As we appear on the next floor, word has spread of our arrival and message. The department head is waiting for us and greets me with the same sentiment Penny did. After the introduction, back in the elevator, heading to the next floor, I state, "Now, we're cooking up some good juju juice."
He laughs aloud and shakes his head. "Juju juice?"
Afterward, walking out of the building together, I announce, "Not bad for a first day on the job, eh?"
"Not bad at all," Sebastian smirks.
17
Sebastian
When we arriveat Samaera's apartment, a crowd of curious neighbors has gathered outside. She comments, "Oh, my goodness. You've caused quite a scene."
I pull into the vacant spot Mickey's boys have been reserving for us. Samaera opens her door and gets out, causing me to scramble to catch up to her. Note to self: She needs to allow me to open her door for her. "Hey," I call out to her. "Wait up."
She stops, turns around, surprised, and says, "Oh, no! You are NOT coming inside."
I trot up to her. "Why not?"
"Because…." She shakes her head incredulously. "You're …. That!" She points at my car.
"So?" I look back at it.
"So!" Her hands go on her hips, and her face tips defiantly up to mine.
"So, YOU are a snob," I smirk at her. "And here you led me to believe you weren't. I'm disappointed."
"I'm not a snob!" She argues, insulted. "You put your very expensive pants on exactly the same way as Julio over there." She points at a banger leaning on the wall, high as a fucking kite, too stoned to be any trouble. He waves to her, and she waves back. "No offense, Julio. You doin' alright?"
He nods, "Yeah, babe. All good here. Just enjoying the new show."
"Then why can't I come up?" I push the issue more curious than ever now. "I'm NOT a snob."
"It's my safe space. Alright? And I don't want you in it. Ever!" She stomps her foot, and I see the fierce five-year-old little sister fighting for the right to be independent and not smothered by four overprotective big brothers.
"Why not?" I can't resist needing to know what her issue is now.
She takes a deep defeated breath. "Because when the time comes to walk away, and it will come." She nods her head knowingly and infuriatingly. "I will return to my safe haven and not have to deal with memories of you haunting every inch of my space." Then she twirls around and marches off, leaving me dumbfounded.
She thinks this is a short-term arrangement? I look at the door she waltzed through. Why don't I? Flabbergasted, I look over at Seth, the head of my security detail. He averts his eyes. Then I walk through that door, determined to bust down her barrier.
I start the climb up the flight of stairs, not knowing which floor she's on. At the third-floor landing, I find another member of my security team posted outside her door. When I walk up, he blocks the door with his arm. Apparently, given instructions that I'm not allowed in, he states the fucking obvious. "It'sherapartment, sir."
"And it'll be your goddamn arm in a cast for a month!" I spit.
He drops his arm, and I open the door. Of the things I expected to see in a low-rent apartment, an eye-popping bright, spotless, Skittle-colored couch is not one of them. Nor are the matching curtains hanging in the window.
I take a step in and observe her safe space. The entire place is clean and organized. Every book is lined up vertically on her bookcase. An open book is splayed on the coffee table. Potted plants fill the room with life. A coat rack holds nothing at the moment, but two pairs of summer shoes are lined up next to the door. A pair of flip-flops and a pair of Converse sneakers.
I hear her high heels clicking across the bare floor in the single bedroom.
The kitchenette is simple. There is a mini refrigerator with a microwave oven stacked on top, and on it sits a spice rack. A single sink holds her clean dishes. She has everything she needs to be self-sufficient without any of the clutter, making it appear larger than it is.
I hesitate to walk in further, but then I hear her drop something heavy on the floor. "FUCK! That hurt!"
I walk in, "Let me help you."
Her expression is pure mortification. She's sitting on a twin-sized bed, neatly made, without a wrinkle in it, holding her high heel in one hand and examining her big toe in the other. Lying on the floor is a gigantic dildo.
