17. Chapter 17

17

Hope

Heath is a big ogre who's rude and mean.

Okay, that's not true.

Just because I'm mad at him doesn't mean I should compare him to that ugly thing.

I can't believe he's withholding my account just because I refuse to work with him when he's the one who insulted me. He doesn't even have the decency to apologize to me. If anything, he's full of pride, arrogance, and other bad things.

I shouldn't have accepted his help in the first place. Why did I?

You were desperate. I was. I am. I made six bucks minus the delivery charges. It's not much, but it's something. However, at this rate, it'll take long before I can earn hundreds.

Standing outside the huge, black metal gates I search for the doorbell but don't find it.

Don't rich people have a doorbell?

Making a fist I knock, and cup my hand when it throbs. Geez, how hard is that thing?

A bodyguard in a fine black suit comes out and scrutinizes me. "Who are you?"

I squirm under his hard gaze.

However, I can't back down now. I walked thirty minutes to get here. I won't go back until I have that account.

"Hi. I wanted to meet Heath. We go to the same school."

The man studies me and speaks into his intercom, probably to call for backup to throw me out. I mean he doesn't have to. He'd been fine alone with his massive body.

Chills dance on my spine and weaken it, but I refuse to let him intimidate me. There's only one person who scares me. My father. From plaguing my reality to my dreams, he's everywhere. I can't escape him. My nights are spent wide awake because I'm scared of him moving back in which won't happen. Mom won't let him, especially when he's drinking. Or maybe she will. The probability keeps me up day and night. After all, love conquers all, even abuse, toxicity, and addiction.

The bodyguard escorts me inside. I stand on the front porch when a familiar man greets me and asks for my name. I've seen him before when he came to inform Heath about the dinner. Seeing all the staff, bodyguards, and the luxurious mansion, I'm astounded. This is something I've never seen before. Only read in books.

People are rich. Heath is filthy rich.

I wait outside as he leaves to get Heath.

The enormous mansion is magnificent. I look like an ant in front of it. In ways it's intimidating. The garden and the array of flowers bordering it is a beautiful sight. Also, the open property gives a marvelous view of the setting sun.

The door opens. Heath steps out panting hard and half-naked.

Don't look.

Don't look.

Don't—

My eyes trace his face before dropping to his very naked chest and torso. Oh my God. He's ripped. His body is toned and filled with muscles that make a perfect six-pack. With each breath he takes, his chest moves, and my gaze notices every time. He's in black shorts that expose his beautiful, muscular, and strong body. He's tall and built like a professional player.

Heat curls in my stomach. I lift my eyes to his face that's equally gorgeous. He's straight out of a book with all this beauty and perfection.

"I can come back later." I try hard to not stare at his sweaty, hard chest.

He shakes his head, "No. Come in." Holding the door open, he widens the space for me to walk in.

This time I'm not flustered by the extravagance of his home. The architecture is modern and sophisticated, and the interior design is in soft tones of colors.

We stand in the foyer with a beautiful chandelier hanging above our heads that must cost a fortune.

Heath watches me for a minute then says, "Give me a few minutes to change."

I see his bloody knuckles. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"I can wrap them for you." I dislike myself for being nice to him, but I can't help it. That's just how I am to the core. I like helping people.

"No need." With that, he leaves.

I stand in the foyer alone until that man in the uniform arrives like a ghost. I gasp and he gives me a crooked smile. "Ma'am, let me take you to the living room."

"Please call me Hope."

He nods and takes me down the hallway to the living room that could fit an army in it. It's spacious and well-lit with chandeliers and golden lights. Expensive sofa sets, imported rugs, and thick curtains complement the aesthetic of the room. Magazines and a vase sit on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

"Do you need anything?" he asks.

"No, thank you." I expect him to leave me alone, but he lingers in the doorway and watches me curiously. His black eyes feel like they can see through me. "I'm good. You don't need to stand there."

