Change Of Plans

ROXANNE 

"You don't know you have a sister?" He walked us to the counter, gave the young lady behind the counter his platinum card. "I'll need two glasses, please. Add the charge to my tab."

I quickly tried to correct the narrative I was giving him. "No, not that. I just thought..." I trailed off, realizing I didn't even know what lie to say.

I didn't want him to know I was amnesiac and now, I could tell he was clinging onto that information and the confusion in my tone when I'd uttered those two words — 'a sister?'

"Thank you, sir." The young girl beamed excitedly.

I looked at his face, but he showed no sign of doing anything to have warranted that gratitude.

I glanced back at the girl and saw the cash in her hand. 

Oh, a generous tip.

"Let's go." He said simply, holding the bag containing the drink and leading the way. 

I followed him out of the liquor store, and into his car. My mind racing with some thoughts. 

Why hadn't Mom told me I had a sister? For once, she never made mention of it. Or was this Rochelle mistaken? 

I know mom barely talked about our past, even about dad. She'd only talked about him the day I saw photos of him in a box where she mentioned his demise after a long battle with sickness.

Neither of us said anything else. Silence took over the car, I wound down the tinted window glass to feel the evening breeze on my face, despite the AC blowing cold inside the car. 

I checked my phone and saw it was past nine pm. 

It was late. I thought of Ethan...then Josh. 

Then shook the latter out of my mind, while convincing myself that Ethan was fine and probably had been put to bed by his mother.

His mother. 

I tried not to let that thought ruin my mood. 

I looked out the window and frowned a little, "where are you heading to?"

"My place." 

"What?" My frown deepened, "but that wasn't the plan, Kylian."

"Yes, but it's late and our food is possibly cold by now. I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy chicken and fries when they are cold." His response came casual, almost like he saw nothing wrong in taking me to his home. 

"No!" I gave a mighty shake of my head, "I am not following you to your house."

"Why? Something wrong?" Unperturbed by my reaction, he cast me a calm, simple glance.

"Everything is wrong." I gave him the stink eye, irritated by how calm he was. 

Obviously knew he was winning this particular one. It was his plan all along, and it was my stupid fault for falling for it. He was a Caldwell, what else was I hoping for? 

Decency? Honesty? He couldn't even be straightforward if his life depended on it, just like his stupid brother.

I forced myself to relax, and think. But all thinking gave me was a headache and the strong urge to slap that smirk off his face. 

The buffoon! 

"You Caldwell men are just... tyrants! Mean, manipulative and overbearing." I wagged an angry at his side profile as he rounded a corner. "Not to mention annoying."

"O...kay," the jerk had the guts to chuckle.

My anger increased, "you might have succeeded into tricking me to your house under the pretense of a 'date', but I will not let you add me to your list of 'girls I've fucked'. No, sir, I will not!" 

Another chuckle. "Technically, I didn't say date. If I remember correctly, I said fun."

A growl rumbled in my throat. 

Chuckle grew to a laugh. 

Suddenly, he pulled into an estate. The security guards there duffed their hats in greeting.

He wound down his window glass to acknowledge their greetings. He smiled and waved. "Have you guys had dinner?"

"Just about." One of them replied.

"Alright." He pulled out a bottle of brandy from the same bag and handed to them. 

My brows knitted puzzlingly, wondering when he had gotten a second bottle and how come I hadn't noticed it? 

Maybe it could have been when I was busy remembering Rochelle from high school or...well, I didn't know. 

"Thank you, sir." They were full of happy smiles. 

"No drinking that until you're off work." Though there was a playful lilt in his voice, the seriousness underneath couldn't be ignored. 

The men thanked him and he drove past acres of empty lands and straight through a gate that automatically opened as soon as his car was within sight. 

He drove in, rolled into a huge parking lot, stopped the engine, took our dinner and drink, and got out. 

Slowly, I climbed out from the passenger side. My eyes widened, anger temporarily forgotten, at the sight of many cars and jeeps. 

The garage was huge. Almost the size of a football field. Josh's garage didn't come close. 

"Let's go." His voice echoed, but not that much.

"Do you sell cars?" I started to walk with him out of the garage. 

His laugh carried into the night — amused and light.

The garage door closed as soon as we stepped feet out of it. 

"No, I don't. I love cars. Vehicles, in general. Always have been fascinated with them since I was a kid." His response came easy and simple, like one who had no worries in life. 

I realized I'd never really seen him in a sour mood like Josh frequently was. Although, I haven't known him that much. 

His house was a mansion!

A fucking gigantic structure made of gold and marbles and whatever expensive materials they used in building structures as huge as this, standing proudly and majestic on acres of land. 

The compound held the faint scent of flowers in bloom. Lights flooded the compound even though it was night. 

If I was impressed by the outside, then the inside had my jaw dropping... literally.

Gold and white aesthetics that could easily give one the impression they were in heaven. You couldn't even be sad, even if you tried.

"Close your mouth, Roxanne, before my staff think there's something wrong with you."

As though they've been summoned, pretty, young ladies stepped out in their neat, maid uniforms. And they were all smiles, "good evening, sir."

"How's everyone?"

They all answered differently. 

Then their eyes landed on me. I saw the surprise first, then disbelief. 

"You didn't let us know you'd be coming home tonight, sir." One of them spoke, her eyes covertly sizing me up. 

"Well, don't worry about dinner. That's settled. You all can retire to your rooms now. Thank you." His smile, though friendly, still held a hint that reminded of his position as the boss. 

When they all scurried away, he motioned for me to follow him. 

"Where are we going?" I asked suspiciously, remembering how he'd tricked me into his home. 

"To the kitchen, Roxanne. Relax. I'm not a good person, but I'm definitely not a psychotic killer." 

I followed in him into a large cooking area with state-of-the-art equipment and utensils. 

He pressed open a microwave and slipped our dinner into it. 

"Your house is beautiful." I commented, deciding to be comfortable. 

"Thanks." He rinsed the new whiskey glasses he'd bought from the store. 

"Why were your maids looking at me like that?" I questioned, watching him.

He cast me an amused glance, set the glasses on the gleaming countertop, then turned away from it to lean on the kitchen island.

He met my eyes again, studied my face for what seemed like a long time. 

I squirmed uncomfortably, "if you won't answer the question, fine." I averted my gaze, not liking the way his eyes — particularly the looks in them — made me feel. 

He leaned away from the counter, approached me, forcing my eyes back to his his. 

Sitting on the high stool, he was still a bit taller. 

"What?" I asked, my voice hoarse. 

"I want to kiss you." His hand came up my face, brushing my cheek, his voice low, but confident — a man who knew what he wanted and went for it.

I licked my lips, my stomach buzzing with nerves and disbelief, "what do..."

The rest of my words were reduced to muffles once his lips took control of mine.