Chapter 1
Seven minutes inside a hotel room with a total stranger; that’s become my life. A friendly greeting where we pretend to be great friends who are genuinely happy to see each other, and then straight to business. None of it meaningful. None of it real.
All of it rehearsed, choreographed, and expected. But of course, we try to act like it’s not.
Then, as fast as it starts, it’s over. Polite good-byes, a quick handshake, and the visitor is rushed out the door, passing the next appointment as they arrive for their seven minutes of allotted time. Once this new body enters the room, the entire process starts again.
Yesterday, there were fifty interludes because my life is not actually lived; it’s performed. And yesterday, each performance lasted about seven minutes.
I don’t know yet what kind of performance will be expected out of me today. My life is not my own anymore. I pretty much go wherever I’m told and put on the show. It’s my life, and whether I chose it or not, it’s the life I’ve got.
That’s probably why I have the dreams I do. They aren’t ever nice, pleasant dreams. I’m always either chasing after something or looking for something. Last night, in the few hours of sleep I managed to get, I dreamed that I was searching for a car in a large parking lot. I had to be somewhere, but I couldn’t find the car, so I wasn’t going to make it.
I’m searching in my dreams and in my life, always searching. I just don’t know what for.
My cell phone rang. I tried to ignore it but couldn’t. The reality of a new day was impossible to ignore, and I didn’t have much choice but to go ahead and face it head on.
I opened my eyes, but the room was too dark to see anything. The heavily lined curtains were doing a great job of hiding the fact that the sun was up outside and a new day had started, but I felt like I’d just finished the night before and desperately needed more sleep.
My hand fumbled around the nightstand until it finally landed on my cell phone.
“What?” I asked as I put it to my ear.
“This is your wake-up call,” James said. His voice was just as groggy and angry sounding as mine. “Plane leaves in three hours.”
“Yeah.”
I jammed another pillow under my neck and slapped myself in the face several times. Early mornings and I hated each other. We were mortal enemies, and they somehow managed to kick my tail every time we went into battle.
“Where am I going today? I’ve lost track,” I asked.
“Come on, Cab. Get with it. You’re done promoting. No more press junkets for a while. You’re heading to Asheville to hide out at Oliver’s. Remember?”
“Oliver?”
“That movie producer I’ve been trying to get you to meet with.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Are you hung over?”
“No. I told you I wasn’t doing all-nighters anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since almost two months ago.”
I rubbed my eyes, but it was more from irritation than sleepiness. My manager drove me crazy at normal hours of the day, and having to listen to him first thing in the morning was worse.
“You sound hung over.”
“I’m not. I’m worn out. I sat and did interviews for nine hours yesterday, interviews you set guys up, by the way. So don’t give me grief if I sound bad.”
“Hey, I was just checking.”
“Whatever. What time is the car coming?”
“Ten.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I slammed the phone shut and threw the comforter off the bed. The cold air on my skin helped wake me up to the point that I could finally swing my legs over the side of the bed, sit, and try to form a complete thought.
I was in Australia, had been for two days or something like that. In three hours, I would be on another plane, and in twenty-four hours, I would be on another continent. Nothing out of the ordinary.
I looked over at the empty space next to me. Sofie must have left after I fell asleep. We never actually spent the night in each other’s room. More than likely, I wouldn’t even see her before my plane left. I was relieved.
I rushed to get dressed before finally opening the curtains to let the sunlight explode into the room. I was blinded until my eyes adjusted to the brightness.
Even before opening the balcony door, I heard cars honking and traffic roaring on the street below the hotel suite I’d been hiding away in for the last thirty-six hours. There was nothing peaceful about the paradise I was located in. As a matter of fact, there was nothing peaceful about anything. Not anymore anyway.
I unlocked the door, slid it open, and walked to the edge of the balcony.
Instant screaming.
Noise—it was everywhere I went and never ending.
The bright sunlight made it difficult to see, but I didn’t really need to be able to see. I knew exactly what was on the sidewalk below me. A throng of young girls and women mixed in with several photographers. I gave them a quick wave (which brought out more screaming) and then dashed back into the room, locked the door behind me, and threw the curtains shut.
