Chapter Fourteen - Paxton
“Hey,” Cindy says in a low voice. “Where are we going? The 5 freeway is right there.”
“I’ve got a house here in Del Mar. We’re staying there tonight.”
“You have a house in Del Mar?” I can’t tell for sure in the low light of the street lamps, but when I glance over at Cindy, she appears confused.
She’s definitely been spying on me. Looking me up. I’m sure she’s got all my public assets catalogued in that head of hers. And this house in Del Mar isn’t one of them. For good reason. Reasons like this.
“Yeah, right at the top of the hill, actually.” I pull into the driveway that leads to the gated community in the cliffs above the Del Mar Racetrack and flash my ID at the guards when the window rolls down.
They know me.
“Hey, Pax. Twice in one week, huh? Maybe you should just move down here?”
“Maybe I should,” I tell the guard. “Just the night though. Going back up to LA in the morning.”
“Day at the races? Win anything?”
“Just this girl.”
Cindy huffs out an objection, but the guard and I just chuckle.
“She looks like a keeper,” he says.
“We’ll see. Have a good night.”
“You too,” the guard says, winking.
“That was rude,” Cindy says once my window is up. “Keeping me?”
“He said it, not me. What do you want me to do? Get out of the car and beat the shit out of him for insulting you?”
She crosses her arms and turns her head.
“I can,” I snarl. “If you want. And I won’t even think twice about it. Just say the word.”
She’s silent, but I don’t give a fuck what she thinks about that offer. She needs to understand who I am. What I am. What I do. She needs to be afraid of me.
“You don’t scare me,” she finally says, like she’s reading my mind.
Whatever. She’s been weird since that night she followed me up to my bedroom. Everything about her is off. I’m giving it one night, I decided. One night to crack her secrets, then I’m tossing her back. Plenty of fish in that sea out there.
I wind my way up the streets of the high-end neighborhood leading to my house—well, technically, it’s Mr. Romantic’s house now. I sold it to him a few years back. But he and I both know this is still my place.
I sort of consider all of Nolan’s houses mine, I realize. I use that monstrosity out on Martha’s Vineyard for business every time I’m on the East Coast. Which isn’t that often, I admit. But it’s nice to have a place to crash when I’m there.
The palm trees in front of the house are all lit up—everything is on a timer here—and Cindy says, “Whoa. This is kinda nice.”
“Not used to nice things, Miss Vaughn?”
She says nothing.
“It is nice. This was the first house I bought out of college. For my mother, really. She was cruising the real estate listings and texted this one to me, gushing about how nice it would be to live next to the track. Well, to live in luxury next to the track. So I bought it.”
“For your mother?”
“For me. But her too. So she can stay here when she wants.”
“Is she staying here tonight?”
“Nah. She wouldn’t stay when I have a girl with me.”
“I’m not with you, you know.”
“I know.” I stop the car in front of the door and turn it off. “Let’s go. I’m tired.”
Cindy gets out of the car and follows me up to the entry, leaning on the stucco wall as I key in the code to unlock the door.
The alarm pad beeps and flashes red at me.
I smile over at Cindy, key in the numbers again. Get a longer beep and more emphatic flashing lights.
“Problems?” Cindy asks.
Fucking Nolan. He must have changed the code after I admitted to pinching his house back east whenever I wanted. Asshole. After everything I just did for him, this is how he repays me?
I huff out a breath of air, ready to punch in the numbers in again, but Cindy’s hand on my arm makes me stop and look at her. “If you get it wrong three times they’ll call the cops.” She nods her head to the sign in front of the lit-up palm tree. “I know that company. They don’t mess around.”
We stare at each other.
“This isn’t your house.”
“It’s mine.”
“So why don’t you know the code?”
“I share it with another Mister. Like we share the jet.”
“Hmmm,” she says, like she knows I’m lying. “Shall we get a hotel? Or take our chances with jail?”
“We’re not going to jail. Don’t be dramatic.”
“So call him up and ask him for the code.”
I hesitate.
“Problem?”
“He’s not home.”
“He has a cell phone, right?”
I look behind me, wonder if any of the boutique hotels here in Del Mar will have openings, but then look back at Cindy when she pulls a cord out of her purse and hooks it up to her phone.
“They have ports in them.” She smiles at me, plugging the other end into the bottom of the security pad. “Backdoor access, so to speak.”
“Well, that’s not very secure.”
“No one knows about it.”
“Except you?” I laugh.
“I know someone high up in this company. An old friend.”
“Really.” Hmmm. “A friend of a friend of mine owns this company.”
“What’s his name?” she asks with a smirk. “Maybe he’s my contact.”
She’s fishing for more information. I bet she already knows that one of Match’s sisters owns this security company and she’s trying to get me to cough up more information.
“It’s a woman,” I say. “Can you get it to open or not?”
Her thumbs are already flying across the keypad of her phone and a few seconds later, there’s a cheery ping and the pad flashes green as the locks disengage.
She reaches forward and opens the glass doors, pushing them inward. Then waves a hand. “After you.”
“I insist,” I say, faking a smile and stepping back to make her enter first. “Who says chivalry is dead?”
She enters, I follow, and flick on the lights to the living room from the master panel near the door.
“Well, this is quite nice. Is that the track down there?” She’s at the terrace doors, already sliding them open, and the sea breeze blows her hair softly around her shoulders.
Who is this girl?
I walk over to the bar, calling out, “Drink?” as I go.
“Sure.”
I grab two crystal tumblers from a shelf, then reach for the booze. “Bourbon?” I ask. “There’s no way in hell we’ve got powdered sugar for a mint julep.”
“Bourbon straight?”
“Rocks?” I suggest.
“No. That’s gross. How about a margarita?”
“Margarita?” I practically snort. “What kind of drink is that?”
“A fun one,” she says, frowning.
I’m twisting the cap of the bottle when I stop and take her in again. The light is low in here and it bathes her in a softness that makes me wonder again. Who is this girl?
“Want me to make them?”
“What?”
“The margaritas. It’s that or nothing for me.”
“I can make them,” I say. “Blended?”
“Of course.”
Of course. “Lemon or triple sec?” I ask.
“Strawberry,” she says back.
I laugh. “We don’t have strawberry.”
She shrugs. “Then forget it. I’m not thirsty.”
“We don’t drink because we’re thirsty.”
“Then why are we drinking?”
“Because I really fucking need one.”
“Too much talk about silver envelopes today?”
“Who are you?”
She shrugs. “Cinderella, that’s who.”
I can’t stop looking at her. She’s so fucking… mysterious. I almost laugh when that word pops into my head.
A hand goes to my chin as I consider what to do. Then I walk towards the door, pulling my keys out of my pocket.
“Where are you going?”
“To get you some fucking strawberries.”
“Don’t forget the salt,” she yells after me. “And some powdered sugar!”
I try to slam the door closed on my way out of the house, but Nolan put a soft close mechanism on the hinges so the glass won’t break by accident, and it’s about as anticlimactic as this whole fucking day.
I rev the engine of my Audi, then back out of the driveway, screeching my tires.