I contemplate ignoring her. “You’re smarter than that, Piper.”
“What do you mean? At least we’d have plenty of amenities—a home gym, indoor heated pool, and air-conditioning. This is the bottom of the barrel.”
“You don’t think Jack has the addresses to every place your parents own? Or that the paps won’t be waiting for you to show up at one of them? Think about it. The only reason you’re safe here and won’t be found is because this place isn’t on anyone’s radar.”
She clenches her jaw, knowing I’m right.
“That doesn’t make this any less painful,” she mumbles.
“Yeah, well, it’s not my idea of fun either.”
She acts offended, grabs her camera, and then marches upstairs. I wait for a door to slam, but surprisingly, it doesn’t happen.
CHAPTER FIVE
PIPER
DAY 4
I feel like I’m losing my mind. It’s gotten to a point where time seems to be standing completely still, and I’m just going through the motions until another boring day approaches. Though I can call and text on the burner phone, there isn’t much else I can do on it. I’m trying not to bother my sister since she’s on her honeymoon. My parents have zero sympathy for my lack of necessities and remind me it’s only temporary.
I swear, I will never take the small things for granted again. Grocery delivery, laying out, air-conditioning, and my freedom to do whatever I want whenever I want. The humidity in Florida near the coast is deadly, and I hate it. Not to mention, the beach house looks like it was last updated in the sixties.
My smooth and silky hair hasn’t made an appearance since I’ve not had my stay-in conditioner. Now it’s a frizzy, unmanageable mess, and I’ve tried to come to terms with it. If I’d known that this excursion would last more than a couple of days, I’d have brought an extra suitcase. I’m pissed at myself for not being prepared and having to depend on other people to get what I need. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, and it better be the last time.
Easton still hasn’t come with the things I put on my list, and I’m growing annoyed that I don’t know when he’s coming. With Tristan around twenty-four seven, he’s more like my boss than my shadow, and it’s something I’m trying to get used to. I’m not one to take orders from anyone, but he’s not the type who’ll let me have my way. Sure, I’ve tried to skirt the lines a few times, but he wasn’t allowing it.
I wish I could log in to my social media for just five minutes, check my accounts, post, and then ghost. At least I could explain my absence then. This makes it feel like I’m detoxing, and unfortunately, this place is much worse than rehab. At least when my friends went, they were served gourmet meals, had hot tubs, daily massages, and were treated like pure royalty. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m at one of Dr. Phil's retreats for troubled youth.
I lie in bed and realize I can’t stay here all day, so I grab my backpack with my gear and go downstairs. I need to get some work done and catch up on editing.
When I make it to the bottom of the stairs, Tristan’s sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book.
“Afternoon.”
“You too,” I say, knowing I’ve been awake since eight and just refused to come downstairs. I check the time on the microwave, and it says it’s 12:42 p.m. My stomach grumbles, so I set my bag down and open the fridge. Nothing looks appetizing, so I shut it.
“When’s Easton coming?”
“My brother’s busy running his shop. Summer is one of his busiest seasons, so he’ll get here when he gets here.”
I shake my head, not appreciating the snark in his tone. I’ve never had someone be so brash toward me. Most try to get on my good side, but Tristan gives no fucks. I guess this is what it’s like to be treated like everyone else.
Once I grab a banana from the counter, I pour myself a cup of coffee. Since we have no creamer, I drink it black but hate how it tastes. Desperate times call for desperate measures, though, so I suck it up.
Deciding to set up my workspace for the day, I sit at the long table on the opposite end of the puzzle.
As soon as I open my laptop and pull out memory cards, Tristan meets my eyes.
“I know. No internet. You’ve already reminded me a million times.”
He wears a flat expression. “You’re right.”
“Don’t you realize I have a VPN installed? Do you even know what that is?” I’d be willing to bet he doesn’t.
“Do you?” he retorts.
“Of course, it stands for…” I hesitate, trying to remember.
“Virtual Private Network,” he states before I can think of it. “I’m well aware of what it does and how you can change your IP address and location once it’s connected.”
“Okay, smart-ass.”
He lifts a brow. “We’ve both learned recently that Jack is smarter than the average stalker. If he hacked your phone, then I’m convinced that laptop has the same tracker on it. Without shipping it to the authorities, like your father suggested, there’s no way to know what’s infiltrating it.”
My eyes go wide. “My dad wanted to send it somewhere?”
“Yes, but I suggested he wait until Jack’s caught, so then you could at least get some work done while you’re here. I know your whole life is on that thing and how devastating it would’ve been without it. ”
I meet his eyes. “Not sure how you pulled that off.”
“He’s not an easy man to convince, but I gave him my word that you wouldn’t have online access, so he agreed.”
“Wow, thanks,” I tell him, putting my memory card in and dragging over the gigs of video I took before the wedding.
“You’re welcome. When I give someone my word, I don’t break that promise. So don’t make me out to be a liar to your father.”
“I won’t,” I say, regardless of how much I wish I could. If I did, my father would show up with an entourage of men to take my laptop and bring me somewhere else. Tristan’s bad attitude is at least growing on me. I’d much rather deal with him than ten men who won’t look me in the eye and pretend I’m invisible.
After I’ve transferred over twenty hours of footage, I open my editing software and add clips to my timeline. It’s almost hard for me to watch these videos, seeing how happy and careless I was. I love vlogging and always have my camera with me everywhere I go. Between that and my phone, I can capture nearly my entire day. While I don’t show every little detail, I give my viewers enough to make them want more.
“Shit,” I say, opening my planner and realizing I need to post a sponsored video on Thursday.
“What?” Tristan asks.
I shake my head. “I didn’t schedule my sponsored posts. Fuck.” I place my face in my hands, trying not to get upset. I’m pissed at myself for procrastinating instead of getting ahead like I promised I would. It was hard to stay on schedule with pre-wedding celebrations and everything else, but I’ve never missed posting, especially when I’m being paid.