6. Carly

Sitting in a strange room in the house of a man who she’d just met earlier that day was getting to Carly. She felt safe with Damian, even if he was a little cranky and bossy, but having to suddenly pick up and move into a different place, even if just temporarily, made her anxious. She hadn’t stopped picking at her cuticles since they’d left her house, and now they were starting to bleed.

A soft rapping on the bedroom door startled her, and she twisted to make sure her doll was tucked safely under the pillow before calling out for him to come in. Damian opened the door and studied her as he leaned against the doorway.

“I made dinner. I forgot to ask if you have any allergies, but I’m sure there’s something you can eat down there.” He said as he looked her up and down. “Hey, your finger is bleeding.”

Damian stepped inside the room and came to where she sat, but Carly quickly moved her hand under her thigh so he couldn’t see the number she’d done on her fingers.

“Let me see your hand.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

Nope, not happening.

“Carly, let me see.”

She shook her head again. The look he gave her was so stern that she would have been backing away slowly if she weren’t already sitting on the bed. Yet, her pussy was clenching in response.

She didn’t like men who walked around barking orders. But when Damian gave orders, at least to her, he wasn’t shouting or being condescending. He was calm and quiet, which made her want to show him her hand.

He waited patiently with his hand held out, expecting her to obey. After hesitating for another moment under his intense gaze, she slowly pulled her hand out from under her leg and showed him her bloody finger.

“That looks like it hurts. Let’s clean it up and put a band-aid on it. All your fingers look like they hurt. Do you always pick at your nails like this?”

He was speaking softly now, as though she was an injured child who had a boo boo.

She shook her head, “Only when I’m having anxiety, which lately has been a lot and even more so today.”

His thumb ran over the back of her knuckles, studying her fingers. His hands were so big compared to hers. She wondered what else of his was big.

Oh Lord, you hussy. Stop that. You don’t need to think about his big…

“I’ll be right back,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

It only took a moment before he reappeared and knelt on the floor in front of her with a first aid kit in hand. She stared at him in shock. He was actually kneeling. In front of her. Like he was serving her or something.

He opened the kit to pull out a bottle of antiseptic and began cleaning the finger that was bleeding. She felt like a little girl getting put back together by her big strong Daddy.

Don’t think like that. He’s not your Daddy. You don’t want a Daddy. Daddies are dumb.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she would actually start to believe it.

She was impressed at the care he took to clean her up, and when she looked down and saw the hot pink band-aid that matched her chipped nail polish, she grinned at him.

“Why do you have pink band-aids?” she asked curiously.

Damian eyed her and gently rubbed antibiotic ointment on the other cuticles that didn’t need bandages.

“Would a plain colored band-aid or a pink band-aid make you happier?”

Without thinking, she told him.

“Pink.”

He nodded, “That’s why I have pink band-aids. Owwies don’t seem to hurt as bad when they’re wrapped in a happy band-aid.”

She thought about it for a second and realized that her owwie didn’t hurt anymore.

Huh. Maybe he had some brains in all that brawn. Pulling her hand back from his, Carly realized that she was suddenly feeling warm all over, and touching him was not helping with that.

“Thank you.”

“Come on. Let’s go eat. Are you allergic to anything?”

He closed up the first aid kit and stood, waiting for her to follow.

“No. But I don’t like seafood, and I hate broccoli and cauliflower.”

“Well, I made shrimp broccoli alfredo, so I guess you’re out of luck today.”

She knew he was joking because she would have smelled the yucky smell of shrimp. She scowled up at him, and the chuckle that came from deep inside his throat made Carly smile as she followed him downstairs. She wondered if he laughed very often.

The aroma of food hit her, and she realized she was hungrier than she’d thought.

“Sit down. I’ll bring you a plate.”

Carly stared at him in shock, and when he raised his eyebrow at her in question, she shrugged and moved to the table. She wasn’t used to being served. She was used to being used as a servant.

