Page 78 of Enigma: The Final Chapter
Arough grunt escapes my parched mouth as I return to the land of the living. My head is pounding like a mariachi band performing on the streets of Mexico. My throat burns like I swallowed car battery acid, and my eyelids are so heavy, they refuse to open. I feel like I’m in the process of dying.
When my hand stretches out to snag the spare pillow at my side, wanting to cover my eyes from the blinding sunlight making my pounding headache ten times worse, I do die.
A woodsy smell is invading my senses.
Oh, shit. What did I do?
My heart races as memories of last night trickle back into my head—the warning Isaac issued, the excessive drinking of any cocktail I could get my hands on, Ayden…oh god,and Hugo! The unnatural beat of my heart kicks up a gear when I taste Hugo on my mouth. As guilt weighs heavily on my chest, a guttural groan scuttles up my throat. Even though Isaac left me, Hugo still works for him. Isaac is his sole source of income—his bread and butter. A man with control issues like Isaac wouldneverlet a mere peck-on-the-lips kiss go without reprimand, let alone a kiss that was anything but simple.
Hugo and I have grown close the past several weeks, but even in my hungover state, I know our kiss was a spur-of-the-moment decision made without just cause. I can only hope Isaac remembers his quote on how haste decisions cause mistakes because when Hugo kissed me, he wasn’t thinking of the repercussions of his rushed judgment—just like I didn’t before returning his kiss.
With reluctance, I pull the pillow away from my face and apprehensively flutter open my eyes. Once my eye sockets are lubricated with fluid, they sweep the room. The thumping of my head intensifies when they take in a space I don’t recognize.
I thought my days of waking up in strangers’ beds were behind me.
Thick cream curtains are draped across a large window. A woven rug covers a majority of the dark, highly polished floorboards, and the bed is a four-poster design, but unlike Isaac’s, the posts are dark and thin, without the wood-turning effects. A wooden desk is by the window, and a cream wing-backed chair is seated in front of it. The wall behind the bed is done in a wooden design of dark, light, and white woods skewed in a rustic pattern. The room is very manly but warm and inviting, just like its owner, Hugo.
Could this morning get any worse?
After groaning about my stupidity, my eyes shift to the other side of the room. A swear word seeps from my lips when my eyes lock in on Isaac’s furious gaze. He's seated in a cream leather chair that blocks the entrance door of the room. He’s dressed in a black three-piece suit, and he has a pulse-quickening scowl marring his handsome face. His stubble-covered jaw is ticking relentlessly, and his dark, livid gaze is rapt on me.
My head screams in protest when I lurch from the bed. As my eyes snap shut, my hands circle my temples, praying the contents of my stomach stay put.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know Isaac has moved off the chair. The hairs bristling on my neck are all the indication I need to know he's standing at the end of the bed. Opening one eye only, I glance up at him. My libido awakens from its resting state when his narrowed gaze lowers down my body. The tick of his jaw ramps the longer he peruses me. I find out why when I follow his gaze.
This day just got ten times worse.
I'm wearing what I’m going to assume is Hugo’s short-sleeve college shirt. I’m assuming it is Hugo’s since it has a faded Rochdale Village emblem on the front.
Isaac’s gaze lifts from my shirt to my eyes. “Get dressed so I can take you home.”
Any protest preparing to whimper from my lips halt from his furious glare that sears me motionless. “Get dressed!” he demands in his low, knee-quaking tone.
My eyes scan the room, seeking the microscopic dress I wore last night. I find it draped over the master bathroom door handle on my left. With shaking thighs, I scamper off the bed, ensuring I hold down the hem of Hugo’s shirt so it maintains a respectable length.
I slip into my tight mini dress as Isaac removes the heavy piece of furniture blocking the doorway as if it is weightless. Once I have the zipper in place, I hesitantly pad across the room. My breath snags in my lungs when Isaac pivots around to face me. A deep, knee-clanging growl tears through his stern lips when he absorbs the outfit I wore in public last night. It’s so skimpy, it could be classed as a piece of lingerie instead of a dress.
In silence, Isaac shrugs off his jacket, places it over my shoulders, then secures the three buttons into place. Once his jacket is covering half of my body, he encloses his hand around mine and strides to the door. His steps are so fast and furious, I have to jog to keep up with him.
When we enter the living room, I scan Hugo’s apartment, seeking any sign of him. When my gaze comes up empty, I turn my eyes to Isaac. “Where's Hugo?”
His grip on my hand firms, causing pain to shoot up my arm, but he remains quiet. My eyes widen when we enter the hallway. The security personnel who work in the lobby of Hugo’s apartment building are standing guard at the elevator bank, ensuring no one can access the elevator. I'm surprised the fire warden would allow them to block an entire elevator.
Suddenly, clarity forms. Isaac owns the building, so if he wants to garner an elevator for personal use, so be it.
The security officer warily smiles as the elevator doors snap shut, entrapping me in a small mirrored box alone with an infuriatingly angry Isaac. He's so mad, heat is radiating off him in invisible waves, making my hungover state even more noticeable. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, vainly trying to settle the swirling of my stomach.
They crack back open when the elevator dings and my arm is yanked. Isaac’s fluid steps move us out of the elevator and into his awaiting town car at the speed of lightning. The swishing of my stomach amplifies when I see Hugo’sbabystill parked in his car space.
I duck into the back of Isaac’s town car, slide across the seat, then raise my eyes to the rearview mirror. A sigh spills from my lips when I notice Roger’s dark gaze reflecting back at me.
“Is Hugo okay?”
Isaac doesn’t respond to my question. He just keeps his gaze planted on the scenery outside as we make the thirty-minute trip to his residence in complete silence.
“Your services will not be required for the remainder of the day,” Isaac informs Roger when his vehicle pulls into the front steps of his private residence.
His dangerously low tone causes a shiver to tingle down my spine. He glides out of the back seat of the car before tipping his torso back in to assist me out. A highly inappropriately-timed grin creeps onto my mouth, pleased by his chivalry.
