Typist #2 Spanking the Billionaire Novel(19)

I couldn't help but giggle at the mention of flavored air. “That's ridiculous.”

“We're all ridiculous. We're basically monkeys with driver's licenses. I can't believe humans are in charge of the planet.”

“When did you email my mother?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“Was it last night at the picnic in the park? Or the other day, when we were at the little restaurant?”

“Neither.”

My mouth went dry. “Was it before I came up here?”

“Yes.”

“So ...” I grabbed onto the door frame, feeling weak as thoughts raced through my head.

“I do believe I fell in love with your photo. And I know this paints me in a negative light, but—”

He didn't finish, because I had my purse on my shoulder and I shoved past him. A moment later, I had my running shoes on and was out the front door, my heart pounding.

Though my body was confused, my head told me to run.

RUN!

I ran.

I ran down the shorter trail, the one that led to the highway. I'd thumb a ride into town, or maybe further. I'd go as far as I could.

Smith was yelling for me, calling my name.

My feet pounded the dirt, putting space between me and him. My stuff. I'd left behind my clothes and my hair dryer and … also the guy who'd lied to me. Omission of key facts was lying, plain and simple, and he'd done it. I couldn't trust him … certainly couldn't sleep in the same bed as him.

Gagging, I stopped to put my hands on my knees and catch my breath. Was I that out of shape? No, the tightness in my throat was emotion. I sobbed—animal moans, and then I threw up. As I dry-heaved, I heard the sound of an engine. Smith had gotten the quad and he was chasing me down.

I spat on the ground and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, then I started running again. It sounded like he'd gone down the other trail, which meant I could probably get to the road before he caught up to me.

There were no distance markers, but I ran as hard as I could. The engine noise got closer, and I considered dodging off the trail, but my legs were like rubber, and getting lost was the last thing I wanted.

The vehicle got closer.

I tried to talk myself out of a panic. Smith wasn't a serial killer, not as far as I knew, just … wrong. It was wrong to see a photo of some girl and then arrange for her to come work for you. That's exactly what I would tell him before I demanded a ride into town.

He stopped the vehicle ten feet from me and turned off the engine. He stayed there, not moving toward me.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“Don't be sorry. I'm just glad I found out now. You can give me a ride into town. It's the least you can do.”

He looked like he was being tortured, which made me furious. How dare he look upset? He wasn't the one who'd been shipped around like some thoroughbred race horse.

Smith said, “I want desperately to be honest with you. Can you forgive me for being so superficial? It's just that your mother seemed to have such a nice personality, and you were so cute, I figured it was worth a shot.”

I crossed my arms and hardened my voice. “I'm so flattered. No, really. I'm such a lucky girl.”

“Come back to the cabin. I have a surprise planned.”

I spat on the ground, my mouth still tasting of bile. “Oh goody. Another surprise.”

He looked down at the ground between us, his expression forlorn. “I didn't want you to know how silly I was, and now you think I'm … a stalker.”

“The word I'm thinking of is psychopath.”

“When the employment agency sent me a short list of names, yours seemed familiar, so I checked my email.”

I looked at him sideways as the picture in my head shifted.

“So … are you saying it's a coincidence I'm here?”

“Not exactly. The other candidates were more qualified than you, and had done similar work in the past. I think the employment agency sent me your name just to flesh out the list. I should have picked the fifty-year-old lesbian. I would be much further along with my work.”

My eyebrows shot up. “I'm sorry, what? I'm slowing your work down? Oh, that takes the cake.”

I turned around and started jogging down the trail again.

He ran after me noisily, saying, “Ow, ow, ow!”

He caught up to me and grabbed my arm, which, of course, I violently pulled away from him in indignation.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he said, running alongside me.

I looked down to see he wasn't wearing any shoes.

He kept running, over the exposed tree roots and stones on the path.

My ice started to melt. The idea that he'd come after me with no shoes … it did something to me. His bare feet softened my heart.

I stopped and faced him, my hands on my hips.

“Now what?” I said.