Chapter Sixteen

Riley Lynn (P.O.V.)

Vincent was staring at me.

I tried really hard not to notice, but it was pretty much impossible. His eyes followed me everywhere I went. He was so busy watching me that he almost caught the meatballs he was making on fire (his idea of a great dinner was spaghetti and meatballs made from scratch). That aside, his constant gaze was making me uncomfortable. Even while we were eating dinner he was staring; so much so that he missed his mouth at least five times, leaving a trail of tomato sauce down his chin, which he did not wipe away in time, so it left a stain on his pale skin. 

I ate with my head down, so I did not have to make eye contact with him. Why was he acting so weird? Was it because I told him about my family? If I knew he was going to react like this, I would not have mentioned it. His change in demeanor and attitude was so drastic and sudden that it creeped me out. Did he really feel that badly for treating me the way he had been? I appreciated it, but maybe he was taking it too far. 

Suddenly my mind flashed back to him hugging me—his embrace was tighter than I thought it would be. Maybe he worked out? He felt nice... 

I shook my head.

No, Riley.

I could not think like that. Just because I was a little attention deprived and craved human contact did not mean I should have thoughts about Vincent. He was my employer. I peeked back up at him and he jumped a little as if he was surprised that I caught him staring. His food once again missed his mouth, but this time he did not make any move to wipe it away.

Sighing, I picked up my napkin and soaked it in my water before reaching over to wipe his face for him. 

"What are you doing?" he said, snatching my wrist into his hand and holding it away from him. 

"You have sauce on your mouth, and it is kind of gross." 

His cheeks tinted pink and let go of me, grabbing the napkin out of my hand and wiping around his mouth.

"Sorry about that." 

Was he apologizing again?

"What is up with you?" I demanded. 

"With me?" 

"Yes. You keep staring at me. And apologizing. It is weird." I said and he frowned.

"I was not staring at you." 

I gave him a flat look.

"Really?" 

"I am just not sure how I should treat you now," he admitted.

"It is just that I have never met someone in your situation." 

"Um, maybe treat me like you would treat any other human being?" I shot back at him.

"I am poor. That is, it. It is not dying or anything." 

He made an oh-shit expression.

"That came out wrong." 

"I bet it did."

"I just mean now that I am more aware of how I had been mistreating you," he clarified.

"Now I do not know what to say as to not offend you." 

I shifted in my seat a little.

"I mean, I already said it is okay. You are forgiven. Let us just put it in the past." 

He shook his head.

"I am going to try to be less rude to the lesser fortunate." 

"What you said right there? Yes, that is kind of offensive," I said, smiling a little bit.

It was almost cute. Almost. If you put aside the whole insulting bit. At least he was trying. His eyes widened.

"It is?" 

"Do not overwork yourself, I know this will be difficult for you," I told him, leaning across the table again to pat his hand. 

When I tried to pull away, he grasped my hand in his again.

"Do you not resent me?" he asked. 

I tried to free my hand, but he held it tight.

"No? Why?" 

"I basically bribed you into being my pretend girlfriend. I knew you needed money and I could give you a lot. I knew you would not say no." 

"Dude, Vincent, chill," I responded, so not wanting to listen to his lamenting.

"As I said, as long as you understand what you have done wrong, then it is fine. Stop thinking about it. You are only to make things awkward." 

He frowned for a little while longer and it reminded me of a puppy being scolded and for the second time, I thought Vincent looked cute. Maybe it was because he lost his cocky attitude for the time being. 

"You are not eating your meatballs," he finally commented. 

"Uh, I do not actually like spaghetti and meatballs," I said sheepishly. 

"Well, why didn't you say so?" he demanded. 

"You seemed so excited, I did not want to ruin it," I told him, shrugging.

"It is fine though. The noodles aren't bad." 

"What do you usually eat?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat a little. 

"Whatever does not need to be cooked. I really do not have time to eat during the day. Sometimes I like to treat myself to Taco Bell though." 

He looked at me like I was an alien specimen for a moment and then I saw his eyes do a once over on my body and I felt the urge to flip him off.

"You can eat that plastic-wrapped garbage?" 

Now it was my turn to frown.

"Have you ever tried it?" 

