Beautifully Twisted (42 page)

“Hope you enjoyed your flight, miss.” She musters.

I smile back a ‘ha ha, he’s with me’ smile, even though it’s not remotely true. I do like holding his hand though.

“Did she give you her phone number?” It’s none of my business really, but I ask anyway.

He looks down at the card she handed him. “Yes, she did.”

“Are you going to use it? She’s very pretty.”

“Is she? I didn’t notice.” His voice is flat, giving away nothing.

“I thought so.”

“Would you like her number?” A slight smile appears on his lips.

“No. I like men, thank you.”
I should just shut up. Too much wine and talking to hot men is a situation best avoided.

“That’s good to hear.” He smiles again and tosses the card in the trash as we walk by. Hmm, maybe he is gay.

“Miss Bradshaw,” he looks back at me as we walk through the terminal. “Do you have the address to your place?”

“Yes.” I hand him the internet printout with my apartment information. He glances at it and then hands it to a man in a black suit standing in front of us. The man is tall and muscular with very short blond hair. His blue eyes are very light, much lighter than Mr. Stoic’s are. His expression is neutral, but imposing.

“Sir.” He glances at the paper.

“Grayson, we need to take a detour and drive Miss Bradshaw to this location.”

“Yes, sir.” He reaches for my carry on.

“Um, I have some luggage in baggage claim.” All of this feels very awkward.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. Grayson will bring them to you later. Give him your claim ticket.”

I hand Grayson my baggage check tags.

“All set?” His charming smile fills his face once more.

“Don’t you have any luggage?”

“I have everything I need. Don’t worry.”

What the hell are you doing, Ava?

It’s nice of him to help but what if he’s some kind of freak? Normally, I do not accept the kindness of strangers. I mean what if I end up on the ten o’clock news? Or he slips me one of those roofie things?

He seems safe though. He certainly doesn’t look like a serial killer. He turns and gives me a gentle smile that helps calm my fears. We head outside and as the doors open,
a blast of blazing hot air hits my face. I pause for a moment, startled by the heat. Mr. Stoic turns around and offers his hand.

“I guess you’re not used to the heat, Miss Bradshaw?”

I feel nauseous. My swirling head combined with the heat does not make for a good combination. I grab my forehead and sway forward a bit, feeling a little faint.

“One sec,” I mutter.

My knees buckle and I feel his arms around my waist, holding me up. His commanding, accented voice sounds muffled.

“Grayson, get the door.”

Cool, supple leather presses against my back. I blink my eyes open. I get my bearings and realize I’m in the backseat of his car. Mr. Stoic hovers over me, concern cracking his demeanor.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm yes, I think so.”

“Here sip this.” He hands me a cup of cool water.

I take a sip. Oh yeah, that’s much better. Over his shoulder, I see Grayson calmly behind the wheel.

“Sir, we should be there in about twenty minutes.”

Mr. Stoic nods his head, still looking at me.

I sit up. “I’m sorry. I bet you didn’t expect so much trouble this morning when you got on that flight.”

“It’s no trouble. I feel terrible getting that drink for you now.”

“I’m sure it’s more the heat and the excitement.”

He smiles again, intoxicating me more than any wine.

A blush creeps across my cheeks once more. “The excitement of moving,” I add.

I look out the window away from his intense gaze, just as we pull into my new apartment complex. I’m relieved to see that it looks just as nice in person as it did on the internet. The buildings themselves are what drew me to it in the first place. They are all one-story buildings, no neighbors above or below. My apartment is the corner unit overlooking a small grassy yard. I’m happy to see there is plenty of free parking directly in front. I hope the inside is nice as well.

“No gate, Miss Bradshaw?” Mr. Stoic’s voice turns cold.

“No gate. Do I need one, sir?”

Geez, one minute this guy is so sweet and the next he is so damn bossy.

“It’s always good to have extra security, but this is a good neighborhood. It should be acceptable.”

Acceptable? Like I need his approval.

“And no need to call me sir, Miss Bradshaw. You are not one of my employees.”

Oh my God, I still don’t know his name. I let a man take me home, and I don’t know his name. My dad would throw a fit if he knew.

“So what should I call you then?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“No.”

“Did you hear that, Grayson? She has no idea who I am.” His tone fills with laughter he doesn’t actually make.

Grayson peers in the rearview mirror. “Amazing, sir.”

“Yes, amazing. What is your first name, Miss Bradshaw?”

Is he famous? Should I know who he is?

“Ava.”

“Ava Bradshaw,” he repeats. “What a nice name.” I try to hold his gaze but really want to look away. Holy hell, he’s intense.

“My name is Enzo Milano.”

I stare blankly at him. I don’t know anyone by that name, I’m sure of it. He smiles at me again.

“Well, admittedly you wouldn’t read about me in the pages of
People
.”

He’s making fun of me!

“Well then, how would I know who you are?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and I quietly gasp. A moment ago he was intense and all business but when he laughs, he looks young and carefree, like a regular guy.

“You’re more likely to find me in the pages of
Architectural Digest
.”

“I’m sorry—”

He waves his hands. “Don’t be sorry, Miss Bradshaw. I rather like it that you don’t know who I am.” He offers nothing else.

