Page 46 of The Tower

There’s only one suite on this floor, and I follow Grimm to the ornate door, then wait for him to unlock it since, of course, I wasn’t issued a key.

He ushers me in ahead of him, and I glance around at the elegantly decorated space. It’s full of perfectly placed designer pieces, yet it feels impersonal. As if this is a stage, not a room.

Appropriate, I suppose, since I’m not living the life I know anymore. And I’m not sure whose life I am living. A young woman running from an abusive father? A girl who’s never been able to cope in the vastness of the world, now tossed into the middle of it with a man she’s both hated and crushed on for years as her only anchor?

Or maybe—just maybe—I’m a girl who’s finally decided to do whatever it takes to free herself from the chains that bind her, even if that means making a deal with the devil himself.

After all, isn’t the devil supposed to be beautiful and charming and seductive?

If that’s the case, then I really have slid into hell.

But whether or not I stay here …

Well, I guess that’s up to me.

Thirteen

Craving

As Grimm crosses the living area to close the drapes, I take in the elegantly decorated space. Designer furniture counterpointed by overstuffed pillows. A plush throw rug spread out in front of a cozy sofa. Beautifully bound books on an antique bookshelf. An alcove with a desk. And a crystal bowl filled with pinecones on a side table.

Undeniably lovely, but also impersonal. As if this is a stage, not a room.

When I mention that to Grimm, he glances around, then shrugs. “Looks par for the course to me. As far as hotels go, I’d say it’s got more personality than most.”

That’s when it hits me. I haven’t got a clue about what a typical hotel room looks or feels like. “Disney World,” I whisper.

Grimm tilts his head, confusion and amusement both playing across that gorgeous face. “I beg to differ, Princess. If this were Disney, we’d be seeing some evidence of the mouse.”

I shake my head as I head to the couch. “The last time I was in a hotel, it was in Florida on a rare vacation. I haven’t slept anyplace but Reed Tower since before my mother died.” I glance toward him. “Until now.”

“Goddamn your father.” His words are barely a whisper. Even so, the vitriol in his voice is clear. There’s something else, too. Something protective that twists in my stomach and makes me dip my head again because the words seem just a shade too personal.

That, however, is only my nerves talking. I know perfectly well that being in this room has nothing to do with me. Not really. Sure, he’s protecting me. But that’s only because I’m a weapon to use against my father.

It’s when my head’s down that I notice the mess—I’ve tracked street grime all over the polished wood. Not to mention this gloriously soft and radioactively white rug.

I wince, then look up at Grimm. “I think I just lost your deposit.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t spank you.” That sparkle flares again as he meets my gaze. “Not too hard, anyway.”

“I—” I have to swallow as something warm and enticing spreads through me even as an invisible band tightens around my chest. I clamber to my feet, feeling awkward and off-center and small. “I need to clean up.”

I hurry through the bedroom and into the apartment-size bathroom. I shut the door behind me, then lean against it, as if the addition of my weight will keep the boogeyman out.

In this scenario, of course, it’s Grimm playing the role of boogeyman.

I draw a breath, trying to force myself to relax. I hate how off-balance I feel. As if it’s my fault my feet are a mess, when it isn’t at all. It isn’t even Grimm’s. It’s my father’s.

My father who basically sold me. Who’s now hunting me.

A father who drugged me and lied to me and killed my mother.

It’s because of him I feel this way—small and embarrassed and lost. And worse, I’m not even sure if it’s me that feels like this or if my reaction is the result of some psychological effect of withdrawal.

I hope it’s the latter. Because that means that when all the crap is out of my system, maybe I’ll learn that I’m strong. That I’m not truly the weak little compliant girl my father sees.

“Dammit.” The curse slips out, barely a whisper, but my body automatically goes tense. Sasha Reed, the face of Reed Cosmetics, is not allowed to curse.