Chapter 3

CHLOE

Ipark and walk around, helping Drew out of the back seat. Escorting him to the bench, I glare. "Just sit, please." The cameras point to the area next to the garage, and I hope someone is watching me treat him like a child.

He chuckles. "Sure, because you asked so nicely."

"I'll be back in a few."

"No worries. I'll be right here." His adorable grin gives me pause.

I get back into my minivan and drive to find his parking place. Once I park, I just stare at my phone.

Seriously. The guy's got a ton of money. How the hell can't he just hire someone to babysit him?

I reach into the passenger floorboard and grab my purse, slipping my phone in the pocket. She owes me. Come on, I'll feed him and put him to bed. He can't hurt me.

True to his word, he's still sitting on the bench, waiting like a kid for Santa. I push the button for the elevator and help the goliath stand. "Do you have food in your apartment?"

He wrinkles his nose. "I'm more of a takeout guy."

"Of course you are."

"I live on the fifth floor, number five, zero, one."

The doors open, and I slip under his arm, maneuvering him into the elevator. "Let's get you upstairs and into bed."

"Why Chloe, that's a little fast."

"You're still a douchebag."

He laughs. "King of the douchebags, or so I'm told."

"And you just seem proud of that. What's that all about?"

"I use humor to make anxious situations easier."

I deadpan. Why would a guy like him with a perfect childhood and life do therapy? "You've been in therapy?"

"Yeah. It was part of my contract this time. Team management thinks I'm unpredictable."

"You've just become a troublemaker who is looking for attention. Like that boy who stood in the hallway calling people names to make his shitty friends laugh."

"I am sorry. Really."

As though an apology ten years later can go back in time and make it better. Too little, too late. And what made you start getting into fights?

The doors open, and he leans me to the right. "Down this hall." He fumbles in his pocket for his key. We step to the door, and he struggles to get the key in the knob.

"Let me." I take the key and put it into the keyhole to turn it. The door clicks, but doesn't open. I grimace, as I look at Drew.

"Oh." He raises his head to the keypad to the side of the door and types in five numbers. "Sorry. I forgot."

"Wow, that's a lot of security. I'm waiting for some security guy to jump out and tackle me for being too close."

"See, you're funny."

I take a breath and push open the door. "Do you need to pee? I can't have you falling with your unsteady feet."

"Wh-What?"

He looks like I asked him to run naked across the football field during a game. Serves him right to be startled by a comment. "Urinate? Do you need to urinate before we put you to bed?"

"I, um."

"Come on, I saw your sex tape from college. I mean everyone saw it. You need help, and that's what I'm here for. So, do you need to pee?"

Drew grits his teeth. "I can do it."

"And if you fall and crack your head open, everyone will be pissed at me. No. Nope. I'll help you." Besides, I'm enjoying making you uncomfortable.

He motions for me to walk with him down the hall and into the bathroom. He stares at me through the reflection in the mirror. "I can do this."

"Just agree." I unbutton his shorts and let them fall to the floor as I bend down. I can't believe I'm this close to Drew King's cock. "Step out of your shorts."

He picks up his feet while holding onto me. "This is embarrassing."

I shake my head as I pick them up and toss them into the hamper. Like it's what I thought I'd be doing today. "Why? It's not like I've never seen it before."

"Okay. Yes. I made a stupid sex tape, but I didn't expect people to see it, and it's weird that you're going to see me naked, this close without, you know?"

"It's fine." I turn him to face the open toilet. "Do you…?"

"Please don't offer to hold it. That's not the way I want you holding my cock."

This serves him right for being such a bad guy in high school. I wish I was the kind of gal that would take out her phone and video this brief exchange. Let's see how he'd feel having his embarrassment shared with others. I glance around the bathroom, keeping my eyes level. "Let me know when you're done." The bathroom looks stark and white, like a decorator ran out of ideas. It's clean and everything has a place.

"I'm done." He struggles to keep his balance. "My room is to the left when we walk out."

"Great." I put my shoulder back into his armpit and wrap my arm around him. Damn, he's even taller than he was in high school. "What do you want to eat?"

"I don't care. There are menus on the fridge. They'll deliver to the front desk and someone will bring the order up."

"How do you pay for it, then?"

"My payment is on file. You just have to place the order and answer the door."

Life of the rich and privileged, table for one. "Marvelous. Let's get you settled, and I'll place the order. Where would I find Tylenol?"

"I should have some in my bathroom."