I knew better than to walk outside, but in my grogginess—and to the delight of those waiting below—I hadn’t thought things through. Pictures of my messy morning look would be zipping around the Internet before I could count to ten. Worse, I was shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. My mother would be horrified, my agent thrilled.
“Room service,” a voice outside the hotel door announced.
I threw on some jeans while checking through the peephole to make sure it was actually a waiter and not a fan. I opened the door and let him wheel the cart into the room and neatly place the plates, silverware, and glasses on the dining room table. Once everything was in place, he pulled off the lids, revealing an egg white omelet, turkey bacon, and perfectly toasted wheat bread with no butter.
“Have you enjoyed your time in Australia?” he asked as he poured a cup of coffee.
“I don’t even think I left the hotel.”
“Oh.” He set the carafe down and then motioned toward the food. “Is this satisfactory?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed slightly before sneaking out the door and leaving me alone in the huge, overly decorated room.
I took one look at the food and put the cover back on. I was sick of hotels and hotel food. I wanted Lucky Charms with 2 percent milk, although if I did eat that particular meal and admitted it to my trainer, I’d end up spending an extra hour or two in the gym.
My exit from the hotel was as perfectly choreographed as a dance number in a hip-hop video. The limo driver called when he was less than three minutes out, at which time I threw on my ball cap and sunglasses, threw my sweatshirt hood over my head, left my room, and jumped onto the elevator, where Andrew, my bodyguard, and three other men were waiting so that they could come between me and whoever decided to throw themselves at me as I walked through the lobby.
Against the urging from my security detail, I detoured from the plan and walked to the reception desk as we made our way out. My appearance startled the small brunette standing behind the counter.
“Hello,” I said, leaning on the counter.
“Uh…uh…h-h-hello. How can I help you, Mr. Stone?”
“I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the hotel and staff.”
“Well, thank you.”
“No. Thank you. I—”
Before I could finish my thought, Andrew shoved me toward the exit. We raced through the lobby, out the front door, and into the screaming masses. I scribbled my signature on the photos that people held in front of me, said a few hello’s and thank-you’s while avoiding returning any I love you’s. As crazy as some fans were, if I were to say the magical three words, they might actually believe I meant them.
The three words have zero effect on me. How many I love you’s can one person hear in their lifetime before every voice starts to sound the same and the words themselves become meaningless? I’ve often wondered if even hearing them from someone I wanted to hear them from would have any effect on me, if I’d be able to let it into my heart and into my mind while at the same time keeping all the other proclamations of the same thing from others outside. Could I believe it and accept it from one while ignoring it from the masses?
It was funny because the fans didn’t know me enough to really love me, and if they really knew me, they wouldn’t love me at all. They loved the idea of me or the characters I portrayed. Me, on the other hand, they didn’t know a thing about; and honestly, I’m not so sure I did either.
Andrew announced that I’d given enough autographs and had to leave before shoving me into the waiting limo. We drove off, leaving the screaming mob to run after us until the driver gained enough speed to leave them in our dust.
More screaming fans lined the airport entrance, and paparazzi stood and snapped picture after picture as I placed my bags on the conveyer belt at the security station. Again, I tried to ignore them as they yelled my name in hopes that I would look their direction. The sounds of camera shutters increased in speed when I triggered the alarm on the metal detector and had to pull everything out of my pockets, hold my arms up, and spread my legs so I could be searched by a civilian employee wielding a metal-detecting wand.
I’d seen my picture splashed across enough magazines to know what type of shot they were looking for. These pictures would be a hit, and the paparazzi would be able to feed their families for months simply because I got stopped and wanded at the airport.
Finally through the security barrier, I was in the clear. If I lowered my cap over my eyes and kept my head down, I could remain relatively unknown until I was safely on the plane. In normal everyday clothes and with my head covered, I blended in with everyone around me. There was nothing extraordinary about me.
I waited for the plane to arrive by hiding out in the airline VIP lounge and waited until the final call before finally boarding the plane, strapping myself into my first-class seat, and stretching my legs out.