“We’re here.” Grayson announces as he steps out and opens my door. I cup my hand to my face to shield my eyes from the bright light and intense heat of the Arizona sun. I reach to take Grayson’s hand but Mr. Stoic, I mean Enzo, greets me instead. Fancy treatment for a girl wearing yoga pants. He’s much taller than I noticed before, at least six feet. My five foot three-inch frame feels very small next to him.

“I’ll walk you in.” It’s not a question.

Grayson steps back and watches as we walk towards the door to my new place. Oh shit, I don’t have the keys! I still have to go to the office.

“I don’t have the keys yet. I’ll need to go pick them up at the office.”

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t have a key? How did the movers get your things inside?”

It seems that I have a little problem on my hands. The movers aren’t here yet and won’t be for two days. How could I drop the ball like this? That’s what I get for being so stubborn and not letting my dad help.

I just need a moment to think. I can handle this. I really don’t want to involve Enzo further. I do not need a knight in shining armor.

“Listen, you’ve been super nice, and I appreciate the ride. But I can take it from here. I feel fine now, and the office is just over there.” I point over his shoulder. “You really don’t need to be concerned with me anymore.”

He steps closer to me, not too close. Just close enough. I feel myself holding my breath.

“You don’t have anything in there yet, do you?”

I cross my arms and shake my head no.

“When are the movers supposed to be here?”

I really don’t want to answer him. “Don’t worry about it.”

He frowns. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you? I still expect an answer.”

I sigh. He’s obviously not going to let this go. “Monday.”

“It’s ridiculous for you to go in there with no furniture. Where are you going to sleep?”

“You have a point, sir.” I could kick myself right now.

“Stop calling me sir. I’ve told you my name. I want you to use it.”

Fine. How about I call you Mr. Bossy Pants?

“Okay,
Enzo
. I really didn’t plan this out as well as I thought.” I feel defeated. And stupid. So far, ‘operation new life’ is failing miserably.

I look up at him. His eyes soften and I suddenly feel very comforted.

“Let me help you, Miss Bradshaw.”

I lower my eyes. “I don’t believe I have a choice.”

“I have a place you can stay. For two days or as long as you need.”

I bristle. His place? Oh no, that won’t do.

“It’s a hotel.” He adds.

Oh, a hotel. Okay, that will work. Wait, his hotel room? No, that won’t work. I’m not sure what to say. He’s being kind, generous even, but I don’t want him to have the wrong idea.

“You will have your own private room, Miss Bradshaw.” An amused smirk spreads across his face. He thinks this is funny, doesn’t he?

I can handle a private room. And a shower. And staring at Mr. Bossy but Dreamy a little longer. But I need to keep my head together. I don’t know this guy at all, and I am accepting his generosity out of sheer need at this point.

“I want to get the key first.” I use my best confident voice. He needs to know he’s not going to boss me around.

“As you wish. Then Grayson can take you to your room, and I’ll leave you to your day.” He turns and walks towards the rental office.

How is he so cool in that suit in this heat?

We ride in silence while Enzo types away on his phone, effectively ignoring my presence. The alcohol is finally wearing off, and my body temperature has cooled. For the first time, I stop and notice my surroundings. We are not in a limo but a regular car of some sort. Mercedes maybe? He must be rich. He has his own driver, and he can take in a wayward girl he found at the airport. Still, I don’t recognize his name, Enzo Milano. Nothing a little internet digging can’t resolve.

We drive down Scottsdale Road and turn onto Lincoln Boulevard. Driving a bit further, we pull up to a large building that looks rather nondescript from the street. Once we get on the property, however, a magnificent Mediterranean style resort appears–its terra cotta stucco and abundant plant life masking its desert location. Grayson stops in front of valet and opens my door, then extends his hand. I reach up to take it, but he pulls back and once again, Enzo is there in his place.

I gotta admit, I dig this gentleman business. I’m unaccustomed to this behavior after spending years with the loser. That punk expected me to open the doors.

“Well, this is it, Ava.” Enzo gestures around the hotel and motions for me to walk with him.

The impressive size of the lobby branches off in different directions. The walls are white stucco, and the floors appear to be travertine. The decor is sparse and modern. Abstract prints of sunflowers hang on the walls, and fresh flowers dot the room strategically. The coolness of the room surrounds me, seemingly a thousand miles away from the hot Phoenix sun. It’s cool, classy, and very upscale.

“Mr. Milano, so good to see you again.” A tall, cuddly looking man standing behind the front desk greets him. He’s wearing an expensive looking suit and appears to be in his mid-fifties, with wire-rimmed glasses and honey brown hair.

“Welcome back to Girasole.”

Enzo shakes the man’s hand. “Thank you, George. I need an additional room this evening, for a few nights at least.” He nods in my direction. I could not feel more out of place in yoga pants and a “Cupcake Junkie” t-shirt. Enzo looks in my direction and whispers something to George.

George walks towards me. “Please, Miss Bradshaw, come this way.”

I walk past Enzo, who smiles and waves as I leave. George leads me through a tree lined, shaded courtyard and stops at room 115.

“We hope this room is to your liking, ma’am. It’s near the pool and everything you need should be inside. Please buzz the front desk if there is anything we can do for you.” He turns to leave.