The VIP Room(19)

Suddenly my bright idea about hiding in the model home didn’t seem like such a good plan. I was completely isolated, surrounded by acres of mud and silent construction vehicles. No one to hear me scream. No one to help.

The silence of the truck shutting off, followed by the heavy thunk of a door closing had my heart thundering in my chest. What to do? I crab walked backwards into the kitchen and slid across the hardwood floor to hide behind the island. The houses here all had open floor plans. Attractive and practical unless you were trying to hide.

I lost the chance to make a run for the bedrooms when the front door swung open and the lights flipped on. Whoever was here had a key, then. That improved my chances a lot. At the realization of who it must be, my heart calmed, then sank.

Taking a risk, I peaked out around the side of the kitchen island to see who was at the front door. In the glare of the lights I saw a tall figure with broad shoulders, long legs, a lean waist, and a familiar shock of messy blond hair. Sam. Before I could stand up to reveal myself, he spoke.

“I already called the police, so I suggest you get your ass out here and explain yourself before you get arrested.”

I jumped to my feet, wishing with all my heart that I wasn’t wearing my now very wrinkled suit. It was bad enough that Sam was way out of my league. He didn’t need to see me looking like I’d been sleeping in my work clothes.

“Sam, it’s me. Don’t call the police.”

“Chloe?” he said in surprise. Belatedly I noticed he held a gun at his side, his arm tense and ready. He lifted the gun and did something to it before he shoved it in his waistband behind his back. “What the hell, Chloe? I could have shot you.”

“I didn’t know you had a gun,” I said. Not really the point. And kind of a dumb thing to say, but my head was spinning. For a moment, while he was holding that gun, he hadn’t looked like my Sam at all. He’d been menacing. Scary.

“Yeah, I have a gun,” he said. “And I didn’t call the cops. I called Axel. Hold on a sec. And don’t move,” he barked when I turned to go back to the couch.

He was angry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Sam angry. At least not at me. Sam never got mad at me. Not wanting to piss him off further, I stayed where I was, between the kitchen and the living room, and watched him make a call.

“It’s me,” he said, scowling in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. It was Chloe.” A pause. “I have no idea, but I’m going to find out. Yeah, later.”

Shoving the phone in his pocket, he pointed to the couch and said, “Sit.” I did.

“Did you forget that I had an alarm put on the gate and the spec houses after we had those problems with vandalism last month?” he asked.

Damn it. I had forgotten. Normally, as Sam’s assistant, I would have set up something like that, but one of Sam’s best friends was Axel Sinclair, who ran the western division of Sinclair Security. Sam had taken care of the arrangements himself. And since I was rarely on site without Sam, it had slipped my mind. Deciding to keep my mouth shut for the moment, I said nothing.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your apartment? What happened? Chloe, are you alright?”

At the open concern in his last question, I burst into tears. I could have held out against anger, but I had no defenses against worry. Not from Sam. I clapped my hands to my eyes trying to stem the flow of tears and calm my hitching breaths when I heard him swear and get up. A moment later he was sitting beside me, pulling me into his arms.

My head fell against his chest and I melted, giving up for the moment on trying to be strong. Sam was here. As long as Sam was here, I was safe. At least for right now.

I’d been Sam Logan’s assistant for three years and had been head over heels in love with him for almost all of them.

Sam was smart. Handsome in a way that meant he looked equally good dressed for the construction site as he did in a suit. And he couldn’t have been less interested in me. He was a great boss. A good friend. And I knew he cared about me. He had to, otherwise why would he be sitting here letting me cry all over him? But he’d never love me.

I knew that. I’d watched him date a succession of tall, slender, dramatically beautiful women over the years in a series of casually monogamous relationships. And having seen every one of his girlfriends up close at one time or another, I knew why he’d never look at me.

I was a nice person. I was loyal, caring, and fun. But I wasn’t tall, skinny, or beautiful. I guessed I was pretty enough. I’d had a few boyfriends who seemed to think so.

My hair and my skin were my best features. My skin was smooth and almost pore less. I’d tell you what moisturizer I use, but it wouldn’t help since it’s been this way my whole life, no matter what I put on it. And while my hair was a boring light brown, it was shiny, with curl and body. The rest of me was a bit of a let down. If I was feeling generous, I’d call myself curvy. Very curvy. Most days I just felt plump. And I was kind of short. If you picture the opposite of Sam’s tall, slender, model girlfriends, you’d get me.

So we were friends, but that was all we’d ever be. Most days I was okay with that. I really hadn’t dated much in the past two years, once I finally admitted to myself how I felt about Sam, because every other man just didn’t measure up. Right then, terrified and tucked safely into Sam’s arms, I wasn’t regretting that he’d never love me. I was just grateful he was there.