Page 7 of Learn For Me

“Because I’ve had someone keeping an eye on the place, which is why I know it’s about fucking ready to drop on your head from termites and damp.” He was muttering to himself, obviously displeased. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming home before now? I’d have had someone pick you up from the airport, settle you in a hotel until new living arrangements could be made.”

She didn’t want new living arrangements, she thought with a pout. She wanted her home, her things, and her mom. But anxiety rippled through her as she gnawed on her bottom lip. “I, ah, didn’t fly.”

The deadly silence returned, only this time it throbbed with fury.

“Please,” he said in a cold, intimidating tone, “please,tell me you haven’t driven that hunk of junk Ford eight hundred miles.”

“Um… okay?”

A growl vibrated down the line, doing crazy things to her insides. He muttered something that sounded like, “About time I found you a fucking Dom.”

Her heartbeat pulsed between her shoulder blades. Making people angry was at the top of herDon’t dolist, but inciting Atticus Heisler into a rage was on a list all its own.

“I’ve called in a favor. Someone will be with you in fifteen minutes. Get in the truck without an argument, Olivia. We’ll hash this out when you arrive.”

Arrive where? There? Oh God, no. She was too tired to battle with him tonight, and there was no doubt Alicia was still awake. Being hit emotionally from all sides by a furious man and his energetic wife wasn’t how she wanted to spend the evening.

“But, sir—”

“Without an argument,” he repeated darkly, then cut the call.

“Oh God,” she moaned, dropping her head in her hands.

Why hadn’t she just walked into the office in the morning? He’d have been mad, sure, but at least she’d have avoided the escort. Which poor guy had he drafted out of the blue for babysitting duties?

Grit would tease her all the way out into the sticks where Atticus lived, no doubt. That was preferable to Christophe’s stony silence. Since the day five members of Alpha team were brutally killed on a mission, he hadn’t been the same.

It didn’t matter that the outcome wouldn’t have changed if he’d been there, she thought glumly, Christophe’s shoulders were taking the weight of responsibility. Stupidly, in her opinion, if it even factored in.

Probably not, seeing as how she was just a lowly tech, not one of the ball-busting, danger-craving, knife-between-her-teeth mercenaries on Atticus’s payroll.

Shoving her phone back in her pocket, Olivia decided she might as well gather some clean clothes to take with her for the night. Her suitcase was still in the trunk of her car, but she’d been in such a rush to get away from Jared, she hadn’t done any laundry before she made her escape.

A stain on the carpet near the shabbily built closet drew her attention. Frowning, she opened the doors and gagged without warning, immersed in a strong wave of mildew. Her clothes were covered in it, thick with mold.

What the hell?

The water heater. Fuck, the water heater was behind the wall.

Cursing a blue streak she rarely allowed herself, she hurried from the bedroom into the hall, then through the next door, almost tripping over the lifted linoleum in the bathroom. The smell was just as bad in here, and she was beginning to realize how screwed her life was becoming by the second.

The tall cupboard in the corner of the tiny space housed the heater, and the door was already open. Something catastrophic had happened to the pipes, but someone must have come in and taken care of it.

Atticus’s man, she thought. It required someone with a brain and quick fingers to get through her security system without the code, and they’d taken the time to re-engage it once they were done.

How much damage was there?

Closing her eyes, it dawned on her that Atticus hadn’t lied when he said the house was ready to come down on her head. There’d been too many faults with it before she’d gone to be with her mom, faults she hadn’t taken care of in the time since. Add in the water damage, the mold… her house was probably going to be condemned.

Selling her car wouldn’t bring in more than a couple hundred bucks, tops. There were no valuables to pawn for a quick influx of cash to begin damage control, and her next paycheck was two weeks and three days away. She supposed there was always the option of standing on a street corner, flashing her legs at the local, horny, single men.

Losing her virginity that way made her stomach jitter unhappily.

“All right, I just need to sit down when my head isn’t so jumbled and come up with a plan.” She began to pace, her sneakers dragging on the ruined linoleum. “Can’t fix the house because I’m broke. Can’t sell the car because it’s a piece of shit. Can’t live in a wonderful palace of cardboard boxes because the stupid sun will set it on fire, just like the rest of my life.”

Huh. Maybe hacking into a bank and siphoning off a few hundred thousand dollars while no one was looking was an option. Hard work on her part, especially covering her tracks so they wouldn’t paint a huge neon sign on her door, but her monetary problem would be fixed.

Temporarily, until Atticus figured it out and reprimanded her severely.

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