18. Since Day One

Chapter 18

Since Day One

MEGAN

L ars checks Mickey's pulse and then shakes his head. "Still breathing."

Parker cocks his gun and points it at Mickey's head, "You want me to kill him?"

I'm tempted to say yes after what the man just tried to do to me, but I shake my head, mutely. I've seen enough violence this week to last me a lifetime. Parker almost looks disappointed before putting his gun away.

"Take care of this," Mr. Middleton orders before turning his attention to me. "Did he touch you?"

"No," I mutter, unwilling to move away from his embrace but forcing myself to. My heart is racing so wildly that I feel a little sick.

I hunch down, trying to breathe past the sudden wave of crippling nausea, and I hear the alarm in his voice, "What's wrong, Megan?"

I shake my head, waving at him with my hand. "It's fine. Just give me a moment."

However, to my surprise, he crouches down next to me and rubs his hand along my back. "Take slow breaths. In and out."

I listen and realize that my hands are still quivering. Finally, when I feel a bit more like myself, I look at him and ask, "Why were you here?"

My question has him frowning. "You haven't come to work or gone to school in a week."

I sigh at the last part.

"You're checking my attendance at school?"

"No one at the university is breaking any privacy laws by telling me your business. I simply put Parker on in. He hasn't seen you on campus all week, and I thought you might've meant it when you said you would quit."

He helps me stand, and I study him. "So, you came here to do what? Drag me to work?"

Mr. Middleton shrugs but he doesn't meet my eyes. "To remind you that you have a contract with me for two years."

I get a strong feeling that he's not being entirely honest although I know that usually, he is, sometimes brutally so. However, I'm just grateful that he was here to help me...again.

"I was going to come back," I admit to him. "It's just the bruises – I couldn't hide them, even under theatrical makeup. They're a little better now. I'll come back to work tomorrow."

I glance towards my apartment window and hesitate. I don't want to go back inside. Although I know that Mickey is no longer a threat, I don't want to head in there by myself. Of course, there's no place else I can go.

Crap, how am I supposed to continue living here knowing what my landlord just tried to do. I cringe at the thought of what he might have gotten away with if Mr. Middleton hadn't been looking out for me as usual.

"Go pack up your essentials," Mr. Middleton orders as if he can read my thoughts.

"What?" I look up and into his expressive, stormy eyes.

He lifts a brow. "I'm not letting you stay here after what happened. Pack what you need, and I'll arrange a place for you. A safe one."

"But-"

"You don't have to fight every battle, Megan. Life will wear you down if you keep fighting everything that comes at you. Let me help."

There's no mocking edge to his voice this time, and I lower my gaze, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He really is trying to do something nice, but fighting is the only way I know how to survive.

"Go pack up what you need," he repeats, and this time I do as he says.

There's not much I own that has any value except my art supplies and a framed picture of my mother. I don't even remember her, but it's nice to have a picture of a parent who might've loved you.

I quickly pack my art supplies, toiletries, and clothing, and when I enter the living room, I see Mr. Middleton looking into the cardboard box containing the Ramen noodles.

"Yeah, um. That's mine."

I lean down to stuff a few of them into my bag. "I was a little low on cash, and they're quite tasty," I say, trying to sound convincing.

"And full of sodium. Leave that garbage behind," he frowns. "You can't live on that."

"But I–"

"Leave it, Miss Taylor."

I look mournfully at the packets of perfectly good ramen before dumping them back into the carton. I try to sneak a few into my bag, but as Mr. Middleton gets up, he adds, "I saw that. Put them back."

Ugh.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asks sincerely.

I shake my head, looking around.

"Come, then."

I follow after him but when I'm about to lock the door, he says in a light tone, "Leave the key inside for your friend. You're not coming back here."

I think about Naomi for a moment, wondering how she'll feel about me just picking up and leaving, but I also know that coming back here would be dangerous after what's transpired tonight.

And while Hunter Middleton is far more deadly than Mickey ever could be, he's provided me with a sense of safety that I've rarely felt before.

It's not a hard decision.

"I can't stay here," I stammer, feeling overwhelmed as I take in my surroundings. This place is three times the size of my old apartment and gorgeous.

The apartment he brings me to, if one can call it that, has three bedrooms with king-sized beds covered in very expensive feeling bedding. The living room has a view of the whole city with windows that span the length of the floor to the ceiling. The kitchen is massive with gleaming marble tiles and equipped with appliances that belong on the back of some high-end catalog.

"Why not?"

Mr. Middleton trails in after me, looking somewhat amused by my reaction.

"Because I can't afford this place, which you should well know, because you don't pay me enough."

For the first time ever, I see what I think is a genuinely offended look on his face.

"You seem to keep bringing up how much or how little I pay you. Ask around, Miss Taylor, but I pay all of my employees quite well. But if you think that I pay everybody less than the market rate, I'll make sure to reevaluate the salary structure. I don't remember you voicing a single complaint when you signed the contract."

That's because I didn't read it.

It was difficult for me to insist on reading it from front to back, with him watching me like a hawk. Hell, I couldn't concentrate.

