A Wifey for the Bad Boy(179)

“T-thanks,” Claire nodded, still a little shaken up. As they left, she turned to Ainsley. “Well, this is goodnight,” she said, trying to smile. “Thank you for staying—”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

Claire jerked her head up at the voice, her eyes connecting with Chad’s at the top of the stairwell.

“What are you doing here?” she frowned.

“Ainsley texted me,” he said, glancing around as he approached them. “You really live here?” he asked.

Claire could feel her face growing hot. “Chad Michaels, if you only came out here to insult me—”

“Of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve come to take you home. Well, to my home.” He was already reaching for her hand.

“What? No, I’m fine here! The police already came, and—”

“And left you with an empty apartment and a broken lock, I know.” Taking her arm, Chad began pulling her back toward the stairs. “Besides, I’ve got amazing security back at the house, and with all of your bad luck , I’d say that you need it more than I.”

Claire couldn’t argue with that, but she couldn’t just leave without checking her apartment over either. “I need to see if anything’s missing,” she said, yanking her arm back. “Give me a moment.”

“Oh, so you are coming then?” Chad smiled. Claire didn’t bother answering.

Her apartment, to her relief, wasn’t the torn up mess she would’ve expected after someone had taken the time to break her lock and get inside. Everything was just as she’d left it, though some of the papers at her makeshift desk were scattered on the floor. She stooped to pick them up, trying to remember what she’d printed and if any of them were missing.

“This is where you live?” Chad asked, peeking inside.

She could practically hear the, “It’s a bit small, isn’t it?” Shuffling her papers, she set them back onto her card table and grabbed her backpack, turning to her small dresser.

“Do grab more than one outfit,” Chad advised, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m not staying with you for very long,” Claire shot him a look. “Just until my lock gets fixed.”

“Oh, good idea—Ainsley!” he called into the hall. “Can you ring a local locksmith? Tell him that we’ll pay double for a speedy job.”

“You’re the one who invited me,” Claire muttered.

“Oh yes, of course,” Chad agreed. “I just don’t want anyone getting any ideas when they see your broken lock. Don’t want your neighbors suddenly making off with your belongings.”

He had a point, not that Claire would ever admit it.

She gently took two work suits from inside of her closet and rolled them up, placing them carefully at the bottom of the bag. Then, on second thought, she shoved a few jeans and t-shirts inside as well. As she went to her bathroom to grab her toiletries, Chad stopped her. “Please don’t think that we don’t already have plenty at the house,” he said, steering her back to the hallway.

“Sir,” Ainsley said, hanging up his phone. “A Jerry Samson will be here in the morning to repair her door.”

“Excellent,” Chad nodded. “Have a man here to meet him.”

“Of course,” Ainsley said, following them down the stairs.

As they got into the car and Chad urged her to sit in the back next to him, she put her bag on her knees and wondered when this had become her life.





Chapter 4

Claire was working late again. Smith had finally emailed her back, and had attached a picture of his work schedule that week. As she had suspected, he wasn’t working on the day the company claimed he’d attended a workshop. Plus, in his reply, Smith said that safety workshops weren’t a thing at the company, and that he’d certainly never been to one it they did exist.

Rubbing her eyes, Claire checked her watch. It was already midnight, and the realization left her blood cold. She quickly saved her work and stood up, shutting down the computer.

Chad hadn’t contacted her since that morning when they’d had breakfast together again. Ainsley had taken her to work, and Chad had texted her around noon that her lock had been fixed. It made her glad that she’d brought her bag of clothes with her—she could take the bus home and be done with accepting help from Chad Michaels.

As she stood, she slung the bag onto her shoulder and moved her purse over it. The bus would be arriving soon, and she knew that if she wanted to get home before one a.m. then she should start heading toward it.

She paused, half-bent to lock her desk drawer, when she heard a noise. It was a slight creaking noise, like a door opening. But she was the last one in the building.