I couldn’t wait to escape the madness.
Chapter 2
Oliver’s vacation home was hidden on several acres of tree-filled land far away from the city limits. After driving through the gate off the main road, it was still an extra quarter of a mile drive up to the house and away from the attention of others. Once the taxi dropped me off, it was just me. I was alone, and it was quiet. I liked it a lot.
I never used to like to be alone, but now, given the circumstances, I couldn’t wait to get away from people. Time to get away from the noise and the distraction, time to think clearly and contemplate life, something I hadn’t had time to do in over a year. Life was moving at such a fast pace that I didn’t have time to think about what I’d eat for breakfast, let alone what I wanted to do for the next five years of my life. I hadn’t chosen this life; it chose me, and now I was left with trying to get on board and enjoy the ride.
After giving myself a tour of the main house, I grabbed my luggage and carried it to the guesthouse, which would be my home for the next few months.
The front door and window off the main room looked on to the elaborate pool, and the bedroom, which was at the back of the small house, looked into the forest. There must have been good nature viewing, because an overstuffed chair was situated in front of the window and binoculars sat on the small side table, along with a book about birds and other animals that wandered the forests in this part of the country. I hoped the slower pace never became so underwhelming that I’d actually make use of the book or binoculars. I couldn’t imagine anything being more boring.
I unpacked my stuff, threw all my clothes into a pile on a chair, slid the suitcases under the bed, and then stood, looking around the room. I’d been waiting months for a chance to relax, and now that I had the opportunity, I didn’t have a clue what to do with myself. I had books I could read, but I wasn’t really interested; business to do, but I certainly didn’t want to do that; nature to watch out the window; movies I could watch on pay-per-view; or I could sleep.
I chose sleep and evidently needed it, because I didn’t wake up until midmorning the next day.
A quick search through the small kitchen revealed stocked cabinets but no coffee, which, at that moment, was what I wanted most in the world. Coffee was my life-blood, and survival without it felt close to impossible.
Oliver gave me permission to help myself to anything on the property, so I walked to the main house and forged through the kitchen. I didn’t fail to realize that it was the first time breakfast hadn’t been prepared for me in over six months.
I’d just found the coffee maker when a fiery redhead stumbled into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt that hit her mid-thigh. Even with her hair in total disarray, she was stunning—stunning and surprised to see me.
I wonder if Oliver gave me permission to help myself to her?
“I didn’t think anyone was home,” she grumbled.
“Only me.”
“Only you?” Her legs were long and lean but not too skinny like the girls back in Los Angeles. They had some muscular definition to them. And they were white, very white, like they rarely saw sunlight.
She tried to run her fingers through her rat’s nest hair but gave up and somehow managed to tie it into a knot on the back of her head as she wandered aimlessly around the kitchen. Her eyes were only partially open, and she looked a little worse for wear.
“Hung over,” I assumed.
She stopped wandering and looked over at me, her eyes squinting. “Pardon?”
“A few too many drinks. I’ve been there, done that…a lot.”
She shook her head and laughed, showing bright white teeth. “No. Not quite. It’s jet lag. I just got in a few hours ago, and I feel like rubbish.”
She sounded British. “Then you might want to get outside,” I said.
Some of the hair she’d just tucked behind her head fell back in her face as she flipped her head, looked toward the glass doors off the kitchen, and squinted more heavily.
“Get outside and do what exactly?”
“Get some sunlight. That’ll help with your jet lag.”
“Hmm.” When she looked back at me, her eyes opened enough to reveal that they were hazel. She re-tucked the loose piece of hair.
Does she really not know who I am? Is that even possible? Everyone knows who I am. My God, I’m an arrogant jerk.
“Are you a physician?” she asked.
No. I’m an arrogant jerk. “Not even close. I’ve just done some travel of my own,” I told her.
“I see. Splendid.” Rummaging through the refrigerator, she pulled out some eggs before turning back to me. “In hopes of clarification, would you be so kind as to tell me who are you and why you’re in my uncle’s kitchen?”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes. Oliver is my uncle.” She picked the fry pan off the stove and cranked up the heat before turning to me. “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you, and should I deck you with this pan instead of cooking with it? I pray to God I don’t have to deck you, because I really don’t have the energy for it.”
