Page 27 of Unhinged Cravings
I wasn’t certain that was something Emerson would want her to share. And I didn’t like the sting of envy it caused. Like I was any better. I had my fair share of one-night stands, taking what I wanted and ghosting them if they got clingy. Commitment wasn’t my thing, and I was beginning to think it wasn’t Emerson’s either.
She turned to me when she had mauled the pillow sufficiently. “You, on the other hand…” Her hand came out to tug one of my dyed locks. I had switched back to pink after playing with purple, thinking the pink flattered me more and was softer for Riley’s wedding. “…have spirit.”
“And you know that from the five minutes you’ve been in this room?” I said, hearing the sarcasm that emphasized the words.
“That and the grumbling he did when he called me. It takes a lot to get under Cade’s skin, but you succeeded.”
I scratched my head as she made a point of surveying me like an inspector. “He complained about me?” The thought soured my mood further. “He kidnaps me and has the nerve to complain about me?” The words I planned to volley at him when I saw him next would not be kind ones.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about.” She turned me around, lifting my shirt.
“Hey!” Glancing back at her, I pulled at it, but her hold was firm.
“I need to see what I’m working with here.” Her eyes landed on the tattoo on my hip. “Yes, you’re definitely something new for him.”
This time, I yanked the shirt away and faced her. “I’m nothing more than a hostage he’s using to bait Greyson Tides.”
A sleek arch of her brow had me doubting my words. “We’ll see.” Twisting on her heel, she strolled back to the door. “I’m off to shop. I’m assuming T-shirts, ripped jeans, and flannel are your style?”
An indignant huff came from me as I gaped at her back.
“I’ll try to improve on the quality of your wardrobe, but I’m sure whatever I get, you’ll make it your own.” An insult mixed with a compliment. Who was this woman?
“Why do you care?” I asked as she opened the door.
She peered back at me. “About your style?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If I’m something different for Cade?” It was so hard to say that name that didn’t roll off my tongue as delicately as Emerson did.
She faced me, the morning sun from the window reflecting in her eyes. “I’ve known Cade since he moved to this province.” That didn’t make me feel better, and I imagined a torrid affair between the two in their youth. The idea had envy clamping down on my insides. “He takes, and he uses. He doesn’t keep. But you, he’s keeping.”
“I’m just a pawn to get what he needs.”
Eyes flicking to the tray from breakfast, she said, “You’ve been here for three days, Miss Shelton. How many times have you seen Cade?”
“I… A few,” I admitted.
Her mouth lifted into a smile that held no judgement, only kindness. “Cade doesn’t care if his enemies are fed or cared for.”
“He expected Riley and had clothes and this room for her, not me.”
“I’m not privy to what his intentions are or why he does things, but my guess is she held value. A trade is only worth it if the goods aren’t damaged. Whatever he wanted by taking her necessitated keeping her cared for. But I can guarantee she wouldn’t have left this room to eat breakfast with him, nor to share his bed.”
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
“I know, but Cade doesn’t care if his hostages have nightmares, Miss Shelton. In fact, he prefers they do.”
I stood staring at the door long after she left, not sure what to make of her or her words. It seemed strange that she would tell me those things and talk as openly as she did. She didn’t know me, other than what Emerson must have told her. And he trusted her enough to tell her about my nightmares, unless she had found out another way.
I trudged to the bathroom, rubbing my temples to halt the headache all this thinking was causing. Emerson was a mystery to me, and his relationship with this woman—a beautiful, elegant woman who knew a lot more than an average employee should—had me confused and irritable. Not that I should have been irritable about any of this. I was a hostage, not a guest. Reminding myself of that didn’t help.
Resting my hands on the bathroom counter, I looked at my reflection. The messy curls, the crust in the corner of my eyes that I wiped away quickly, and Emerson’s oversized T-shirt. Definitely different from the women I imagined he had slept with. That slither of envy pierced me again, and I grimaced. Why did I care who the mafia boss who kidnapped me slept with? This was temporary and once Greyson and my uncle saved me, I would never see him again. It was as simple as that.
But if it was that simple, why did my chest hurt at the thought?
Jill returneda few hours later with bags of clothes, which she dumped on the bed. Breaker brought in a new tray of food, then hurried from the room. I dragged in a breath, savoring the smell of the soup that sat next to a turkey sandwich on wheat. My mouth salivated just at the thought of digging into it.
Jill was going through the bags, pulling clothes out in a flurry. I picked up a T-shirt that said princess on it and quirked my brow. “And this seemed like my style?” I asked, missing my clothes even more.
