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I open the bedroom door and poke my head out. The meathead guarding it turns, his hand on the weapon he’s packing at his side. He’s big and pink-faced and red-haired. His eyes narrow, but he looks more concerned than suspicious. I’m used to big motorcycle dudes, so it’s hard to find one that truly intimidates or scares me. This guy is like a three on the scale, not even halfway to scary. He’s totally going to be easy to manipulate.
When I open the door and reveal myself in only a thong and white lace bra, his eyes go wide. First he looks at my breasts, then he blushes a deeper shade of pink and looks away, finally allowing his eyes to flit back to my face.
“I’m not trying to make trouble,” I say, forcing a wobble into my voice, allowing my eyes to shimmer with tears, “It’s just that I ran a bath and Grisham said he’d send up some clothing and I’ve tossed my ruined clothes into the fireplace. I’m really scared and I thought maybe if I took a bath I might feel better. And I’m ... I ...”
I start bawling. Not a little fake cry, but huge, heaving sobs. I’m an ugly crier and I can cry on command. It’s a useful trick when you’ve got a father whose favorite word is no.
When I look up at the guy, he just looks really uncomfortable. He has a hand out like he wants to comfort me, but he knows he can’t lay a hand on anyone in the boss’s bedroom. He’s biting his top lip and his eyebrows are scrunched up in the middle of his round, pink face.
I sniffle and take his outstretched hand. “Could you find me a sweatshirt or something?”
“Boss asked me to stay right here,” he answers. “I’m really sorry.”
I take a few shuddering breaths, tears still streaming down my face. “Look, um ...”
“Chip,” he says.
“Look, Chip ... I’m Tanzie, by the way,” I say. “I know you’ve got a heart. I can see it. I just need to take a bath to calm my nerves. I need a big hooded sweatshirt to wrap up in. Please. Can you just help me with this one tiny thing?”
His lips purse to the side and he bites his top lip again. This must be his tell when he’s conflicted. His eyebrows are cinched together again.
“I really shouldn’t,” he says, “Boss’ll murder me if I leave my post.”
“He won’t even know. Just run to the next room or whatever, and grab me some sweats. In and out. I’ll be right on the other side of the door.Please.” My voice breaks again.
Chip takes a big heavy breath in, then lets it back out in a loud sigh. His shoulders slump. “Oh,” he says, “okay. But stay here. Promise?”
I’m the picture of innocence, nodding, mustering up some more tears. “Thank you so much. You’re my hero.”
He looks down both ends of the hall and wanders off. As soon as he ducks into a nearby room, I bolt. I’m barefooted, so I don’t make a sound on the carpet. I turn down the first hallway I find, but it’s just a row of closed doors and a dead end. I run back, taking another turn through the halls of this massive house.
I hear Chip yell, “Hey!” and look back. He’s obviously just realized I’m gone. I run into the first open door, slamming it behind me and leaning back with my eyes closed as I catch my breath.
My ears are ringing, but as my body calms, I come back to reality. And reality means that there are about six bikers in Barking Angels colors in this room, along with three women performing various sexual acts.
Oh, holy hell, what did I get myself into?
*