Is this girl from another planet? “I’m Cabot. Oliver’s letting me live in his guest house for a while.”
Her face lit up a little. “Oh. You’re him,” she said with a nod as she dropped the pan back onto the stove.
So she does know who I am but just doesn’t give a rip?
“I apologize. I’m feeling a bit daft this morning. Not thinking properly at all.” She cracked an egg into the skillet, but most of it ran down the outside of the pan. With a moan, she grabbed the skillet and scraped the egg into the trash with her finger. “I’m about to nod off. Why am I trying to cook?”
I walked toward the stove and, afraid that she might actually hit me, carefully grabbed the skillet out of her hands while leaning as far away from her as I could. At least if she was going to hit me, she wouldn’t get my face. “Here. You sit. Let me do this.”
She leaned back and pulled the pan away from my grasp and up into the air. I think I might have cowered. I do know for a fact that I threw my hands in front of my face in defense and waited to get pounded. As she tried to figure out whether or not to hit me with the pan, I studied her face. Her skin was pale, smooth, and covered with light red freckles.
Finally, she relaxed and even smiled a little. “Lovely. Thank you.”
“Sure.” I snatched the pan out of her hand and tossed it onto the stove. “So you’re Kei?”
She nodded as she leaned against the counter.
“You’re a girl,” I added.
“One moment.” She pulled out the neck of her shirt, looked down at her chest, and cocked her eyebrows. “Yes. I do have bits, although not very large ones, so I suppose I am.”
Bits? Her frankness caught me completely off guard, and I didn’t know if it was safe to laugh or not, so I just pretended it didn’t faze me. “Um…um…they told me that someone named Kei was coming for a visit, but I didn’t realize you were a girl.”
“I apologize for disappointing you.”
“I’m not disappointed. How do you want your eggs?”
She left my side and sat down at the kitchen table. “Over easy. Thank you.”
“So why the jet lag? Where’d you come from?”
“Uganda.”
“Uganda, Africa?” It practically is another planet!
“Yes.” She laid her head onto the table and watched me from the corner of her eyes. “I attempted to sleep on the flight, but it was bloody uncomfortable. Nineteen hours crammed in the middle seat of an aircraft is my definition of hell. Not literal hell, of course. I presume that’s much, much worse, but it’s close enough to hell for me on this planet. And unfortunately, I experience that particular hell on a yearly basis. It’s atrocious, simply and utterly atrocious.”
“Sounds miserable. Salt?”
“Yes.”
“Yes to which, being miserable or salt?”
“Both.”
“Why don’t you go sit out on the patio? I’ll bring your food out there. Do you want cream or sugar in your coffee?”
“Coffee and I don’t care for one another, actually. I boiled water for tea. There are tea packets over there on the counter. I brought them from home.”
“What do you put in it?”
“Raw sugar and powdered milk. Would you like some?”
I hate tea. “Sure, but I’ll do it. I don’t trust you with a kettle of boiling water.”
“Everything’s right there on the counter. I usually do two scoops of each.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you good then?”
“I’m all good. Just get outside. You need the melatonin.”
She saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“And don’t wear sunglasses,” I yelled at her over my shoulder. “The whites of your eyes need to absorb the sunlight.”
“Whatever you suggest.”
The door slammed behind her as she stumbled onto the patio and finally fell into a chair, although she managed to do it with some grace.
I threw some bread in the toaster and got busy making eggs. I glanced out at her every once in a while and noticed that she wasn’t paying me any attention. As a matter of fact, she acted like I didn’t even exist.
The fact that she didn’t recognize me made a little more sense. She lived in Africa. What were the chances anyone would know me there? Maybe I should move to Africa.
I was strangely relieved that there might be somewhere in the world I could still go without being mobbed, even if it was a village in the middle of the African plains.
As soon as I started to believe her story and accept that maybe she didn’t actually know who I was, my mind flipped the opposite direction and I thought that I might be part of a prank. Without wanting to be obvious, I scanned the kitchen for mirrors or anything reflective that might actually be a two-way mirror with a camera sitting behind it, capturing my reaction on film for all the world to watch on MTV or YouTube.
