Barely even friends, p.5
Barely Even Friends, page 5
“I told you I’m on a dating hiatus,” I reminded Sebastian, shaking my head to return to reality. “I’m concentrating on my career.”
“I want you to be happy, and I think you two would get along.”
“I don’t have time in my schedule to go back and forth to the city, and I definitely can’t host guests at a house that isn’t mine.” My voice came out harsher than I’d intended.
“All right, but—”
“Ms. Price? Dinner is ready.” Bl8z3 interrupted Sebastian’s protest.
“Okay, you softie, I have to go. But pinky promise I’m happy.”
“Fine, B, but please remember that when love smacks you in the face, I’m going to be laughing. Thrilled, overjoyed for you, but still laughing.”
“I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
I set down my iPad. As much as I adored Sebastian, I was delighted to have an easy exit. “I told you to call me Bellamy, Bell, B, anything except Ms. Price, Bl8z3.” Creating some order to all the papers on the desk, I leaned back into the chair, trying to roll my neck.
“It goes against my programming to refer to you colloquially.”
I was quickly getting used to the voice that could sound at any moment, full of personality. “Fine, we’ll figure out a compromise at some point.” A brief dinner break, to clear my head, give my cramped fingers a rest. I had a long night ahead of me.
“How about Young Miss?”
“Not a chance. Though maybe if I can convince you to call Killington Young Grump?”
“Afraid not.” Bl8z3 sounded disappointed. Whoever had programmed it deserved a Nobel Prize or whatever you give someone for kicking ass. Still, with its programming, I had my theories.
“Douche Canoe wouldn’t be as fun, but also acceptable.” Speaking of, I was grateful his rude demeanor stopped him from eating with the lowly staff after that initial breakfast. I had no interest in suffering through another meal with him.
“My algorithm can’t tell who would be a bigger fan of that, Ambrose or the Young Sir.”
Complete disbelief. “Bl8z3, did you make an AI joke?”
“I have my glitches.” Then: “Ba-dah-duh.” They not only had jokes, but sound effects.
“You are wasted on this house.”
“You are too kind. Dinner will be served in the atrium this evening.”
I strolled into the en suite of my room, splashing cold water on my face and tying my hair off in a messy knot. My appearance in the mirror didn’t exactly look refreshed, but a little less wired on caffeine and gummy bears.
For the past few evenings, I had been eating in the kitchen with Rue and Ambrose. Nick would sprint in and out but was always desperate to finish her homework or work on some other project. Constant motion, that girl.
I dashed through the hall and down the less squeaky staircase, rotating left toward the atrium.
The momentum took me through the open glass French doors. It was one of my favorite rooms in the mansion; my fingers itched to get my hands on it. Though the room was not too neglected because of how empty it was, Ambrose had told me the plants had all died long ago, with no one ever replacing them. The back exterior wall of the mansion was stone, and the remaining walls of the room were glass, with wooden beams dividing the cloudy panes—which would all need to be restained and refitted with energy efficient panels. But with the sun setting, the splendor of the room couldn’t be denied. It was the perfect location for dinner before I went back upstairs and shut myself away.
There was a small table with two chairs down at the other end of the room. And notably, not a single soul around.
“Bl8z3, where is everyone?” I narrowed my eyes, studying my surroundings further. For the first time since I had arrived a few days ago, Bl8z3 was silent. The tile floor was carpeted in rose petals. Candelabras were set around the space, flickering, with a large piece on the table among covered serving dishes.
Alarm bells were going off in my head. I spun around, only to slam into a wall.
“Wha—”
Oliver’s warm palms gripped my shoulders, holding me to the solid planes of his chest. He prevented me from collapsing backward; his mouth opened slightly, eyes wide. Probably still expecting me to leave and never return. We stood there for a moment before he gave his head a shake and let me go.
He had kept his promise until now, turning on his heel every time I walked into a room the past few days with my tape measure and camera. Bl8z3 was too useful, taking notes for me as I called out the information. This trap was my reminder that no one, not even Bl8z3, owed me any loyalty.
The frown that seemed to constantly cross Oliver’s face was out in full force as he released me, fingers flexing, before he shoved them into the pockets of his pants. His hair was slightly less unruly today, tied back in a neater ponytail. “Price.”
“Killington.” I acknowledged back.
Everything I had learned about him and his family as I lay in bed Googling, when I should be sleeping, flashed through my mind at his presence. Oliver hadn’t been seen by the public since his parents’ funeral. There were various theories about why, all stories from not very reputable sources. He had died in the accident with his parents; the accident was all a hoax; he was hiding on some island; aliens had taken him (I forwarded that one to Finn).
I was beginning to wonder if he had been in this house the entire time. Had he been alone until the arrival of Ambrose, Rue, and Nick? I didn’t have to like him to be sympathetic, even a little embarrassed by how I’d busted through the doors that first night. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but maybe explained it slightly.
The rest of his family wasn’t in hiding. Drug overdoses, dating scandals, some insider trading, and a tendency to throw outlandish parties seemed to be a common thread, though I looked at it all with a new sense of skepticism. His twin sisters were paparazzi darlings, in the news more often for the parties they attended rather than their participation in the family business.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver’s beard-covered jaw clenched.