"Have you ever read the ingredients—" 

"Everyone knows how bad it is for you, you do not need to lecture me," I cut him off, rolling my eyes.

"It is a slow, delicious death." 

He eyed me warily.

"That does not sound pleasant." 

"I will bring you to Taco Bell sometime. It is the only date I can take you on that I can afford," I said jokingly. 

Unfortunately, he must have thought that I was serious because that pitying look returned to his eye.

"I am worried about your health." 

"And I am worried about your non-existent enthusiasm to try new things," I countered.

"Would it not be better to learn about my life so it can help you to not offend me?"

 He considered this for a moment.

"I guess you are right about that." 

"I will show you the poor side of life," I told him brightly. 

"Right..." 

There was a moment of silence and then my phone buzzed, and I reached for it. I could see that my boss from the café had texted me.

Can you open for me tomorrow? I am sick. 

"Ugh," I groaned. 

"What?" Vincent immediately asked me.

"My boss is sick and wants me to cover him. That means I have to go in at 4 o'clock in the morning." 

"Four in the morning?" Vincent repeated. 

I checked the clock. It was already almost nine.

"I have to head home after we finish eating." 

"Why are you going in so early? Just say no." 

"Nah, I need the money," I responded, knowing I would get overtime if I went in early.

It would make it worth it. For a moment it seemed as though Vincent was going to argue with me, but he just sighed lightly.

"Are you done? We can leave now; I will finish eating later. You are barely going to get any sleep. You need at least eight hours of sleep each night." 

"I usually survive on five," I told him, standing from the table.

"Do you need help cleaning up?" 

"No, I am not paying you to clean up. I can do it after. Let us go." 

As we left his house, I caught myself glancing back at the room he had scolded me for almost entering earlier. Seeing how it was his brother's room, I understood why he would not want me going in there. But did his brother still live here or not? Why would Vincent leave his room set up if he did not? Maybe his family was just as messed up as mine. 

Vincent held the door open for me and we headed for his fancy BMW. I turned the radio on as soon as the car started, enjoying the rare moments of Sirius XM. Surprisingly, Vincent was quiet. Even when we were halfway to my house he had not said a single word. I really began to think he was taking what I said way too seriously. 

"So, do you have any idea what your next plan is?" I asked, deciding to break the silence. 

"Of what?" He asked.

"Tricking your mom," I clarified. 

 Vincent drummed his fingers on his steering wheel.

"Hmm. I do believe she will be coming to talk to me tomorrow at work, so I can really pretend I am falling for you hard." 

I nodded.

I guess that would be the next step.

"What are you going to say? You should say that I have got the best personality in the world and that I am as cute as a button."

"I would not be pretending if I said that," he responded, and I caught my breath.

He agreed with me. He seemed to realize what he said too because he quickly coughed.

"Well, I mean, I have seen girls cuter than you." 

"Wha—hey!" I snapped. 

"I will say something along the lines of that though," he continued, ignoring my indignant huff of air. 

I crossed my arms.

"I bet she would not even believe you." 

"Why do you think that?" 

"No one could fall for you with your attitude," I remarked offhandedly. 

Vincent whipped his head toward me.

"What? I have a very charming, tactful personality! I have closed many deals and solved many issues with my personality." 

"I cannot believe you just described yourself as tactful." 

"Do you even know what that means?" 

"Just because I am poor does not mean I am illiterate." 

"That was not what I was insinuating at all—" 

"What does insinuate mean? I cannot help not understanding, I am just a poor girl. Nobody loves me. She is such a poor girl, from a poor family, spare her this life of monstrosity!" I sang, putting my hand to my heart. 

"Riley," he said, sounding exasperating. "You know I did not mean it like that. And why did you just start singing?" 

I squinted my eyes at him.

"They are lyrics."

"What are?" 

"Bohemian Rhapsody?" I said. 

"Bo-what?" 

I put a hand to my forehead.

"And I thought I had a rough life... no wonder your radio is never on." 

"I am not a fan of music," Vincent defended himself, coming to a stop at a red light.

"What is your street address again?" 

I told him while pulling out my phone to show him one of the greatest songs in musical history.

"I cannot believe that you do not know that song." 

"Music distracts me." 

"I really think we were destined to meet Vincent," I told him solemnly.

