Positively Pricked: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  "Then what is?"

  "Do I really need to explain?"

  He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "Go ahead."

  Desperately, I searched for the words. "Well, we had, I dunno, a fling I guess, and now it's over. Don't you think it would be a little awkward if I stayed at your place now?"

  His jaw tightened. "A fling."

  I gave a hopeless shrug. "I just don’t know what else to call it." I offered up a weak smile. "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

  He didn't even try to smile back. "No. You're not."

  Well, at least we agreed on something. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything that made me happy.

  From the look on Zane's face, he wasn't feeling so cheerful himself.

  Under his hard gaze, I started to wilt like soggy lettuce. Over the last day, I'd barely slept and hadn't eaten in hours. Plus, my house was squashed, and no one had bothered to let me know.

  If this wasn't a crappy morning, I didn't know what was.

  Just like too many other times today, I almost wanted to cry. In truth, it was kind of surprising that I wasn't crying already.

  I looked away and tried to think. But my thoughts were a cloudy, distorted mess, and the whole effort seemed like a giant waste of time.

  From beside me, Zane's voice cut through the clutter. "All right."

  I turned to face him. "Great." It was a lie, of course, because nothing about this was good, much less great.

  Zane glanced toward the limo. "You don't wanna stay at my place? Fine. I've got somewhere else. Stay there instead."

  Where? In one of his hotels? Oh sure, like that would end well.

  Summoning my last bit of resolve, I declined his offer and pulled out my cell phone. Again, I tried to reach Charlotte, and then my parents. As I made the calls, one after another, Zane watched in stony silence.

  Obviously, he wasn't thrilled with my decision. Neither was I, especially when nobody answered or called me back.

  In the end, what else could I do? I let Zane guide me back into the limo – not because I thought the idea was so terrific, but rather, because I was too worn out to argue.

  Turns out, that was a big mistake, because the moment we pulled up to the place he had in mind, I knew I couldn’t stay there, not if I wanted to keep my sanity.

  Chapter 63

  From inside the limo, I stared silently at the house. It was huge and beautiful, with a brick exterior and manicured lawn. And yet, I was almost too horrified to speak.

  Why? Because I knew the place. I'd even walked by. And what had I seen? Bob's daughter sobbing on the front lawn.

  And why was she sobbing? Because Zane Bennington, the guy sitting next to me, had kicked them out with zero guilt, zero kindness, and almost zero notice.

  In my mind, I could still see her, the young woman crying as the family's furniture was loaded onto the moving truck.

  And now, I couldn’t help but wonder, where was she staying now? I had no idea. Probably, neither did Zane. The only difference was, I cared, where he didn't.

  I was still looking at the house. "I can't stay here."

  "Why not?"

  "Because this is Bob's house, isn't it?"

  "No," he said, "it's my house, just like I said. And I'm telling you, you can stay."

  He was wrong. I couldn't. Regardless of my own situation, I couldn’t see myself building a nest, even for a single night, on the foundation of someone else's misery.

  I was still staring at the place. "You know what? I'll just get a hotel or something."

  "No. You won't."

  "Why not?"

  His voice hardened. "Because you owe me."

  I whirled to face him. "For what?"

  Zane leaned back in his seat. "I told you I'd be calling in a favor."

  I remembered no such thing. "When?"

  "Before New York."

  I tried to think. And then, it hit me. He must be referring to that conversation we'd had in his office, right after the Fergus flower fiasco. All too well, I recalled how relieved I'd been to learn that I wasn't being fired.

  In hindsight, it was almost funny. After all, it had only delayed my dismissal by less than two weeks.

  I told Zane, "You've got a lot of nerve. You know that?"

  "Maybe. But you're staying, anyway."

  I turned to look in the general direction of the guard shack. From what I'd seen as we pulled through the gate, security had been noticeably upgraded. The guard manning the gate now had looked more military than mall cop, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this new, upgraded security could be used to keep people in as well as keep them out.