I looked back at her again. Still not paying a lick of attention.
Several minutes later, when I walked onto the patio, her eyes lit up as I sat the plate in front of her.
“Blimey, this looks amazing.”
“Thanks. Don’t get too impressed; they’re just eggs.”
My eyes scanned the backyard for anything that might look out of place or fishy. I saw nothing. All the windows were clear enough to see into the house, and there weren’t any buildings outside, other than the guesthouse I’d just come from.
My paranoia calmed a little as I sat down across from her.
“Still, I’ve never seen eggs look so nice. Are you a foodie or something?”
A foodie? I assumed she meant cook or chef. “No. I’ve just made an egg or two in my time.”
“You know, it’s hard to make the perfect egg over easy, but I think you did it.”
“Enough about the eggs.”
She cut them with her fork before stacking some on a piece of toast. “It’s an abominable shame they’ll be gone in less than sixty seconds. How’s your tea?”
“I haven’t tried it yet.”
“Why the wait?”
“I need it to cool some.”
A one-sided smile formed on her face before it disappeared when she took a large bite.
I blew on my tea and watched her while she ate. She mostly ate with her fingers but did it with style. The procedure was a strange combination of polished and indigenous. Combining the way she ate with the way she talked, she was fascinating. The girl slipped in and out of talking with a British accent like someone slipping in and out of silk sheets, with ease. It was downright sexy.
“So tell me about yourself, Kei.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“What if I prefer not to clue you up on anything?”
“Come on. You came from Africa. It’s intriguing. I just made you breakfast. The least you can do is tell me a little.”
She shrugged as she scooped more egg onto the toast. “I’m twenty.”
Not jailbait. Go on.
“I live with my parents in Gulu a portion of the year and here with my aunt and uncle the other portion. I’ve lived that way for years.”
“And you’re British?”
“No. My nanny was British. Blame her for the way I talk. Actually, between my Southern parents, my British nanny and tutors, and my Acholi housekeepers, cooks, and friends, you never know what might come out of my mouth. I can also cuss like a sailor, although a thousand rounds of soap in the mouth banned the foul language from my vocabulary for the most part.”
“And who taught you to cuss like a sailor?” I must personally thank this person.
“One of my tutors, but it was our secret. It’s the only way he could get me to pay attention during mathematics. Oh, and my cousins from here in the States. I suppose they got a lift out of hearing their all-too-holy cousin talking like a man just out of prison.”
“I’m sure they did. And what does your dad do in Uganda?”
“He’s a Devil Dodger.”
The term caught me off guard, and I almost dropped my mug of tea. “A what?” I shook the spilled hot liquid off my hand and tried not to show that I was in pain.
Her head tilted, like she was surprised I didn’t know what a Devil Dodger was. “A Devil Dodger…you understand? A Sky Pilot, God Botherer, Holy Heckler. You understand? A preacher…missionary.”
“Missionary?” I spilt my tea again. “As in spread-the-gospel missionary?”
“That’s the type.”
“Very interesting.” Crap. She’s got morals.
“You think I’m batty, right? A lunatic?”
“No. Like I said, I find it interesting.” And depressing.
“Anyway,” she said, taking her last bite, “that’s about it.”
“That’s about it?” I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You talk about living in Africa like everyone does it, like it’s no big deal.”
“It isn’t a big deal tome. Africa is amazing, but you’d get an ear-bashing if I gabbed on about it. I doubt you want to hear it.”
“You’d be wrong. I’m willing to sit and listen for hours.”
Her eyebrows cocked. “Well, that’s extremely pitiful of you.”
“What?”
“Being willing to sit and listen to me for hours. It suggests that you don’t have much of a life?”
“I guess I don’t.”
For the first time since we met, she took a few seconds to look at me. I mean, really look at me, like she was trying to read something from the way I looked or sat or maybe from what I wasn’t saying. Her eyes were clear, piercing even, and looked right through me, or at least that’s what it felt like.
