Page 4 of Paying Daddy's Debt Collector

“No, I don’t.”

“Christian Cassella. Some people call me Chris the Collector. You can call me Chris.”

The driver is outside the limo conversing with a man casually carrying a rifle strapped over his shoulder. No big deal. Just a guy who can shoot me dead if I so much as walk the other way.

The two look at the car and the driver comes over and opens the door. Chris takes me by the arm and leads me into the house. I give a low whistle, my eyes taking in every inch of the space. “You could fit my whole apartment complex in here.”

“You lived in an apartment?”

“Yep, just me and dear old dad.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She died when I was three.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How many people live here with you?”

“Just you and the housekeeper.”

Huh. That’s weird. “Then who am I babysitting?”

He walks me to the kitchen, my eyes zeroing in on the sprawling center island, a gleaming white marble with some subtle gray and black accents crisscrossing over it. A black and wood dome pendant light hangs above, casting a cozy, warm glow over us.

“Hold on to that cat,” he starts to say but she leaps out of my arms and hops over a gate at the far end of the kitchen.

“This is why I said she wasn’t safe here.” He curses under his breath, and I follow him around the marble-covered bar.

My heart skips a beat. Behind the gate are two adult Rottweilers with spiked leather collars. One of them sniffs and paws at the kitten as she rubs on his leg. The other drops to its belly and gets nose-to-nose with her. She meows and rubs her head against him.

I can’t help but cross my arms and snort. “Yeah, looks like her life is in real danger.”

He shakes his head, amusement crossing his handsome features. “Terrifying watchdogs, aren’t they? Well, there you go. Those are the children you’ll be babysitting.”

I whip around to face him, trying to see if he’s joking. “Y-your dogs?”

He nods. “Thor and Hercules. Listen, it’s late. I’m going to show you to your room. You can shower, watch television, whatever you want, but I have to get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Will the kitten be okay?”

He points to her curled up on Thor’s bed—I know because his name is embroidered in bold letters on the side. “What do you think?”

Despite our weird situation, I laugh softly. The safest place for this kitten is with the dogs.

I follow Chris up the stairs to the second floor. From here, I can look down on the entry and the huge living room. The heavy silk curtains, plush velvet sofa, two gilded mirrors, and of course, the chandelier—everything just screams luxury, and I wonder if I’m allowed to touch anything or if he’s worried I’ll just dirty the trappings of his wealth.

“Come on. It’s this way.” He leads me down the hall, and to be fair to the guy, he doesn’t snap at me whenever I stop to admire the antique furniture and artwork hanging on the walls. He patiently waits until I’m done.

We stop and he opens a door, showing me inside. He clicks on the light and the room comes into view. Oh wow. It’s huge with a plush, white carpet, a sitting area, and a king-size bed full of embroidered pillows and a duvet in shades of white and lavender. The walls are painted ivory, and the moonlight filters through the ivory lace curtains.

He walks across the room to show me the bathroom with its huge soaker tub, marble shower, and vanity table.

It’s like I’ve stepped into a different world. I feel so out of place here. I’m afraid that if I touch anything, it will disappear like a mirage under my fingertips.

“Uhm. This is really nice. But…since I had no idea I wouldn’t be coming back to my home anymore, I don’t have anything to wear to bed. What do I do about my clothes?”

Something flares in his eyes, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

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