She looked at Damian as though he’d lost his mind when he set a plate in front of her that was loaded with way more food than she could ever eat in one sitting.

“Are we eating enough food to prepare for hibernation for the winter?” she asked.

He gave her an incredulous look and shook his head.

“Just eat what you can,” he said firmly.

Carly climbed into the large bed in Damian’s guest room and sighed. The room was comfortable and well decorated, just like the rest of the house. It had been done in cream colors, making the room feel clean and cozy. The bedding was ultra-fluffy, and there were six pillows on the bed along with several decorative pillows. She was in heaven. You could never have enough pillows.

Damian had shooed her away when she’d tried to help clean up after dinner and had told her to go relax and get ready for bed. It felt weird leaving him to wash the dishes, but as soon as she walked into the bathroom, she remembered the bathtub and couldn’t resist a soak.

By the time she climbed out of the steaming water, she was dead on her feet and could barely keep her eyes open. The bed she’d crawled into was as soft as a cloud, and it only took a few minutes before she fell asleep, holding Annabelle in her arms.

Her stupid alarm went off at two-thirty in the morning, and Carly had to drag herself from the bed. It took her a few blinks to remember where she was and why she was there. She groaned and made her way into the bathroom to start getting ready.

The downside of being a makeup artist with an early morning appointment is that she couldn’t just roll in there without being made up. Clients didn’t like that very much. A sloppy makeup artist was never a good thing. Not that she ever really went without makeup anyway unless she was doing a makeup tutorial on her YouTube channel or going to bed.

She did her skincare steps and brushed her teeth before she started applying a layer of concealer to cover the dark circles under her eyes. She had gotten her routine down to about forty-five minutes from the time she rolled out of bed to the time she was ready to walk out the door. Thankfully her hair was naturally curly, and all she had to do was run her fingers through it, scrunch some product into it and maybe use the curling iron on a few wayward strands.

After getting dressed and putting on her shoes, Carly grabbed her bags and went downstairs to wait for Damian. When she got to the bottom step, she saw him hovering over the coffee pot in a pair of ass-hugging jeans and a t-shirt that showed off every muscle in his back.

Damn, that’s a sexy sight.

“Morning,” he said without looking back at her.

He sounded tired, and Carly felt terrible that he had to wake up so early for her. Then again, she had wanted to bring her car with her so she could get to and from jobs, but he hadn’t let her, so she didn’t feel all that bad.

When he turned around, his eyes widened as he looked her up and down. He looked as tired as he had sounded, and she chewed on her lip to avoid the smile trying to force its way to her lips. He also looked like a yummy fantasy. She was regretting that she hadn’t packed her vibrator with her.

Wow. Desperate much?

“Nice jacket. I like it. Matches your band-aid,” he said, winking at her.

Carly felt herself blush as she looked down at the outfit she wore. Her distressed black skinny jeans and black t-shirt were her regular go-to when she was working, but she liked to add accessories and pops of color to her outfits. That morning, she had added a hot pink sequined bomber jacket. It was her favorite jacket, and she often wore it because it was the most sparkly piece of clothing she owned. A girl could never have enough sparkly things.

“Thanks. I didn’t do that on purpose, but I guess it does match my band-aid.”

“There’s a fruit bowl in the fridge for you that you can eat during the drive. I’m making coffee, and then we can head out. Do you want cream or sugar in your coffee?”

Carly opened the fridge and found a Tupperware container of cut-up melons and strawberries.

“Cream, please. Did you cut all of this up for me?”

He nodded as he poured coffee into two travel mugs. Studying him before she grabbed the container, she felt a sudden surge of emotion. She shouldn’t feel emotional about a man cutting up fruit for her, right? Except James never did anything caring like that, so it felt foreign and heartwarming all at the same time.

Calm down. He just cut up some fruit for you. It’s no big deal.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, carrying both cups of coffee in one hand and pulling one of her bags off her shoulder as he walked past her.

She followed him out to the monstrous Jeep and rolled her eyes.