He doesn't look away. "I wanted to ask you something if you don't mind."

I gulp. "Sure."

"Do you and sir share classes?"

"Two classes."

"Are you his friend ?" There's an edge to his voice that I can't shake off.

"Not really. We're in the same friend group."

The man steps further into the room and sucks the air. "You know his friends?"

"Yes. I know Marie and Sebastian. Marie is my friend," I explain, hoping he'll step back and leave me alone.

The man creeps me out with his intelligent eyes, wrinkled face, and straight posture. "May I ask—"

"Leave her alone, Derek." A booming voice carries through the room as Heath comes in. "I'll let you know if we need anything." Then his stare falls on me, checking to make sure I'm okay before settling on my tote bag. My backpack was filled with textbooks and notes. It was getting late, so I opted for the second option. "Let's go up to my room."

All the way I can feel a steady gaze at the back of my head drilling holes. It's clear Derek does not like me. He might even kill me and make it look like an accident.

I'm being delusional.

Once inside Heath's room, I turn to him. He looks at me with the same cold and tense features.

"I wanted to take a look at the messages." I fidget with my fingers and refuse to meet his eyes.

"There's my phone. You know the password." He gestures to the nightstand.

I get his phone and quickly open my account. I see a few notifications, but no messages.

Disappointment hits me like a gust of wind that knocks away my dreams and wishes.

"Nothing?" Heath is right behind me.

I put down his phone. "No."

"You haven't posted in two days. It's important to be consistent."

I bite my lower lip. "Maybe it's not going to work."

Heath eliminates the little distance between us. His intense gaze burns my face as I look down at the floor. I can't meet his stare when I want to hide away and roll in my failure.

"It's going to work as long as you want to do it," he tells me softly.

"I want to but—"

"Then don't make excuses."

Anger flares through me. I lift my head. "I'm not making excuses."

"It sure looks like it."

Another new thing I've learned about Heath is that he loves to get on my nerves, bringing out a side that no one has brought out before.

I get to the coffee table and lay out all the bracelets I made in the last few days. I don't need to say anything. This is me not giving up on chasing freedom and wanting happiness that money can buy me. It's small, but it means everything to me. I want to hoard books and pay for meals when I go out with him and his friends. I want to do nice things for Marie because she's such a good friend to me. My first real friend. I need to do this. I need to make this work somehow.

Heath joins me, and we quietly work.

"What are you doing?" Heath leans against the pillar on the porch. It's past seven p.m. and we're outside in the dark. Well, it's not exactly dark. There are lamp posts along the driveway.

"Calling a cab." I gesture to my phone.

A deep frown embeds between his eyebrows. "No, you're not."

God. He loves to tell me what to do.

"Too late. It's already on its way." I shrug, feeling content that he can't do anything.

With a smirk, he looks over at the bodyguard standing a few feet away from us. "Don't let any car in." The man nods and speaks in his earpiece.

Surprise grips my body. I stare at Heath in disbelief.

He starts walking in the direction of the garage.

With growing agitation, I follow him. "Heath, what are you doing?"

"Hope, I'm driving you home." He spins the car key on his finger.

"I can get there myself because I have the money." My voice carries a subtle edge, intent to cut the words he said to me before.

Stopping in his tracks he faces me. "Look…" running a hand through his thick mesh of straight, dark brown hair, he continues, "I didn't fucking mean what I said."

My feet come to a halt. Those words trip me off my axis with such force I'm unable to think.

His blue eyes set on me. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was wrong of me."

"It was," I agree, reminding him of his mistake.

He does another round with his hair. "It won't fucking happen again."

My mind goes blank. I stand and watch him with surprise. I never expected an apology from him.

"You don't know that," I reply.

"I swear," he softly promises.

"It hurt me, you know," I whisper.

He steps closer. "I know. I shouldn't have fucking said it. I hurt people with my words all the time, but I don't want to hurt you."

