Descent (Black Heart Romance presents Heaven & Hell)

Chapter Twenty Seven
Hallie
It has been a long day. A fun day. Much more fun than I expected.
I kneel on the floor of Calvin’s formerly spotless living room trying not to feel too nervous. I
know he’s on his way home because Hollis told me, but Chef Ryan isn’t here yet. I was sort of hoping
he would be in case Calvin walks in and gets legitimately angry.
I’m wearing a pair of work leggings and one of Calvin’s shirts, no bra underneath. My hair is
messy and pulled up so it’s out of my face while I work.
I’m certain the Persian rug covering the living room floor was quite expensive because
everything in Calvin’s house is expensive. Currently, I’m using it as a mess mat. Several pages of the
children’s book I’m working on are laid out across the rug. I painted the backgrounds with
watercolors and cut out the snowman, cabin, and tree to glue down on top. But it’s a winter story and
it’s supposed to be snowing in most of the panels, so I have one final touch before they’re finished.
Beside me left thigh is a bowl full of watered down white tempera paint. I have an assortment of
brushes for flicking and splattering the loose paint so it looks like fluffy snowflakes on my pictures.
If I were doing this at home, I would have used a splatter box to contain the mess.
Because I’m trying to be the biggest nuisance I possibly can be to make Calvin decide to rehome
me in my own apartment, I am not. In fact, I made sure to set myself up right behind his indubitably
expensive couch, ensuring maximum paint flickage on the lush material.
I feel guilty doing it. Not to him, but to the couch. Poor couch. You didn’t ask to be dragged into
this.
I hear the elevator doors open.
He’s home.
My heart leaps, but I double down. I’ve already ruined the rug. Now it’s the couch’s turn.
I’m sorry, couch.
I take a deep breath, then like a child set loose with its first paint set, I begin flicking white paint
all over the pictures—and the rugs, and the couch. Some even makes it off the rug and hits the floor.
It’s more stressful than fun, and it’s not even my own home I’m trashing.
I feel horrible, but I pretend not to. I flick and splatter my way across the pictures in front of me,
then I scoot over and begin on the next ones.
Hollis stands with his hands clasped in front of him, the way I imagine a secret service agent