“Living my life, breathing the air, existing.” My pulse raced, his eyes narrowing as I hit his buttons. He made it too easy.
And then it got worse.
The glass door snicked shut, followed by a click—the turn of a lock.
CHAPTER FIVE
Oliver’s eyes widened. So, the sound hadn’t just been in my imagination. I held my breath, stomach sinking, as he attempted to push down the door handle. But a girl could hope, especially if it meant that I wouldn’t be trapped in this room, which seemed to be shrinking by the moment, with my least favorite person. His shoulders bulged as he put some more force behind his efforts, but the doors stayed firm.
His right leg pulled back, and I dived forward, grabbing at his T-shirt. “Don’t you dare.”
“What?” His expression seemed to accuse me—as if any of this was my idea.
“Trust me, this is the last place I want to be, but that frame is solid wood and thicker than the door to your bedroom. All you’ll do is ding it, maybe, unless you want to kick through the glass and hope you don’t cut anything important before we can get out.” More likely, he’d dent his foot. “It was probably just an accident. Let’s ask Bl8z3 to get someone to come help.”
“An accident, huh?” Oliver nodded to the rest of the room. The rose petals, the candles. Rue and Ambrose were all about ambience, setting the scene, choosing an appropriate wine and place settings for every meal. Yeah, this was looking less and less like an accident by the moment, but I refused to accept it.
“Bl8z3?” Hopefully it would answer me this time.
“Yes, miss?” The reply was prompt. A conspiring AI, wonderful.
“We’re stuck in the atrium. Can you or someone else unlock the door?” I was not one to doubt Bl8z3’s abilities, including control over the locks.
“I cannot, miss.”
I waited, but no explanation was forthcoming. “And why not?”
“We all know how hard you have been working and thought you needed a break.”
We, huh? “The doors don’t have to be locked for that to happen.”
“Let us out,” Oliver demanded, still wriggling the handle.
“I have been programmed to ignore your orders for the next two hours, sir.”
“Two hours?” I rammed Oliver out of the way, shoving down on the door handle, regretting leaving my lock picking kit up in my bedroom. For my next project, the contract would include a clause that the house be unoccupied. I didn’t have time for this; my deadline to provide my sketches was only days away.
“Please enjoy dinner.” And with that, Bl8z3 piped soft, romantic instrumental music into the room. I had never felt so betrayed by technology in my life. Maybe those Terminator movies had been onto something.
Bl8z3 wasn’t exaggerating, I was preparing around the clock for my presentation with Mr. Killington to receive his approval for my plans. I could take a break once everything was confirmed in two days’ time. By then, this might even be romantic if I were locked in with anyone else.
Oliver gave the door a solid kick, the glass panels rattling, but nothing else. Not even a divot in the wood. Wonderful, this part of the house was holding up. His soft canvas sneakers couldn’t be much help.
The room permeated with the drool-worthy scent coming from the table, at least the part about a meal hadn’t been a lie too. “We might as well eat.” I sighed, not waiting for him as I ambled over to the table and lifted the dish covers. Two plates were filled with salad and chicken fettuccine alfredo.
I attempted to gracefully slide into the chair. I failed. Should have pulled it farther away from the table instead of trying to be dainty. Now I had to squeeze my way in, almost tipping the chair over. You know, typical, everyday hot girl shit.
The sun set as Oliver continued his assault on the door, fortunately missing me muck up being a human being. When I was at last sitting upright in my chair, he gave up his attempted escape, shoulders hunched as he limped over.
I pressed my lips together. Today’s T-shirt was navy, which somehow brought out the color of his eyes. I thrummed my fingers against the lace tablecloth. They had not skimped on a thing—fine china, wineglasses, a roll set on a separate smaller dish with a slab of butter.
Resigning myself to being stuck here for the next two hours, I could at least try to make the best of it. “So, what do you think everyone else is up to?” After planning this wonderful getaway, that I would in no way be plotting my revenge from.
“Let me activate their personal trackers.” His tone was as dry as his sense of humor, and his mere existence was a challenge to my patience. Would it be wrong to stab him with my knife? To prove he was in fact human and felt emotion? Maybe he was a robot, an offshoot of Bl8z3.
“None of this appears off to you?” I hissed.
“I’ve lived here a long time.” He studied me as he sipped his wine, his gaze shredding my suspenders. I enjoyed how much they bothered him. Let him squirm a little, for once. I would not change one hair on my head to make him more comfortable. He could join the long list of people who judged me because of my weight.
I couldn’t imagine what the staff had been picturing, setting up this “date,” thinking we would get along. “Well, it seems they’ve been watching too many romantic movies.” I pressed my fingers to the petals of the fresh flowers in the middle of the table. The bouquet was gorgeous, a vivid mix of pink and white lilies with red roses, the only color in the room.
Grunt.
Anger licked across my veins. Did he think I wanted this, to be set up with someone who detested me? I was here to do a job, nothing else.