Then she shrugged as if she’d gotten nothing out of her inspection. “Then you’ll have to wait until I’m fully awake. I can’t put together a complete thought right now, and if I’m going to bore you to tears, I might as well do it brilliantly.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
She grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and held it in place as she pulled her legs up and put her feet on the chair. The sweatshirt jammed between her legs kept me from getting a show, but I couldn’t stop myself from checking every once in a while just to make sure, although I managed to do it when she wasn’t looking my direction, which was most of the time. She hardly even knew I existed.
“So what about you?” she asked, reaching for her tea. “What did you say your name was?”
“Cabot.”
“And what’s your story, Cabot?” she asked just before taking a slurp of her tea.
Lie. It’s time to lie like a dog. “Nothing. I don’t really have a story.”
“Everyone has stories.”
“Oh, I have a lot of stories. It’s just that none of them are mine.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Multiple personalities?”
“Practically.”
“Look. If you don’t want to fess up, I won’t make you.”
“As if you could make me do anything.”
The crooked smirk briefly appeared on her face again, but it was partially hidden behind her mug. “Oh, I could make you,” she lightly threatened.
I wish you would. “You could?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“I can’t unveil my secrets, Cabot. I lose my power if I do.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Okay. Then we’ll both keep our secrets to ourselves. Thanks for the eggs.” She kicked her feet off the chair, stood, grabbed her dirty dishes, and went inside without another word.
I waited a good ten minutes before realizing that she wasn’t coming back outside and figured that if this were some sort of prank, someone would’ve gotten bored and stopped the entire thing a long time ago. Not to mention, her story was too good. Who would make up something like that?
I accepted that she was for real and honestly didn’t know who I was. But still, her lack of interest in talking to me left me completely confused. Even if she didn’t know who I was, we were the only two people within a ten-mile radius. You would think she’d at least want a little company.
Choking down the last gulp of tea, I debated in my mind whether or not to take the cup back inside. If I did, there was a chance of seeing Kei. If I didn’t, there was no telling how long it would be before I saw her again. I wasn’t willing to wait.
I jumped out of the chair and made my way back into the house. She wasn’t in the kitchen, and I didn’t see or hear her down the hallway. Thinking some noise might draw her attention, I dropped the mug into the sink, and clinked it around in the soapy water with the other dirty dishes. It didn’t work.
I gave up and decided that if I wanted to see her, I was going to have to go hunt her down.
“Hello?” I walked slowly down the hallway and looked into each of the rooms as I passed. “Kei?”
“Did you need me?”
My eyes trailed up the stairs until they landed on her as she looked over the railing. She’d put on a pair of sweatpants, and it upset me deeply.
Still, something about her made me unable to speak. I was now a stuttering idiot who could barely put together a sentence. “Uh…uh…I-I-I just wanted to thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned to head back into the room.
“G-guess I’m going to head back out to the guest house.”
“Okay,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you.”
“What do you mean?”
I made it halfway up the stairs after her before she turned back around.
“My uncle left me a note instructing that I stay out of your way. He said that you prefer privacy.”
“He told you that?”
“A note told me that, yes.”
She disappeared into the room, and I was afraid she was gone for good, but in just a few seconds, she came back out with a basket of dirty clothes and walked toward me down the stairs.
“I like a little privacy, but I’m not a recluse or anything,” I explained as she passed.
“Well, I’ll be here at the house, piddling about and minding my own business. If you get lonely, come and find me. Otherwise, you won’t see or hear from me.” She dropped the basket onto the floor next to the bottom step. “Will it bother you if I swim in the pool at some point? I won’t make a row or anything.”
“A row?”
“A ruckus. Noise. I won’t make noise.”
“Oh, and no. You hanging out in the pool won’t bother me a bit.” I’d enjoy the scenery.
I followed her back into the kitchen like a puppy follows his master when he knows he has a treat hidden in his hand. It was pathetic, but I didn’t necessarily care, and she didn’t seem to notice. I wasn’t registering on her radar. It was driving me crazy.
“Back home, we have hot tea available all day. I plan on leaving that carafe over there on the counter. It will stay full of hot water. If you ever want some, just help yourself.”