  It wasn't a comforting thought.

  Testing my theory, I said, "Let's say I do stay. Can I leave whenever I want?"

  Zane's jaw tightened. "You're not my prisoner, if that's what you're asking."

  Heat flooded my face. Of course, it had been a stupid question. If he really wanted to keep me prisoner, he'd be dragging me into his basement, not offering me the use of a luxury home.

  In spite of my irritation, I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit ashamed. Already, he'd gone to a good bit of trouble on my behalf, and here I was, acting all paranoid.

  I was so confused, I didn't know what to do.

  Apologize?

  Thank him?

  Or run for the hills?

  I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think. Maybe I'd just stay for the night and figure everything out tomorrow, after a good night's sleep – assuming that I could sleep at all.

  In the end, I let him lead me out of the limo and into the house.

  Unfortunately, what I saw there only made me feel worse.

  Chapter 64

  Just inside the front door, I stopped and looked around, surprised to see that the place was fully furnished, complete with stunning artwork and an impressive array of Victorian antiques.

  This might've been a lovely thing, if only I hadn't seen these exact same pieces weeks ago, sitting out on the front lawn.

  I turned to Zane and asked, "Whose stuff is this?"

  He looked toward the far corner of the front room, where a stack of boxes sat near a stunning brick and marble fireplace. He frowned. "Don't worry. I'll have them hauled away tomorrow."

  I wasn't worried. I was disturbed. "I'm not talking about the boxes," I said. "I'm talking about the furniture. Whose is it?"

  He moved deeper into the front room. With his back facing me, he said, "It goes with the house."

  I followed after him. "This isn't Bob's furniture, is it?"

  He turned and gave me a long, penetrating look. Something in his eyes made me feel transparent and silly, like I'd been caught skulking around where I didn't belong.

  Still, I had to ask, "So, did you buy it off him or something?"

  "No." Zane looked away. "It's not his."

  Right. Just like this wasn't Bob's house. Funny how all that worked.

  And yet, I had seen the furniture being loaded up. Hadn't I? But if so, why was it still here?

  Zane said, "By the way, your car's in the garage."

  That made me pause. "What car? You don't mean the company car?"

  "It's your car now."

  "But—"

  "The fine print," he said with the ghost of a smile. "You should read it sometime."

  Obviously, he was referring to the severance agreement. At the time, I'd been too aroused to read much of anything. Now, I was beyond stunned. "Are you serious?"

  "I had someone bring it over," he said. "And just so you know, there's a parking pass on the windshield and an electronic card to open the gate. If you go out, you'll need them to get back in."

  I recalled Zane texting someone from inside the limo, but I hadn't realized it involved me. The whole thing was surprisingly thoughtful, which only made me feel worse.

  I reached up to rub my temples. "Thanks, but I actually feel kind of guilty."

  "Don't."

  But I did. And the mental whiplash was makin
g me crazy. Zane was being incredibly generous and thoughtful. And yet, he'd been so heartless with everyone else.

  Once again, I had to wonder, "Who is this guy?"

  Desperate for clues, I said, "About the boxes, who do they belong to?"

  He turned to give me another long look. "Does it matter?"

  "Well, yeah…" I gave a nervous laugh. "Like if someone stops by to get them, I'd need to know what to do, right?"

  From the look on his face, he thought the odds of this were pretty low. Still, in a tight voice, he said, "Hey, if their name's on it, they can have it."

  I asked no more questions, even as Zane showed me the alarm system and told me in no uncertain terms that he expected me to use it. He also assured me that in spite of the boxes, the house had been cleaned weekly, including the sheets, so I should take my pick of the bedrooms and make myself at home.

  Before leaving, he leaned close, almost like he might kiss me. But he didn't. Instead, he said, "We'll talk later."

  Was that a promise? Or a threat? Either way, all I could do was nod.

  And then, he was gone, leaving me sitting alone in the quiet house. Even with the furniture and boxes, the place felt big and empty, and nothing like an actual home.

