CHAPTER 69

MELANIE.

THE SHRIEKING WOKE ME UP.

I blearily blinked the sleep out of my eyes and glanced around for the source of the noise. I found a maid standing frozen at the bottom of my bed, her mouth open in an unending scream.

Well, at least now I know who's been cleaning my room. Her terrified eyes locked onto mine and I just stared back at her in confusion and more than a little irritation. My head was beginning to pound from the rude awakening and the screaming wasn't helping either.

The next thing my bedroom door flew open and Lauren came rushing in. She spoke to the other maid in quick Spanish and that one paused long enough to shift her eyes down to her legs. Lauren looked down, gasped and suddenly seized the mop the maid had left in the corner and started prodding at something at the foot of my bed.

“I thought we had good security, how did this get in here?” she muttered. My sleepy brain clicked all of a sudden and I scrambled to the edge of the bed.

“No no no,” I said, bending over and picking up the cat before she could injure it.

They both stared at me like I had just confessed to wanting to kill them all as I cuddled the terrified cat close and gave them looks of disapproval.

“Great. Just when I'd managed to calm him down, you've set him off all over again.”

“What is that rodent doing in this house?” Lauren said slowly, giving the poor baby the stink eye. I held it even closer.

“It’s not a rodent. The poor thing tripped the alarm and fell into the pool early this morning”, I answered.

The maid escaped and Lauren took a deep breath.

“Melanie, Jordan will not allow you to keep it in the house. He hates cats.”

I smiled slyly, “Really? Then why did he agree to let me keep it just this morning?”

Lauren's eyebrows shot up, “He said you can keep it?” she deadpanned, folding her arms.

My answering nod was smug; the thrill of going against him and winning never got old.

“Sure did. You can ask him yourself”, I nodded toward the doorway and Lauren spun to look at Jordan.

He was already dressed in a royal blue suit and held a phone to his ear. He raised one eyebrow at the three sets of eyes– including the cat's– trained on him and told the caller to hold on. He dropped the phone, “What?”

My smile was steeped in syrup. “I was just telling Lauren how you gave me your consent to keep him”, I gestured to the more relaxed cat.

“Is that true?” Lauren prompted. Jordan's expression immediately soured as his eyes dropped down to the cat, who hissed at him.

“Same to you," Jordan muttered and I held back a laugh.

His gaze met mine and then Lauren's questioning one, and he did the same thing he did last night. He walked away.

“There’s your answer”, I declared.

“My word”, Lauren murmured. “You have got that man wrapped around your finger.”

I tensed, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t start acting oblivious now”, she wagged a finger in my direction.

“It’s clear as day, and he can be excused for being blind to it, but you can't.” Without further explanation, she walked out, leaving me to ponder her words.

I didn't want to think about it or read too much into it than there actually was, so I set it aside and flopped back into bed. I carefully laid the cat down beside me and just stroked it while looking into its eyes. I should probably go see a vet about its blindness; it couldn't be older than a few months so something could still be done.

“You caused quite a fuss this morning”, I started. The cat purred in response and I smiled.

“I know what it's like to be thrust into a new environment and having to interact with new people. You and I”, I tapped my index lightly on his little nose “are kindred spirits.”

He purred again and shifted closer to me, kindling a small possessive fire within me.

“I guess you need a name, and it has to be something really deep and meaningful” I muttered, more to myself than him even though I probably looked stupid for talking to it in the first place.

I was starting to drift off again while thinking up possible names when my phone buzzed under my pillow. Groaning, I ignored it and rolled over. Finally the insistent buzzing had me reaching under and pulling out the phone, wondering why I'd pushed Jordan so hard to get me one.

Allie's name pulsated on my screen and I frowned. I remember her giving me her number the day of that meeting where her boss got shot by a frustrated PA, and I remembered it formed most of the reason why I'd wanted a phone. But we only ended up hanging out three or four times, instead of the close girl bond I'd secretly hoped for.

We hadn't been in touch in a few weeks and now here she was blowing up my phone. As I stared at it contemplating whether to answer or not it stopped ringing, then started up again. I guess it must be kind of important if she was calling me several times. I swiped right on my screen.

“Hello?” I said tentatively. The only response was a stream of excited gibberish so I tried again.

This time Allie's voice came through. “Kick-ass girl!” she squealed.

“Hey Allie”, I smiled.

“I knew you worked for Jordan Alonso, but you didn't tell me you were besties with famous people too! If I didn't see it with my own four eyes I wouldn't have believed it”, she exclaimed.

I frowned in utter confusion; what the hell was she talking about? “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Oh, no need to act coy now. Like I said, I've seen it.”

The thin thread on my patience was fraying; it was way too early for all this excitement.

“Allie, you need to tell me what is going on”, I said in a tone that should make it clear that I really had no idea what was happening.

“You haven't seen Taylor Anderson’s Instagram story?" she asked and I frowned deeper.

“No. Why would I want to see–” Even as I spoke the memory of Taylor and my conversation during the car ride played back in my head.

She'd taken a picture and said something about posting it on her IG story. Why had I brushed it off when it happened? I quickly opened Google and searched her name while Allie prattled on about how Taylor was her favorite influencer and how she'd been dying to meet her.

The post finally came up and I looked at the picture of me facing forward in the car. She'd added an emoji of a chauffeur's hat on top of my head and captioned it with “Stuck in a lame Uber and an even lamer driver.”

I ignored the dig– on both me and the fine ass car- as a sick feeling crawled up my gut.

There was a reason why I didn't have a social media account or why none of my pictures could be found anywhere on the internet, and it wasn't because I was an introvert.

I've just been screwed over by a dumb high-society blonde, and she didn't even know it. Shit.