“I can assure you I want to be here even less.” His words snapped my head up, and I slapped my hands over my mouth, realizing I had spoken aloud rather than kept my thoughts to myself. Oliver did not bring out the best in me. I’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep the last few nights, desperate to give Mr. Killington options in the restoration, to prove myself.
The lack of decor and the darkening sky meant there really wasn’t anywhere to look but at the person sitting across from me. The way his lips enveloped his fork with every bite, slowly chewing with determination. My presence probably made his food taste worse.
“Do you normally eat in here?” I cringed as my words broke the silence, heat crawling up my neck, but I couldn’t sit here feeling this uncomfortable. I wasn’t programmed that way.
“In my room.” Oliver’s fork stabbed into a tomato before he bit down, having no problem avoiding my gaze.
“Oh.” The wood of the chair creaked as I continued to shift. The crunch of each piece of lettuce echoed off the windows, frosted with age. I couldn’t help but cringe at every movement of my jaw, never more aware of how much noise I made chewing. I wished I could hide under the table. I didn’t do uncomfortable silences, didn’t do uncomfortable at all.
“How come you’re not eating there, then?” Even shoving food into my mouth could not stop the compulsion to ease this tension, at least temporarily.
Oliver rolled his shoulders, and I winced, realizing how rude my words had sounded.
“Nick asked,” he muttered.
“Ah.”
We had both been tricked. But they clearly cared about him, so I wasn’t sure why they’d thought it would be a good idea to lock us in a room together.
“Maybe when we finish eating, they’ll let us out?” I hypothesized.
They didn’t.
Bl8z3 ignored us, continuing to play what I could only assume was some sort of romantic music playlist. Any dream I’d ever have of being seduced via acoustic piano was dead, buried, forever ruined.
I ended up on the freezing tile floor, sitting cross-legged, as Oliver paced back and forth, checking on every pass to see if the door would magically open this time. The temperature had dropped significantly without the sun to warm the room. I did my best not to tremble, but I hadn’t exactly planned to be trapped in a cold room this evening.
I spun one lily between my fingers, the colors of the bouquet echoing the way I wanted to incorporate a few brighter choices into this room; they’d reflect off the light from the windows. The current design scheme was mostly drab, faded from age and sunlight.
Needing to be productive, I closed my eyes and imagined the sketch of the kitchen I had been working on, placing the appliances in a better configuration, a kitchen island, a breakfast nook with plush seating. The flooring needed to be ripped out and replaced with a nice maple, though oak could work too. Kitchens were always a struggle to modernize—it was hard to restore older kitchens to their original state without asking the owners to cook their food over an open flame.
Something—really someone—nudged my foot, and I exhaled before I slowly slid open my eyes. Oliver towered over me.
“Y-yes?” I tilted my head.
“You’re shivering.”
This was actual torture. “We’re tr-trapped in a not very well insulated room with no heat source, and it’s nighttime. Anything else you would like to point out?”
He pressed his palm to his brow, and I waited for him to start pacing again. I still needed to decide whether the kitchen island should have an additional sink. Instead, he sprawled next to me, back against the stone, which felt warmer than the glass, pressing his body to mine. I jerked, almost whacking him in the eye with my elbow.
He was touching me.
Intentionally.
Oliver didn’t have a sweater or anything else to offer me, but he had body heat. Body heat aplenty, apparently, with the warmth that was seeping into my skin.
And I hated it. Hated that I needed him for something as essential as not freezing to death. I was the person people relied on by my friends and Dad, especially right now. Worse, I was tempted to snuggle even closer, but I held back.
“Th-thank you.”
He grunted, his body stiff as a board, arm rigid as it pressed against mine. Every single moment I spent with him, he seemed to broadcast his distaste for me in any way he could.
“Do I smell or something?”
Oliver was silent for a minute before he snorted. “Or something, Price.” But then he lifted his arm, wrapping it around my shoulders, stuttering over the strap of my suspenders, pulling me against his chest. His palm rubbed up and down my upper arm, creating friction. He wasn’t exactly relaxed, but the tension thrumming through him had lessened fractionally. Then after a moment, he muttered, “It’s been a while.”
It was difficult not to react to his confession, my breath catching. “You have experience being locked in a room with someone you hate?” I eased a little bit more into him; the warmth was intoxicating.
The bark of a laugh he let out rumbled his body into mine, the sound vibrating throughout my chest.
I slid my legs out in front of me, our pants the only thing separating our skin from touching. The candle tapers were noticeably burned down, wax dripping on the floor, the rose petals. My palms were trapped in between my thighs, fingers twitchy. We were cuddling. For survival reasons solely, but it was happening.
“It’s strange seeing you without your tape measure.” His voice was gruff, and I was tempted to peek up at his expression, but I kept my gaze on the door, waiting for something to happen. They couldn’t keep us trapped in here forever. “No pencil here.” His finger didn’t touch my ear, but rather traced the air around it. Were goose bumps possible on ears?
Despite all his running away, I guess he’d noticed me. Well, not me but my tape measure and pencil. The man had a fascination with my accessories; I wasn’t sure what to think about that. “You know I’m not here to make you hide in your own home, right?”