“I need a step stool to get into this stupid thing.”

Damian shook his head and opened the passenger side door, setting the coffee cups in the built-in holders. He lifted her into the passenger seat without warning as though she weighed nothing. The heat of his hands seared through her shirt, and she cursed her vagina for being a traitorous needy bitch. It wasn’t even four in the morning, and she already needed to change her panties.

“Why would you need a step stool when you have me?” he asked, obviously pleased with himself.

Glaring at him, she reached out and pulled the door closed without giving him an answer. He gave her the biggest grin as he walked around the front of the car, making her roll her eyes dramatically. He thought he was so cute. And he was. But she wouldn’t let him know that she thought so.

“Eat your fruit,” he said as he climbed in.

Carly wanted to ignore him, but she was hungry, so she speared a piece of melon and popped it into her mouth.

“You have over a million followers on Instagram and nearly five-hundred-thousand on YouTube,” he said bluntly.

She nearly choked on the piece of strawberry she’d just put in her mouth. Swallowing the fruit, she coughed several times before she could regain her composure. When she turned to look at him, he glanced over at her with what looked to be a mix of concern and amusement.

“Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

He grunted, “It’s called research. Not only do I research my client’s threat, but I also research my client to see if there could be any other possible threats that hadn’t been considered.”

She shrugged, “I doubt a bunch of makeup-obsessed fans are a threat.”

“No, probably not. But I was impressed. Your videos on YouTube are really good.”

Carly looked over at him and stared, feeling all the color draining from her face.

“You watched my videos?” she squeaked.

She wasn’t sure if she should be impressed, embarrassed, or irritated. Her status on social media was just that- social media. It wasn’t who she was. When she had attended beauty school, she’d started posting before and after makeup looks, and her follower count grew.

As she continued into her career, B list celebrities started reaching out because they needed their makeup done for appearances. It had been exciting at first, but it didn’t take very long before Carly knew she hated Hollywood and would never move there despite the many requests from clients.

About two years into her career, she had started doing makeup for bigger stars, and her name blew up on social media because celebrities like to post about those doing their hair and makeup. Carly had to turn down job offers left and right. She preferred doing the makeup of an excited bride over a spoiled celebrity with an attitude problem, but the money that came along with working with celebrities was hard to turn down.

She had finally gotten to a point in her career where she was able to be choosy with who she worked with, though that didn’t mean that she didn’t get a bad egg in her basket every once in a while.

Only twice in her years of doing makeup had she walked away from a job because the celebrity acted in a way that made her feel unsafe. She knew it wasn’t good for her reputation to be seen walking off a job midway through doing makeup, but she refused to work with someone who was treating her like garbage or in a hostile environment.

She was used to celebs having tantrums and being jerks but calling her names and throwing things at their employees in front of her were big no-no’s. One of the times that she’d ended up walking off the job had happened a few months prior.

After their assistant walked into the room and told them there was no hazelnut creamer, but they had French vanilla, the model had thrown a glass vase of flowers and a hairdryer at the assistant. Then the model had called Carly a stupid bitch and sworn at her because she didn’t like the eyeshadow shade that Carly had applied - even though the shade had been chosen and approved by the model herself.

It hadn’t gone well when Carly packed up her stuff and told the woman that she was leaving. The model had a full-on meltdown and screaming fit before begging Carly to finish her makeup. She refused, and the last words she’d heard from the model was that Carly would never work in Hollywood again. Yeah, like she really gave a shit about that.

“I watched a few. I learned how to contour my face. I’ll have to show you later,” Damian teased.

Carly couldn’t help but giggle and roll her eyes. At least he was being nice about it. James had always thought her recording YouTube videos was ridiculous and a cry for attention when really, she enjoyed being able to teach normal, everyday people how to do their makeup. Not everyone could pay to have their makeup done professionally.

“You’re really good. Makeup is an art that you’re very passionate about, and it’s obvious. I was impressed.”

Okay, now she was blushing from head to clit.