Page 8 of Retribution

After all, who is this man?

Why am I in his bedroom?

I remember leaving the party… trying to find the elevator to leave…

Britney?

Shit.

Where is she?

I glance towards the mystery man, standing in the only exit of his bedroom, eyeing me right back.

If he didn’t take advantage of me, why am I in his bed?

“I found you asleep at the elevator lobby. You were incredibly intoxicated, I couldn’t live with myself putting you in a cab and just hoping you make it home safe.” Almost as if he was answering my inner conscious.

Where have they been hiding this guy?

I smile at his confession, glad I’d fallen into the hands of this man and not some crazy psychopath.

“Well for that I thank you, but I do have to leave.” He agrees and steps out of the entrance of the doorway, gesturing his arm to the rest of his apartment.

Despite my lack of experience with guys, I can’t imagine many of them would be so kind.

I make my way towards the bedroom door as a wave of fresh peppermint floods my senses.

Oh boy, he smells good.

Peering up at him as he stands just outside of the doorway, I gaze into the most heavenly brown eyes I’d seen.

“Thank you for not being a dick,” I reach up and peck the corner of his mouth, the stubble stinging me during my encounter.

Instantly, his cheeks turn a shade of crimson, revealing his bashfulness.

Smirking, I walk towards his apartment door. I notice the planning board upon the wall, littered with lectures and timetables. Grabbing the pen held on by blue-tac, I scrawl my phone number across the whiteboard partition. Adding a love heart next to it, I pop the pen back where it belonged. I make a swift exit towards the front door when he calls out,“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Indie.” I grin, leaving the apartment with a newfound confidence. I have a small feeling this is not the last I’ll be seeing of him.

Chapter 3

Reed

I return home to greet Bridget, the new nanny for Willow. I place my briefcase by the door, adjusting my suit to appear presentable, being at work for twelve hours comes with a cost.

Bridget is washing the dirty plates in the kitchen, her blonde hair tied up on the top of her head.

“How’s she been?”

“She’s been brilliant, aside from throwing a hissy fit over missing… Ballet?” She responds, not bothering to turn to look at me.

I run my hands across my face.

“Oh, I’m sorry. She attends ballet classes a few times a week, I’m just not used to managing her schedule,” I grimace.

She offers a curt nod whilst she finishes drying a plate, proceeding to put it in the designated cupboard.

“I’ll be sure to ask Mrs. Breckenridge for a print out of her schedule. I’d be more than happy to take her, I’m not opposed to ballet myself.” She rubs her hands on her jeans, tapping away at her phone.

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