Page 5 of Pretty Wild

Oh, he most definitely would have been able to take me down and completely subdue me with only his pinky. He’s tall and muscular, his dirty T-shirt molded to his biceps like he fell out of some working man’s podcast or something.

Do they even have those?

I’m not sure but if I can figure out the whole Wi-Fi situation, I might do a little checking.

Returning to the kitchen, I find the refrigerator completely bare, except a box of baking soda. Grabbing my phone, I start making a list of all the items I’m going to need to purchase tomorrow. Fruit, the makings for salads, sparkling water, and coffee with sugar-free coffee creamer. The website I used boasted about a small grocery store, as well as a few otherrestaurants in town. There’s also some big box stores a few towns over, but it mentioned delivery service wasn’t available.

It’s been a long damn time since I went shopping for myself, but I’m looking forward to it. It’s not because I’m too good for it. I’m not one of those hoity-toity rich folks who have “people” to do their bidding.

Okay, fine.

I have people who do my bidding, but not because I want them to. The reason I have a team is for security reasons. I haven’t been able to go out on my own since I was younger, but even back then I was spotted and my photo taken plenty. Now, I can’t do anything without having paparazzi up my ass, cameras in my face as they concoct their latest bullshit headline featuring yours truly.

Though, I do admit, if I wanted a quiet, simple life, I was going about it all wrong. It’s not like starring in my own reality TV show and developing my own makeup brand was going to create anonymity. Not to mention I’m the product of two beautiful people, famous in their own right, and unstoppable when they got married. I was born under the spotlight, and over the years it’s only gotten bigger, brighter, and more intrusive.

Wanting to push thoughts of LA out of my mind, I grab the first of my three large suitcases and wheel it toward the bedroom. This one is packed with summer clothes. Shorts, tank tops, cute little designer tees, and swimwear. Lots of swimwear. When I found this cabin at the last minute, one of the features I looked for was a beach. I didn’t realize Wisconsin had beaches, but whatever. I can’t wait to see it in the morning light, since the listing had beach access as one of the amenities.

The second suitcase has my summer dresses and shoes. Lots of shoes. Sandals, flip-flops, and a few pairs of my fave heels and pumps, all in a variety of styles and colors to complement whatever outfit I settle on for the day.

I hang clothes in the closet, well, until I run out of hangers. Reaching for my phone, I add more hangers to my shopping list. The rest of my stuff I gently place on the floral-lined contact paper inside the six dresser drawers.

When I have the shoes organized on the floor of the closet, I go in search of my third piece of luggage. I find it right inside the front door and very carefully wheel it to the bedroom. It’s heavy and takes a little extra umph to get it onto the mattress. I slowly unzip the bag and gasp when I see the destruction.

“Oh my God!” I carefully start pulling out the contents. Everything is a complete mess. It looks like a bomb went off in here. My hair products are all over the place, and don’t get me started on my body care stuff. Some of the lids popped off, and everything is coated in what could either be my heat shield hair protectant or my night cream. Or both.

I gingerly pull out my travel bags containing my makeup and carry them into the bathroom. The entire time I clean white cream off the bags, I curse at the man who clearly took very little care of someone’s personal property and just tossed it around without worrying about damage. All I can do is gape at the mess, my anger slowly building.

My mirror is cracked. Even wrapping it in bubble wrap didn’t protect it from the wrath of Marcus. What kind of person just throws people’s luggage around without having an ounce of respect or decency in regard to the contents? An animal, that’s who. A filthy, careless jerk. How would he feel if I haphazardly threw his stuff around, breaking half of it in the process?

Of course, I can only imagine his luggage for a trip. The man probably doesn’t even own a suitcase. He’d throw a couple pairs of stained jeans, a few T-shirts, and some boxers into a gym bag and call it good. Hell, he’d probably use a plastic sack!

My mind goes to my travels, and I realize my anger might be a little misplaced. I flew commercial because I didn’t wantanyone to track my travel plan, and my father’s private plane was a well-known source for travel-stalking. It is used by all kinds of people in the movie industry, a who’s who amongst actors and executives who don’t want to fly commercial. My dad is one of the most giving people I know and lends out his plane regularly, but this was one time I couldn’t use it. I needed to be lost, not tracked, and traveling on a commercial jet was the way to do it.

Of course, flying out of an airport like LAX was a recipe for disaster if I was looking to blend in. My name alone was attached to some of the biggest in the industry, which is why I used Burbank. A smaller airport, a bit of a disguise, and a name not always associated with my family is what it took to get from point A to point B without everyone in the world following behind with their cameras, and surprisingly, it worked. No one seemed to pay me any attention, which was something new on its own. Usually, I didn’t mind having photos snapped while I was jet-setting for the weekend, but today, I needed to blend in. I wanted to be invisible, and the name Ryan Marcotte is anything but invisible.

I look down at my stuff, realizing the destruction could have very well been caused by the airline. I’ve seen those horror videos of staff tossing and stacking luggage in the belly of an airplane, so chances are, it wasn’t entirely caused by a rugged mountain of a man in Wisconsin. Still, I can’t completely squelch my ire at the stranger, even if hedidrescue me on the side of the roadway.

Just as I get the rest of my stuff cleaned up and put away in the bathroom, there’s a knock at the door. It’s loud, insistent, and scares the ever-loving daylights out of me. My heart is pounding like a steel drum in my chest as I creep out of the bathroom and move toward the front door. Of course, my heels give me away, the steady click echoing on the wooden floor.

A second knock hits the door, followed by, “Ryan, it’s Marcus. Are you still awake?”

I stand up tall and look through the peephole, confirming it’s the man who delivered me to my rental just an hour ago. The moonlight illuminates his broad frame, somehow painting him in a gorgeous light.

Wait, what?

No, Ryan. He’s not gorgeous. He’s…infuriating at best, and completely not your type.

I reach for the lock and turn it before slowly opening the door. “It’s a little late to be dropping by, isn’t it?” I ask, keeping my chin high as I level him with a look of annoyance.

He seems completely unfazed by my irritation and holds out his hand. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch sight of something pink and sparkly. “You left this in my truck.”

“Oh,” I reply, reaching for my small bag. Our fingers touch as I grab my purse, the same electrical current from earlier shocking my senses. “Thank you.”

He stares at me as we both hold the purse, his penetrating gaze looking straight into my soul. I can’t help but wonder if he felt the same zip of electricity I felt and what it means. Of course, the moment he opens his mouth, all thoughts of chemistry and sparks fly straight out the window.

“You should be more careful with that. We’re a small, friendly town, but not everyone who’d stumble upon a purse would turn it over to the authorities or the owner. Especially during the summer. Never leave your stuff lying around unsupervised, Princess,” he states, muscular arms crossed over his chest as he chastises me like a small child.

My eyes narrow as I snatch the small bag from his grip. “I’m from the city. I’m well aware of the dangers of leaving my purse exposed.”

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