“I will.”
She snatched a piece of paper off the refrigerator and scanned it with her eyes. “Let’s see if he says anything else about you on here.”
My mind raced with the idea that the note might reveal who I was. The fear of being exposed made me realize that although my ego was bruised by the fact that she didn’t recognize me, the rest of me liked the fact that she didn’t recognize me and didn’t want her to discover my identity.
“Okay. The guest house is cleaned on Wednesdays, so you should have your belongings picked up.”
“I can do that.”
“Grocery shopping is done on Thursdays, so have your list of needed items to me before then.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll leave the back door unlocked so you can come and go as often as you like. I understand that the guesthouse can start to feel a little cramped after a while. We’ve got films and such in the theater room if you get bored, and I play a brilliant game of pool if you’re ever up for a challenge. That’s about it.”
I was in shock. The girl was completely unfazed by me. She wasn’t nervous or shy, and she wasn’t shrieking at a deafening volume every time I ran my fingers through my hair, smiled, or spoke. She wasn’t even speechless. She was normal. I hadn’t seen normal from anyone in a long time, unless it was from my parents and sisters. I’d forgotten just how much I liked it.
“Cabot?”
I’d been thinking and didn’t hear what she said. “What?”
“Did you need anything else?”
“No.”
“Aces.” She held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Grabbing her hand in mine, I gave it a shake. Her hand was small, but the handshake was firm.
“Likewise, Kei.”
She disappeared from sight before I could put together another sentence.
After less than half an hour, it was already obvious that I was going to be looking for excuses to visit the main house.
The normal girl who saw me as a completely normal guy was nothing less than extraordinarily interesting but didn’t seem to find me extraordinary at all.
Chapter3
With the cell phone to my ear, I walked circles around the small kitchen in the guesthouse.
“What kind of teenage girl lives in Africa, preaches the gospel, and doesn’t see movies or read magazines but cusses like a sailor and walks around in nothing but a sweat shirt?”
“Horny church girls that are hoping to get hooked up with a millionaire,” James said from the other end of the phone.
“But she didn’t even know who I was.”
“She acted like she didn’t know who you were. She knows who you are, Cab. Everyone knows who you are.”
“Not everyone.”
“There might be a few people left on the planet who don’t.”
“Like people in Africa?”
“She knows.”
“I don’t think so. I could tell. She didn’t have a clue.”
As I got more anxious, I wandered out of the kitchen and paced back and forth between the bedroom and living room while listening to James pontificate about the redheaded girl in the house next door. Being his normal pessimistic self, he was convinced that Kei was a harlot who was up to no good and wanted nothing more than to have a rich, young man hanging on her arm. I, on the other hand, was just as convinced that she was clueless about my identity, and the possibility had me practically giddy.
“James, what are the odds that a poor, man-hunting black widow also happens to be Oliver’s niece? I think the girl’s legit.”
The sound of a splash in the pool traveled through the house and made my heart rate soar. I ran to the window and opened the blinds just enough to see out but not enough that she could see me.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Cab. She’s young, single, and poor. You’re young, single, rich, and famous. You can’t trust her.”
Her head popped out of the water, and I watched as she started swimming laps across the pool.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What?”
“You’re too quiet. You’re up to something.”
“I’m watching her in the pool.”
“She’s in the pool?” he screamed. “She’s trying to get your attention. I bet she’s wearing a barely there bikini.”
“I told her she needed to get in the sun. It helps with jet lag.”
I was crouching below the window like some middle-aged pervert spying on the hot high school girl living next door. Well, that or I was acting like some of my fans did when they spied on me. For a second, I realized why they got a kick out of doing it. It was invigorating.
“What’s she wearing?” asked James, interrupting my thoughts.
“I can’t tell. She’s swimming.”
For no apparent reason, we were both whispering.
“Is she jailbait? The last thing we need is you getting caught with someone underage.”
“She’s twenty.”
“Sounds too convenient. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. She told me she was.”
“Maybe she just told you she was twenty. Can you get a hold of her purse and check her ID?”
“No!”
“What about a passport?”
