage until I agree?”

“Yes.”

I swallow a sip of my coffee. My safety is very important to him. And after Mark tried to rape me, I am actually relieved I will have someone looking out for me—despite it making it difficult to get my research done easily. “I promise.”

Graham reaches into the back panel of the seat and pulls out a black cloth bag. He reaches inside and removes my phone. He places it into my hands.

“Thank you,” I mutter, turning it on and waiting for my screen to come to life.

“I have some business email to tend to, if you don’t mind. Feel free to eat something out of the bag or take a nap.”

I nod and then get to work at checking my own email. I delete all of the junk mail, archive what is important, and then download the attachments from the Smoothie Cafe employee handbook that was sent to me. I glance over the recipe guide that I will surely have to memorize if I want to work there. I also read through the health protocol information. When my eyes begin to blur and my mind starts to drift, I move to my text messages and voicemails.

Numerous voice recordings are from Zander asking me to meet him. I can’t keep avoiding him. It isn’t fair. If I meet him at a public place, then I know Graham will get the line by line script of what was said during our conversation. So, I decide that it is best if I go to his place to talk. At least there, we can have some privacy to deal with this limbo we are both in. I type out a message to him.

Angie: Can I stop by your place tomorrow afternoon?

Zander: Of course :)

I hope he doesn’t think this is good news. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Next, I pull open all of the vague texts from my dad and read through them. I decide to cave and message him back.

Angie: Hey dad, what’s up?

He doesn’t respond right away, so I drink my coffee and enjoy a cream cheese danish from the bag of goodies. I open up my privateBad Adviceemail and answer a few questions on the blog site. The sun is now fully above the horizon and casting a beautiful orange glow on all of the trees. It is a sad reminder, however, that everything is about to die.

In between giving one-word answers to the recipient on the other end of the call, Graham hands me my water to remind me to sip it. I shake my head at his bossiness and ability to multitask and still give me nonverbal orders.

The buzz of my phone indicates an incoming message, and I open up my app and read what my dad typed out.

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