"Why?"

He touches my hair. "We should leave."

In the tight space of his car, I breathe in rich leather and the musky wood scent of his cologne that consumes me like a drug. With each inhale he captures more and more of my attention.

Has he always smelled this good?

Going over sixty, he speeds through the roads and stops at a diner. Looking over he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Are you hungry?"

Since I have money I nod.

At the counter, I read the menu and do the math for the prices.

"Hi. What would you like to order?" The old woman asks with a smile and eyes focused on me.

My mouth goes dry, and my hands turn clammy under her undivided attention.

Human interaction makes me nervous. The reason why I don't order food is because picking up a phone and reciting my order gives me chills. They ask so many questions and you have to reply quickly. It makes me nervous. I always hang up and ask myself why I'm like this.

"Girl, what do you want?" she asks in a stern tone, making my pulse accelerate.

Oh my God.

She must think I'm crazy. I'm not.

I just don't like ordering.

Heath looks down at me in confusion.

I get it. It's not every day people freeze at the counter before ordering because they get anxious.

God. He must think I'm a freak.

Bending down a little, he asks in a quiet voice, "What's wrong?"

"C-can you order for me?" I beg him with my eyes while fidgeting with my fingers.

Instances like this I need to have something to ground me. Something to keep me busy, otherwise I start to grow restless. My fingers are the perfect option to do something.

He studies me for a moment, then asks, "What do you want?" He notices my hands. I don't care if he sees my turbulent state. I'm too stuck in my head to care.

I tell him and with a nod, he says, "Get a table."

Luckily, I spot a booth in the corner of the room and quickly claim it. I put my phone on the table, but it clatters as my hands shake. Taking a deep, long breath I put my hands under my thighs, but my leg starts bouncing.

Oh no. This can't happen here.

Why?

Just why?

Take control of yourself. I tell myself, but those words hold no power over me.

Suddenly my breathing shortens to shallow breaths, and my throat begins to close around me.

Oh no.

Why is this happening here?

Why? Why now? Why here?

One side of my brain yells those thoughts and the other shoots logical reasoning to get this under control. Trapped in my breakdown I don't register when a hand settles on my thigh and clamps it down in a vice-like grip.

Heath stares at me with a puzzled face and curious eyes that feel like they're evaluating me. Under his stare, I feel emotionally naked.

I gape at him.

"It's okay." He applies more presses until my leg stops bouncing. Tiny tremors race through my legs.

"I'm fine," I say, but he doesn't take his hand away from my thigh.

After a minute those tremors turn into sparks that flow straight to my stomach. A ball of heat forms.

"I can see that."

I take my first breath which doesn't nearly bury me.

"This all happened because of the order thing?" he asks.

I nod, feeling vulnerable for sharing a piece of me. However, I can't lie when he's already seen me like this.

"You don't like to order?" he asks without removing his hand from my thigh.

"I just get really nervous. They ask all these questions and stuff, and I freeze." I lean back and try to make myself small, but with Heath's steady gaze dawning on me like the sun. I know he sees me.

"You could've told me," he mutters.

"So you could mock me later?" I counter back.

A glare is sent my way. "So, I could fucking order for you the next time."

"What makes you think there will be a next time?"

With a roll of eyes, he says, "You and I will be seeing each other a lot since Blondie has befriended you."

Wait. What?

A smile appears on my mouth. "You have a nickname for Marie?"

"Indeed."

"That's cute." I put my elbow on the table to cup my chin.

"It's certainly not cute," he grumbles with a scowl.

I smile.

He glares.

A teenage waitress puts our food on the table and then turns toward Heath with a friendly smile. "If you need anything else, tell me."

Heath doesn't even glance at her and completely ignores her.

When she walks away, he steals a fry from my basket. In return, I take a chicken tender from his basket, and he sends me his signature scowl.

"What? You stole first."

With a sigh, he looks away, but his mood isn't sour like it is always.