“I’m not going to spy on the girl.”
“Cab, you’re sitting in the dark, watching her through the blinds. Isn’t that the same thing as spying?”
“I’m not spying. I’m observing.”
“Find out her last name. I’ll run a background check to see if her story pans out.”
“I don’t want you running a background check. It’ll be fine. If she isn’t for real, I’ll sniff it out.”
“Just leave her alone altogether. You’re there to relax and prepare for your new project. Ignore the chick and get in the zone.”
Kei swam up to the ladder and started climbing out of the water, which made my heart rate go from racing to stopping altogether.
“Please don’t be wearing a bikini. Please don’t be wearing a bikini. If she’s legit, she won’t be wearing a bikini.”
“What’s she wearing?” he asked.
“Wait.”
We sat in silence, both holding our breath, while I waited for her to extract herself from the pool. As she ascended each rung of the ladder, more of her suit revealed itself.
“I don’t see her stomach. It’s a one-piece!”
She climbed completely out of the water and reached for a towel.
“And she’s wearing shorts over the bathing suit.” I was jumping up and down like a rabid fan on premiere night. “Score! This girl’s for real.”
“Be careful, Cab. I sense too much excitement in your voice. So let me put it bluntly. Get caught with this girl, do you, then in trouble you will be and to prison you may go.”
“Yes, Master.”
I closed the blinds and ran into my bedroom. “I gotta go, James. I’ll call and check in later.”
“Cab, you be—”
I threw the phone onto the bed, changed into my swimsuit, and made my way outside to talk to Kei. I tried to sneak up on her, but my flip-flops slapped against my heels as I walked.
“I thought I was only going to see you if you got lonely,” she said without opening her eyes.
“I was lonely.”
“Well, that didn’t take long,” she said dryly, still not looking at me.
“I heard you out here and thought you might want some company. Maybe I can help keep you awake.”
She opened one eye and looked over at me. “You’re out here for me? That’s incredibly polite of you, leaving your seclusion to keep a poor girl from nodding off. You’re quite the martyr.”
“I really am. Consider it a public service project.”
“So I’m charity?” Her eye was locked on mine. Not once did she glance at the rest of my body.
“Not charity. A project.”
“I see. Pull up a lounge chair.”
“Nah. I think I’ll go for a swim first.”
“Suit yourself.”
She closed her eye and relaxed into the chair.
“Is the water cold?” I asked, trying to keep her attention.
“I didn’t think so.”
I kicked off my flip-flops and dove head first into the sparkling water. Within milliseconds of being in the water, my entire body felt like needles were shooting into my skin and my toes started to go numb.
“You said it wasn’t cold! It’s freezing.”
She opened her eyes and sat up as I tread water and tried to keep my teeth from rattling.
“It wasn’t cold to me. But then again, I do bathe out of buckets when I’m home. There’s no such thing as warm water unless you’re using it to make tea.”
“I wish I would’ve known that before I jumped in.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Well, that’s one question I’ve never thought to ask a girl.” I laid my arms and chest onto the warm cement ledge and let my body float on the surface of the water behind me. “Are you going to join me?”
“Better not.” She reached over and put on a T-shirt before standing and grabbing her towel. “I’m to be leaving you alone, remember? And besides, I think I’ll go take a short nod.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell if my disappointment was obvious.
“Enjoy your swim.” She slipped on her sandals and started to head inside.
My immediate dilemma was that if I climbed out and went inside, it would be obvious that I only came out to see her, so I had to pretend that I enjoyed my time in the pool when, in all actuality, I was pretty sure that hypothermia would be setting in within just a few minutes.
As I swam through the water, a terrible realization hit me. There was nothing spectacular about me. If it weren’t for the all the media attention, nobody would even notice me. Proof? Here was a girl just out of the middle of nowhere in Africa, and I couldn’t even get her attention.
“Cabot,” she said, finally turning to me.
I instantly felt better. I did get her attention. Maybe I’m not losing my powers after all.
“I feel I should inform you that your lips are turning blue.” With that, she turned, went inside, and let the door close behind her.
Cabot and Kei. com 