"Besides," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine, "I won't charge you. I own this building."

My mind goes blank. "What?"

He points towards the ceiling. "I live on the penthouse floor."

"Oh," I mumble, taken aback. "So, I don't have to pay rent?"

He smiles at me with that small smile of his, which makes it difficult to discern what's going on in his head.

My first instinct is to reject the offer. No one gets anything for free, but this is Mr. Middleton, I say to myself. He's different. For whatever reason, I think he genuinely gives a shit about my safety. Plus, it's just temporary.

"Thank you," I say awkwardly. "I mean, thanks for doing this for me."

His smile disappears, and after a beat, he steps toward me. I freeze in place when he invades my space and then tilts my head back with a finger under my chin. I can feel his breath on my face, and his cologne has an addictive woodsy scent that makes me slightly light-headed.

I have never been so wildly attracted to a man who is so much older than me, but there is something about this man that makes me quiver yet feel completely safe in his presence.

This intense attraction has been there from day one. It's clear that he's also aware of it, and he's made no secret of the fact that he does want me, but I refuse to be swayed. Yet, I'm concerned about my ability to keep holding out. How long can I refuse to give into this attraction when he protects me the way he does and performs gestures like these?

It's intoxicating.

"Have you been applying a cold compress to your cheek?"

"Um, yeah," I stammer, unable to tear my eyes away from his.

"Well, the bruise is fading," he releases me. "You'll settle in here today, and you'll come to work tomorrow."

I nod mutely, wishing he would step away from me so that I can think more clearly.

"All right, then," he says, moving back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch. "Go back to school tomorrow as well. I'm sure you've missed a lot of work."

Based on his tone, it's not a suggestion but more of an order, and again, my natural instinct is to bare my teeth at him, so I have to force myself to control myself.

Not every battle, Megan.

For some reason, his words are reverberating within me.

When he turns around, I find myself saying, "I didn't mention this before, but I have a roommate, and she's a friend. I'm worried about her staying there, too."

"Naomi Turner?" he states plainly.

Of course, he knows.

"Yes," I mutter.

He looks over his shoulder at me, "Would you feel better if she stays here with you?"

I nod.

"You have three bedrooms. Do what you want with them."

"Would she pay rent?"

"No."

"This is temporary, of course," I remind him. "I don't expect to live anywhere for free forever."

"Of course."

He's about to leave when I speak up again, wondering why I keep finding excuses to make him stay. "What's going to happen to Mickey?"

His eyes darken. "Don't ask questions you can't handle the answers to."

I fall silent, but it seems he also has some questions.

"Is this the first time he's come after you?"

I try to shrug, but the movement is jerky because the look in Mr. Middleton's eyes makes a shiver of fear run down my spine.

"He's wary of Naomi, so he's never pulled something like this before, but he watches me sometimes, which is why I try never to keep a routine so that he doesn't know when to wait for me."

Even if he's never pulled something like this, my instincts always warned me about him, and I trust my instincts. They've never failed me before. I'm still here, and I'm still in one piece.

"I see," is the only reply he gives me.

He's about to leave the apartment when I call out, "Mr. Middleton-"

"I think we've been through enough together that you can call me Hunter outside of work," he interrupts.

"I can't call you that."

"I'd prefer it."

But I don't.

Using his first name would strip away the boundary of boss and employee between us, and the ground becomes uneven for me with that barrier taken away from me.

There's a glint in his eyes as he approaches me, and I'm rooted in my spot. This time, his massive hand envelops my cheek, and his voice feels like a velvety caress against my skin, making my lower muscles tighten in need.

"It seems as if I don't like your tears for some reason."

"I'm not crying," the words stumble out as shock envelops me at his statement.

"You were about to," he murmurs. "You held on to me, and your eyes were terrified. People rarely seek protection in my arms, Megan, except you, it seems."

"I was desperate," I force the words out, my heart beating so wildly that I'm afraid he'll be able to hear it.

His words are whisper-soft and hold a hint of menace, "I'm a different kind of monster, Megan, but you're the first person to see that and still hide behind me. Those kinds of actions have consequences."

I want to say something, but I swallow the words that are on the tip of my tongue.

"You have me questioning my every rule." His tone is calming, and my heart trembles.

"I didn't make you."

"Ah, but you did," he counters softly, his words piercing me, his gaze holding mine. "You make me lose my self-control at every turn. I can see in your eyes that you want me, too. How long do you think you'll be able to hold out? Days? Weeks?"

My eyes narrow at his words. "Is that why you brought me here to this impressive apartment you own? Easy access?"

"Of course not," he scoffs. "I brought you here because if one more motherfucker tries to put his hands on you, I'll slit their throat in front of you next time."

A normal person's blood would grow cold at his calm statement but strangely enough, it makes me feel warm and tingly all over.

"Why?" The question is out of me before I can stop myself.

He takes a long time to answer before he simply replies, "I don't know."

I stare at him, stunned.

"I'll see you at work, Megan."

When he releases me and walks out, leaving the key on the kitchen table for me, I just stare after him, feeling both lost and confused.

Tomorrow, then, Mr. Middleton.