Untitled Book 2(10)

 

“Other than to move to a different location?” she asks. “Ummm. About a month.”

 

Fuck.

 

No wonder she wanted to get out so badly.

 

“None of the guards, or whoever, could take you somewhere just to give you a change of scene?” I ask, feeling angry on her behalf. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. What kind of life did she have? Sitting inside a house and doing nothing?

 

“They prefer to have me in a controlled environment in case anything happens,” she says, not sounding angry over the fact.

 

“Then they’re obviously not very good at their job,” I say through clenched teeth. “Or they’re just fuckin’ lazy. Yeah, it’s an added risk, but if you take the proper precautions, I don’t see why you can’t go out now and again. If you don’t, you’re gonna go fuckin’ crazy.”

 

She shrugs her dainty shoulders. “I never really asked them to take me out, or badgered them about it.” She sighs dreamily, the sound making my dick harden. “Really happy to be getting away right now though.”

 

She never asked them or hassled them about it? No diva demands? Who is this girl? I’m starting to think I was wrong about her, at least about certain things. She was still rich and spoiled, but maybe she isn’t so bad as a person.

 

Maybe.

 

I should probably be asking myself why was I so angry. Over someone I didn’t know, and wasn’t even sure I liked. I’d thought she was like Eliza, but after just a few conversations with her, I think I might be wrong. I’m not usually one to judge others, in fact, I’m usually the one to be judged, but something about Shayla has me all fuckin’ twisted.

 

“Well, while I’m here we can go and do whatever you like,” I tell her, the words flowing out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. “I’d prefer to stay away from large crowds though.”

 

“Really?” she asks, and I can hear the hope in her voice.

 

“Really,” I say as I park the car in front of the sports store. “Stay by my side; don’t wander off anywhere, all right?”

 

She nods eagerly and opens her car door. I do the same, quickly walking around to her side. We enter the store in silence, and she follows me around as I grab some weights, a boxing bag, and some gloves.

 

“Do you want anything?” I ask her, scanning the store.

 

“No, thanks,” she declines politely. She’ll probably ask me to take her to some fuckin’ expensive designer store next, one I’ve never even fuckin’ heard of. I pay for my goods, my brows raising when she takes the bag and gloves in her hands to carry them to the car. She must notice my expression because she says, “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a spoiled brat.”

 

She storms off to the car, giant boxing bag in her hand, almost the size of her, making me feel a little bit like the asshole. I grab the two weights and follow behind her, opening the trunk, freeing my hands, then helping her.

 

“Thanks,” I murmur, slamming the trunk closed. “Where to next?”

 

She looks down at her hands and winces, her cute little nose scrunching up. “Kind of a weird request, actually.”

 

I stare at her expectantly. What is it? Prada? I rack my brain for another designer name but come up empty. I only know Prada because Faye, Sin’s wife, once bought herself a bag and we didn’t hear the end of it for a whole week.

 

“What?” I ask when she still doesn’t say anything.

 

“Can we go to a pet store?” she asks, glancing up at me. Fuck, she’s pretty. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women over the years, but there’s something about Shayla. Something that makes me want to protect her. Something that I’m sure as hell going to ignore.

 

“A pet store?” I ask, furrowing. “I don’t think now is the best time for you to be a pet owner.” I pause. “Unless you’re getting an already trained German shepherd or rottweiler.”

 

She purses her lips. “You asked, and that’s where I want to go. Will you take me or not?”

 

“All right,” I say, nodding slowly. “Pet store it is.”

 

She never does what I expect.

 

I don’t like it.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, how cute is she?” she beams, pressing the puppy’s nose against her own. I watch in fascination as she puts the black puppy down and picks up a tan mastiff-looking pup.

 

“Aren’t you adorable? Yes you are,” she coos, a peaceful expression on her face.

 

Of all the places she could have chosen, she wanted to come to a pet store.