Page 48 of Don't Love Me
12
San Diego
Later that afternoon
Ashleigh
Someone knockedon my door and it startled me. I’d been curled up in a window seat reading a book and intermittently people-watching as folks moved about the Gaslamp Quarter below.
After Marc and I texted, I felt infinitely better. The sting of him standing me up for the prom was still there, but didn’t hurt nearly as much. Although I was curious to know what had backfired so badly he missed the whole night.
A week away would be perfect. My bruise would heal. I’d go home, then Marc and I would have a real date. What if everything changed after that?
What if he finally, finally took my virginity?
I was so giddy on the idea of it, I wasn’t really thinking when I answered the door. It was probably just the landlord checking in that everything was okay with the rental.
Instead, there stood a large man, older, in his forties, wearing a suit and tie. He looked official. Like a former Army General, the way he held himself.
“Can I help you?”
“Ashleigh Landen?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Your father sent me here to watch over you. I’ll be following you throughout your vacation. I wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t be concerned.”
What?
“My father sent you? He doesn’t even know where I am.” Which was obviously a stupid thing to say. He clearly knew where I was because he’d sent someone to my damn door.
But how? He’d kept calling, but I’d refused to speak with him. I needed time and space.
“There was a credit card trail,” the bodyguard—I guessed that’s what he was supposed to be—said.
“A credit card trail…”
The man smirked. “You ladies always fuck it up.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, offended and still confused as to why Arthur would do this. He left me alone on the estate for days at a time, but because I’d refused his trip to the spa, I needed a bodyguard?
“Not the first time I’ve had to track down a rich princess runaway.” He shrugged. “You all want your freedom, but none of you realize freedom costs money you don’t have. It’s your father’s money. Which means your life is his, until he says it isn’t.”
“Just keep your distance,” I said, shutting the door in his face.
“Ten steps behind you. Wherever you go,” he called through the door.
This didn’t make sense. Then again, neither did the bruise on my face.
* * *
One week later
Home
Ashleigh
I walked through the front door of my home having no idea what to expect. There were cars in the driveway, but that didn’t mean Arthur was home. In fact, it was unlikely he was here, given it was a weekday morning.