  This shouldn't have been surprising. After all, this wasn't anyone's home – not anymore, and all thanks to Zane.

  And yet, I couldn’t help but love the other side of him – the side he'd shown me not so long ago. If I wasn't careful, I'd be falling hopelessly under his spell.

  I sighed. Who was I kidding? I already had.

  That realization only confirmed what I knew all along. I'd be smart to leave as soon as possible. Cripes, if I were really smart, I'd leave now, but I didn't quite have the nerve, not after he'd gone to so much trouble.

  I spent next couple of hours wandering through the house, opening the windows to let in the fresh air, and trying to pass the time while I figured out what to do – not just with my living situation, but with my whole life.

  Utterly overwhelmed, I finally sank down on the nearest sofa – which wasn't an antique, thank God – and closed my eyes, hoping it would help me think.

  It didn't.

  Instead, I drifted off, thinking of Zane, only to be startled awake by the sound of ringing.

  I sat up. It was a phone. But it wasn't my own.

  Well, that was odd.

  Chapter 65

  I sat up. The phone sounded like a landline. Funny, I didn't even realize the house had one – not hooked up, anyway.

  I stood and looked around. The ringing was coming from somewhere near the rear of the house.

  Suddenly curious, I began walking in that direction, listening as I went. I found the phone in the far corner of a small sitting room, jam-packed with boxes.

  The phone was cherry red in a classic, retro design. It was still ringing.

  I stared down at the thing. Should I answer it? Or let it ring? After all, the call couldn't be for me – unless, maybe it was Zane?

  Reluctantly, I scooped up the phone and answered with a tentative, "Hello?"

  But it wasn't Zane's voice that greeted me on the other end. It was the voice of an unfamiliar female, demanding, "Who's this?"

  "Uh, Jane. Who's this?"

  "Jane who?"

  I really didn't want to say, especially considering she still hadn't answered my question. "Sorry," I said, "but I think you might have the wrong number."

  "I do not," she said. "You're in my house."

  I cringed. Oh, crap. She sounded close to my own age, which meant that I was probably talking to Bob's daughter, the one who'd been crying out on the front lawn.

  I still hadn't responded when she spoke again. "And you're talking on my phone. Aren't you?"

  Heat flooded my face. "Actually, I'm not sure."

  "Is it red?"

  "Maybe," I admitted.

  "What, you don't know?"

  I did know. I just didn't want to say.

  She said, "So, what's the deal? Are you living there now?"

  I glanced around. Was I living here? Zane might say yes, but I'd say no. Splitting the difference, I settled on, "Not really."

  "What kind of answer is that?"

  Her open hostility was hard to stomach. And yet, I couldn’t exactly blame her. After all, I was in her space, using her things.

  Still, I couldn’t help but sigh. Why on Earth had I answered?

  She said, "I can hear you breathing, you know."

  I winced. "Sorry, it was just a sigh."

  "It didn't sound like a sigh to me."

  "Well, it was," I insisted.

  "So, what are you?" she asked. "His new squeeze?"

  And just like that, the house felt several degrees warmer. If she was talking about Zane, I'd been his so-called squeeze for one unforgettable night.

  But what was I now?

  I had no idea – well, other than some sort of mouth-breather, apparently.

  I told the caller, "I'm not his anything. But if this is about the house, I have no idea what's going on. So if you have any concerns, you should probably talk to Zane."

  "That prick?" She gave a bark of laughter. "You're kidding, right? Have you ever tried reasoning with him?"

  The question hit a little too close to home. "Maybe."

  "Oh yeah? And how'd that go?"

  I so didn't want to say. In too many ways to count, Zane was the most unreasonable person I'd ever met. Unfortunately, he was also the most fascinating. And sexy. And yes, sometimes, so protective and generous that he took my breath away.

  The caller said, "You don't have to answer. I know how it went. Terrible, right?"

  I bit my lip. "Maybe."

