Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(28)
Author: Jen Frederick

Chapter 15

WHEN I GET UP TO THE apartment complex, it’s late. I’m wondering if he’s gone by now, but the door at the end of the hall swings inward as soon as the elevator doors slide open. Ian stands framed in the doorway, fists at his side and a muscle jumping at the left side of his clenched jaw. His anger confuses me.

“Why are you upset?” I push past him.

He follows closely and kicks the door shut. “Your mom said you’d get home at ten and it’s half past midnight.”

He grabs my bike and we struggle a bit before I decide I’ll likely end up on my ass if I don’t let go. Giving in, I release the metal frame and watch as he lifts the bike onto the wall mount.

“What business is it of yours? You kidnapped my mother, but you aren’t the boss—” I pause because he is kind of my boss now. Trying for a more restrained tone, I ask, “How is she anyway?”

“She’s asleep. She was worried, by the way. She doesn’t like that you work for Malcolm.” His voice sounds labored, as if speaking in a normal tone is a chore for him. Even that gives me a petty sense of satisfaction. “We called.”

“I ran out of battery around ten. Sounds like you had a real cozy chat.” In the kitchen, I hunt around for food inside the refrigerator, which is packed with fruits and vegetables but none of the awesome Thai we had last night. “Where’s the leftovers?”

“Leftovers?” He clearly has no idea what those are.

My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten in hours. “You know, from the Thai food you had delivered?”

He looks befuddled. “Why do you want old Thai food? This is a full service building. There’s a chef on call twenty-four-seven. What do you want?” He holds out his phone. I finally notice he is out of his rumpled suit and is now attired in jeans, no shoes, and a blue T-shirt that’s so worn that it’s nearly white.

Food, Tiny. My stomach rumbles again. “Um, a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup.”

Eyebrows raised, he calls in the order. What a place. I walk over to look out into the dark park. Without the sun, the dense foliage looks eerie.

“How did you explain all of this?” I signal toward the living room. Mom had to have questions about the private room, the volunteer, and now this amazing apartment overlooking Central Park.

“I told her you were doing me a favor,” he says, joining me at the windows. “That this place has been unoccupied for several months, and I’ve been holding it off sale as a favor until the building is over half occupied.”

“So sell it.”

“I will. In fact, the broker came over and met your mother today. She promised to help keep it clean and that you and she would vacate the premises when it came time to move. Sophie understood that it was easier to sell if it looked like people were living here instead of a sterile staged place that couldn’t get off the market for some hidden reason.”

“Oh.” That sounded really reasonable. “I guess I won’t get used to being here. How long do we have?” I try not to sound completely deflated by this news. I’d spent the entire day justifying how it was okay to accept this generosity, only to find we will be pushed out soon. I cast a longing glance behind me at the marble counters and the white, shiny glass appliances. This place is so nice that stainless steel is too down-market.

“Long enough for you to find your own place. With the money I’m paying you and the money you’re likely getting from Malcolm, you should be able to find something better and safer than where you were living.”

The doorbell rings, and Ian strides over to retrieve my food. Less than fifteen minutes. That’s some amazing service.

“What’s this about insurance?” I ask, taking a huge bite of the grilled cheese. It’s delicious and I gobble down half the sandwich in no time.

“Jesus, Tiny, why is everything a battle?” He runs a hand through hair that already looks like it lost a fight with a pillow.

“Jesus, Ian, why does everything have to be your way?”

“My way is best.” He leans forward and grabs a bite of the other half of my sandwich. I bat his hand away and he retreats, sucking some extra cheese off his thumb. My lower body stirs at that simple sight.

“Arrogant much?”

He just smiles and taps the side of my plate. I finish eating in silence. Leaning back in the chair, I stretch and then pat my belly. “God, I’m going to sleep so good tonight,” I say absently.

Ian makes a sound—something between a grunt and a cough. “I hope so.”

“By myself,” I look at him reprovingly. “I want you to explain to me why I’m an employee of Kerr Industries. Is this for real? I thought the project was an off-the-books sort of thing.”

Instead of answering my question, Ian asks, “How many boyfriends have you had?”

The non sequitur is so bizarre that my answer tumbles out before I can stop it. “A few.”

“And did you have such an immediate visceral attraction that you couldn’t stop thinking about them? That thoughts of them interrupted meetings and business deals and evenings out with other people?”

The thought of what other people constitutes burns the back of my throat like an acid wash, but I’ve no right to be jealous that Ian has had other women. “So you’re saying that the sight of me in my spandex bike shorts made you instantly attracted?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s instant attraction followed by finding out other things that make you more intriguing.” He is leaning toward me now, both elbows on the table, fingers clasped together.

“Because I’m this challenge?” I roll my eyes and force out a laugh because earnest Ian is too much of a threat to my self control. It’s easier when I’m mad at him, when I’m counting all the imperious means he employs in an effort to control me. “That’s such a lame pickup line.”

“Do you know how many people tell me ‘no’ right now? Maybe five. None of them are sleeping with me. I won’t give you a sob story about how hard it is to meet women because obviously that is not a problem. The challenge is finding the right one who is more interested in things outside of what I can provide.”

“Really? Because you play so hard to get with your funds. Christ. The only reason I’m here is for the money.” I gesture toward the apartment.

“If I believed that for an instant, you wouldn’t be here,” he retorts.