Page 35 of IOU

“What are you doing? Give that back!” she shrieks, sitting up and kicking at my legs in anger. Spoiler alert: I like it.

Grabbing her knees, I hold them still, leveling her with a stern look and trying like hell not to think about the smoothness under my palms. “Are you finished?”

She swallows. “Yes.”

I let her knees go and straighten, towering over her. “Give me your hand.”

She does as I ask, albeit shakily, and extends her arm toward me. I hesitate, waiting for more yelling, kicks, or tears. When all she does is hold her chin higher and her arm out taut, I smother my approval and take her wrist. Silently, I reach with my free hand into my back pocket and produce an eight of spades and a Sharpie.

“I didn’t ask for another favor!” Her eyes are wide and sharp—the braveness dissipating.

She may not have asked me for a favor, but she’s getting one anyway. I ignore her and take her hand, flipping it palm up. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t live here and sleep on the floor. I won’t have people thinking you’re a fucking captive.”

She cringes. “Look, I promise. I will call my friends and get my furniture tomorrow.”

Too late. I place a card in her hand, sliding my hand along her wrist and then to her forearm, holding her still. “We’ll do it today.”

Her voice cracks. “We’ll?”

I take my time scrawling out the three simple letters that will leave her indebted to me even more. “Yes. Put some clothes on.” I close her fingers around the edge of the card and release her arm. “You have five minutes.” And then I walk the fuck away.

“So ... I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier.”

The past few silent minutes have been blissfully appreciated while we head in the direction of her apartment. “About the friends or the furniture?”

She chews the inside of her cheek, creating something almost like a dimple. “The friends?”

“Are you not sure?”

She sighs and looks out the window. “I don’t have any friends to help me move, but even if I did, I wouldn’t have gone back for my furniture.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs, clearly nervous about telling me. “I don’t want to see them right now.”

“The exes?”

I take a sharp left turn, not bothering with a blinker. The motion wrenches Ainsley off the window, grasping the console for support.

“Yes,” she says, giving me a side-eye. “Do you think you can get us there in one piece?”

I like this spunk from her. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time. No one gives me this much backtalk or stands up to me anymore. But this girl ... This girl flips switches I didn’t know I had.

“Tell me the truth. You wanted to kill them, didn’t you? At least singe some hair.” I’ve seen scorned women. Trust me, Sebastian has evaded quite a few murder plots in his time at Havemeyer.

She sends me a glare. “I didn’t try to kill them—don’t arch your brow at me like you don’t believe me. You weren’t there! If I wanted to kill them, I would have used the gas from Taylor’s car and Tucker’s Vegas commemorative matches to burn the place down.” See? She thought about it.

I fight a smile at her descriptiveness. “So you were, what? Clumsy with the candle?”

Mike told me all about the rumors. Ainsley James, the psycho pyro who almost killed her boyfriend and roommate just because he was there waiting for her to get off from work.

“You had no idea they were having an affair right under your nose?” I probe for no other reason than to see that spark of fury again. She needs to be tough when she sees them. I don’t want any of those annoying tears when we’re moving her shit out.

She snaps around to face me. “No! If I knew they were having an affair, I wouldn’t have walked in on them fucking!”

Women only go crazy for two reasons: a sale and a man, but Ainsley ... I think she’s just being herself. Not crazy, just extremely passionate.

“They were even using the condoms from my room.” She leans back with a huff just as we pull into the complex, and I spot Logan’s truck parked in one of the visitor spaces.

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