  "You keep saying maybe, but I know what that really means. You do know he only cares about himself, right?"

  I shoved a hand through my hair. "Honestly, I'm just a former employee, so–"

  "So, what'd he do? Fire you?"

  I mumbled, "Maybe."

  "I knew it! He does that all the time, you know." She made a scoffing sound. "I hope you got a good severance."

  My gaze shifted toward the front of the house. Oh yeah. I got a car and triple a year's salary. Actually, it was pretty amazing, and yet, the whole arrangement still made me uncomfortable. After all, what exactly had I been paid for?

  The caller gave a sudden gasp. "Oh, no. If you're there, what happened to my stuff?"

  "What stuff?" I asked.

  "Well, the boxes for one thing."

  "Nothing happened," I assured her. "They're still here, probably right where you left them."

  She made a sound of derision. "And why should I believe you? For all I know, you're using my stuff right now."

  "Trust me, I'm not using your stuff."

  "Oh sure..." Her tone grew sarcastic. "…says the person using my phone."

  Oh, for God's sake. "Well, I wouldn’t be using your phone if you hadn't called."

  "Hah! You didn't know it was me. I could've been anyone."

  "Maybe," I said through gritted teeth, "but you weren't."

  "But I could've been."

  We went back and forth a few more times, and I had to remind myself that her paranoia might be at least a little justified. After all, she'd been dealing with Zane for who-knows-how-long.

  He was enough to make anyone crazy.

  Finally I said, "Look, if you want the boxes, just come and get them." I hesitated. "I mean, of course, when Zane's around."

  "Oh suuuuure," she said. "And put them where, exactly? It's not like I've got room here."

  I didn't know where "here" was, but I saw what she meant. I tried to put myself in her shoes. How would I feel if some stranger was living in my house, using my things?

  I'd hate it. And I might even hate the person who was living there.

  In spite of my own troubles, my heart went out to her. "I'm really sorry. If there's anything I can do…"

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

  Because
she pounced on my offer faster than I could say, "What the hell was I thinking?"

  Chapter 66

  A half-hour later, I was parked at a gas station just a few miles away from Zane's neighborhood. Already, Kayla – meaning the caller – was ten minutes late, which gave me far too much time to consider the foolishness of what I was doing.

  And yet, on the phone, her request hadn't sounded too unreasonable. Had it?

  Even now, her words made a compelling case.

  "I just want to look."

  "It'll only take a few minutes."

  "I'm really worried. Can't you help?"

  But it wasn't until she started to cry that I crumbled like a stale cookie. So here I was, watching for a little red car and praying that I wasn't making a huge mistake.

  I was still waiting when my cell phone rang. I lunged for it and took a look.

  It was Charlotte.

  Finally.

  I skipped the hello and went straight to a frantic, "Hey, I've been trying to reach you."

  "Uh, yeah. I got your messages."

  I'd left at least a dozen, each more desperate than the last. "So about the house," I said, "Paisley said you knew, but she was lying, right?"

  Charlotte hesitated. "Uh, well…"

  "Oh, my God. She wasn't? So you did know?" My voice rose. "And you didn't bother to tell me?" I knew I was ranting, but I couldn’t seem to make myself stop. "Do you know what it's like to show up one morning and find your house squashed?"

  "No, but…"

  "But what?"

  "Well…" Charlotte hesitated. "You were supposed to call me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I kept asking you to call me before you came back. Remember? I even said it yesterday."

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Yesterday. After the thing with Bob, and then my argument with Zane, I hadn't been in the mood to talk to anyone, especially Charlotte, with all her sunny storybook predictions for me and you-know-who.

  When I made no reply, she asked, "So, why didn't you call?"

  "I don't know," I snapped. "Why didn't you tell me about my house?"

  After a long pause, she mumbled, "It isn't really your house."

  "What?"

  "I mean, it's just a rental. And you told me that you already packed everything you care about." She hesitated. "You know, because of your fight with Paisley?"