"You obviously need a positive influence in your life and that influence is me." 

He turned to me with the most apprehensive expression on his face.

"I am starting to feel our age difference. When you get older you do not have much time for-" 

"Do not act like you are thirty," I interjected.

"Who really grows up, anyway?" 

The light changed to green, and he hit the gas just as I figured out how to sync my Bluetooth to his car. Making sure the volume was a notch louder than he would be comfortable with, I began playing the song. Vincent's face was expressionless for the intro to the song. I bit my tongue to keep from singing so he could just enjoy it. 

"Mama just killed a man," I sang quietly, unable to resist any longer. 

"That is disturbing," Vincent commented. 

I turned down the volume and scowled.

"Just be quiet and enjoy it." I snapped.

Vincent nodded and I turned the volume back up. As we were pulling onto my street, the song was ending, and I did not get out of the car until the last note finished. I pushed on the overhead light so that I could see Vincent's reaction.

"Amazing, right?"

 His face still held that unsure look. "It is... different." 

"But amazing?" 

"I liked your singing," he said. 

I blushed immediately.

"That was not— why were you listening to me sing! You missed the point." 

"But—" 

"No buts! I am leaving! Buy that song and listen to it until you know the lyrics by heart," I said quickly, reaching for the door.

He liked my singing. When I sing, I sound like a dying whale especially when I get too into the song. How embarrassing. 

"Riley," Vincent responded, chuckling a bit. 

I turned to give him a dirty look but froze when I caught sight of light in my room in my apartment.

"Wait..."

"What?" I felt dread run through my chest.

"I did not leave my light on when I left." 

Vincent looked up at my apartment too.

"Are you sure?" 

"Positive..."

My mind flashed back to the multiple squatters I had seen earlier.

"Oh no," I gasped, ripping my seatbelt off. 

"What?" 

"No, no, no," I chanted, shoving the door open and scrambling out of it.

I raced around the car, only to have Vincent open his door and grab me by the arm. 

"Wait," he demanded. 

I stared at him with wide eyes.

"I think someone might have broken in." 

"Then do not go in there alone," he said, all of the early lightheartedness between us gone. 

My heart raced against my chest almost painfully. I took a couple breaths to calm myself.

"It is fine. I might have actually just left the light on. You should go home. I know being around this part of town makes you nervous." 

"Right now, I am more nervous to leave you alone." 

I waved him off, jerking my hand more than I should have.

"I am fine. Go home." 

"Let me come in with you—" 

"No," I responded immediately.

He let go of my arm and I felt guilty for being so harsh.

"I mean. It is probably nothing. You were right when you said you could get asbestos in there." 

Vincent did not look convinced. I glanced back up at my apartment. If I were honest, I was a little scared to go up there alone. I knew for sure I did not leave that light on.

"Fine," I mumbled.

"Come to the door but do not go in." 

"I can accept those terms," he agreed. "Let me text my assistant first." 

"Why?"

"In case someone is in there and something happens," he replied and pulled out his phone. 

I gave him a wry look.

"I doubt it will be that bad." 

"I am an important person," he answered me and then slid his phone back into his pocket.

"Alright, let us head in." 

Everything was eerily quiet when I entered the building. The lights were off, and the door was shut. Usually, the hallway light would be on, and the first-floor room's door would be opened a crack to let the light filter in. I ignored it and headed up the steps. The first obvious sign of something being wrong was my door being open. My heart skipped a beat, and a thousand thoughts ran through my head.

Who was it? What did they take? Maybe they just wanted some food? 

Vincent brushed past me, and I opened my mouth to tell him not to open it, but he pushed the door all the way open before I could. The sight before me was enough to shut me up, anyway. All my belongings were strewn across the floor. It looked like someone had looked through everything of mine and ripped open whatever looked like something could be hidden inside. All the books on my bookshelf were on the ground and open, meaning the spines were now all screwed up. My crappy, five-year-old television was gone, as well as my DVD player. A lamp was missing. A fleece blanket that my father had given me was gone as well.

"I am going to call the police," Vincent announced, his face impassive.

I could not tell what he was thinking at all, and I did not care at the moment either. It was tough to take in the scene. My place was completely trashed. 

My home was ruined.