Page 37 of Hello Trouble

And in my delirious state, I realized Hayes had left his front door open. Didn’t he know heating and cooling a house wasn’t cheap? How much money had he wasted in these few moments?

He shut the fridge, and I heard the familiar clink of glass bottles in a six-pack. He must have been on a beer run.

I let out a sigh of relief. He would be in and out before he even noticed me.

But that sigh was a mistake, because he froze.

My heart stopped with him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“What the fuck is that doing there?” he muttered to himself. Then I heard the clink of bottles.

More footsteps.

HE WAS WALKING AROUND THE COUCH.

I squeezed my eyes shut like that would somehow make me invisible. And then I peeped through one eye, spying him through a fringe of eyelashes.

He had the shiny pillow in his hands and was looking at it like... well, like it had snuck into his house.

Shaking his head, he turned to leave the living room. And then his eyes fell on me.

He yelled out in shock, jumping backwards, which made me scream too.

“Della?” he yelled. “What the fuck are you doing down there?”

“I—I…” Let me tell you, there is no good way to maintain your dignity while dressed in all black and lying on a bachelor pad floor. But I did my best as I stood up, anxiously running my hands over my pants to dry my sweaty palms.

His eyes traveled from me to the pillow in his hands and back again. “You?”

This was it. My moment. The one where I decided which type of villain I would be.

I could be the calm, confident one who used her moment in the spotlight for a killer, quotable monologue. Or the one who stammered and backed away slowly, then ran outside and never showed her face again.

I needed to go to the gym more for the latter to be an option.

So I lifted my chin and said, “I thought your place could?—”

He held up his hand, wagging his finger, and walked back to his bedroom.

Really? He cut off my villainous monologue? Didn’t he know how this spy thing worked?

I followed him back to his room, half expecting to see some kind of freaky sex den with ropes hanging from the ceiling and leather cords spilling from the closet.

But it was... normal.

A king-sized bed. Matching nightstands on either side.

There was even a book on one bedside table. I squinted, trying to make out the title, but I couldn’t before Hayes stood up from the closet, holding a giant laundry basket in his hands.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The treasure chest. But now it’s full of your shit.” He held up a frilly pink pillow. “I’m assuming this is yours.”

My cheeks were so hot they could have lit a candle.

He pulled out a floral table runner. “And this?”

---