We walk through the door into a large master suite. A huge abstract blue, gray, and yellow painting adorns the wall above the bed. It looks like someone threw paint on the canvas and rolled in it, using their arms and feet to make shapes. Someone painted the room a slate gray that reminds me of a cold, snowy evening. There's no fireplace, so that scene doesn't work.

I turn my head and catch his eyes. Okay, I was distracted. I help him sit on the side of the king bed. I flick my fingers at the dozen pillows stacked along the head of the bed. "Someone likes pillows." I snicker. Never imagined a manly man like you would have fluffy pillows placed along the top of the bed.

"My decorator bought them. This is the first time I've lived alone, and some guys recommended her."

"Yeah, sure." I giggle. "At least you don't have a teddy bear prominently displayed in the middle." I move my fingers to unbutton his shirt.

His lips shift up in a slow smile. "Usually, dinner happens before a woman undresses me."

"Now I know that's a lie. The models you fuck don't eat." Ooh. Chloe. That was rude. He brings out the worst in me.

"Wow. You swear and throw insults like a guy."

"And I look like one too, right? You're so predictable." I pull the shirt off a little harder than I planned and toss it onto the end of the bed. "Swing your legs up and get into the bed. I'll order food and bring it to you when it gets here." I grab his phone off the bed where he set it down, powering it down, I set it on the bedside stand. "And no phone."

He moves to grab the phone and misses, so I snag it and hold it above him.

Ha. Loser. "Aren't you supposed to have fast hands?"

"I have a concussion. Picking on the guy with a concussion is just mean."

I put my hand on my hip. "Mean? You want to talk about mean, see yourself in the damn mirror and reflect on the words you and your cronies said to me. Then we can talk mean."

He cringes.

I walk into the bathroom and grab the pain medication off the counter. I fill the cup with water and take it back into the room. "Take these."

He pops the pills in his mouth and swallows the water, handing me the cup like I'm a maid. I set it on the table and swing my head in irritation, not sure if I'm more annoyed with him, this situation, or my reaction to it.

"Get some rest, and I'll feed you later." I point at the bed. "Sleep well." I walk out, pulling the door to a slight crack.

Wow, check out these digs. I waltz down the hallway, into the foyer. Why does a single man need this much space? I glance down the hall in front of me. Four bedrooms. Turning to the right, there's an empty dining room and a living room with three gaming systems and a massive sectional.

I parade into the kitchen like I own it, stopping at the doorway and gaping. "Oh my God, this kitchen is phenomenal! That's a Subzero fridge and freezer matching set. Does he need to eat that much food? Jeez." My eyes catch the gleaming double oven and stove. I doubt he's even used that stove. I cock my head. The cleanliness of this kitchen is additional proof he has a spectacular maid. I'll bet she does him, too. Ooh, Chloe. You're just being a bitch.

I walk over and open the fridge to find beer and orange juice on a shelf. I open the middle drawer under the third shelf with sauce packets up the wazoo. Sniffing. At least it's clean. I hope he pays his maid a lot of money; she deserves it. I crack open the freezer to unveil two bottles of vodka and an ice bucket. That's it? How does a grown man live without fresh food?

I grab the phone out of my purse and hit redial.

"Lily Campbell."

"Hey, Lily. How's Phoebe?"

"She's got a pretty awful cold, so she won't be making it to the party."

"I'm sorry."

"What's up? How's Andy?"

I roll my eyes. "I didn't realize Andy was Drew."

"Oh?" The quiet, awkward pause Lily uses to control conversations always makes me uneasy. "Do you know Drew?"

Don't over share, Chloe. I take a breath. "Yeah. We went to high school together."

Lily sucks in a breath. "Ooh. There's a story there."

"Like the Andy story. We'll share. But for right now, he has no groceries, so how do I get some?"

"Text me what you need, and I'll have an intern deliver it."

Texting my list to Lily, I glance at the various menus on the refrigerator. This Indian menu has potential. Someone has starred various dishes. Did Drew mark these and are they things he wants or hates? Life's a bitch. I dial the number on the menu and order three of the starred items and two of my own. I flick my wrist. "Twenty minutes." I cast my eyes around the kitchen, mumbling to myself again. "Water, orange juice or booze." How does someone live like this? I glance at my watch as I bite my lip. Do I open the door for the person to bring the food? Or do they have a key? Decisions, decisions. I wait by the door for the groceries and the food. "I just want to get out of here tomorrow and enjoy a nice quiet weekend while Freya has fun at the Campbell ranch."