Page 35 of Brat Baby (Sugar Life #1, #3)

Emery

When you open the door to an apartment, anticipating pitch black, only to be greeted with a pale-yellow glow, you pause.

You take a minute to consider your choices.

And then you determine if you feel like being the idiotic character in a thriller who decides to investigate the random noise that came from the other end of the abandoned house.

The swaying factor in my decision is the scent of garlic and cheese.

Cautiously, I let the door close behind me but don’t make a move to head down the hallway. “Hello?”

There is no response, just complete silence. But honestly, after the mind games of that first weekend and this past week, I wouldn’t put it past them to be hiding from me. Especially Xavier.

Readjusting my grip on the handles of my duffel, I tread carefully as I make my way farther into the apartment.

Rounding the corner of the little hallway, I find a pizza box with a single rose and a bottle of something in a green bottle.

On top of the box, there is a folded-over card with my name written on it.

I drop my bags and rush over to the card, not giving a shit anymore about the possibility of this being a trap. One of them was literally just here. Did our elevators pass each other?

The message is handwritten, but I have no clue whose writing it is, never having seen any of their writing.

Emery,

All your meals are taken care of for the entire weekend.

That’s it.

There is nothing else. I know, because I flip the card over and check the back. What the fuck? Not even a signature? That is fucking rude. So fucking rude.

Urgh.

This stinks of Derek. Is this a subtle punishment for last night? Leaving me a note and not actually letting me know it’s from him? But forcing me to make the assumption that it is him, since he organized all the food from last weekend, or else drive myself crazy from curiosity.

Asshole.

I pick up the rose and take a sniff. There is just the faintest scent, and I melt a little. Okay, maybe not a complete punishment.

Fine.

He can have one brownie point. One. I haven’t forgotten the way he yelled at me behind Grinder, the look of abject disdain on his face as he’d stared down at me. Nor the fact that he took away the use of the daddy title from me, all without letting me get a word in.

If—when—we get this all sorted out, there is going to be a serious discussion about all of that.

No more cutting me off before a complete and detailed explanation has been given about whatever issue is happening.

Then, and only then, can he make a judgment that I will do my best to graciously accept.

I know I’m a lot younger than all four of them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be treated as an equal.

But until that happens, I’m going to enjoy teasing the shit out of him.

For now, though, I’m going to enjoy this pizza and—I pick up the bottle—sparkling water.

Okay, never had that before. Hopefully there is something else to drink in the fridge if I don’t like it.

Otherwise, I guess I’m stuck with regular water.

Before I let myself find out what kind of pizza is in the box, I grab my bags, drop the backpack by the couch, and take the duffel to the walk-in wardrobe.

Then I grab all the food and take it over to the couch, where I get comfortable. Placing the box beside me on the couch, I kick my feet up to rest on the coffee table and open the box, staring at the sheer amount of pizza there is.

I have a whole deep-dish pizza to myself. I’ll be lucky to get through a single slice.

Here’s to trying.

Before I get a slice out, I turn on the TV. It immediately opens to one of the newer rom-coms, and without much thought, I select it, ready to just chill out with my pizza.

I’m two bites in when my phone chimes with a message.

Darcy: Hey, princess, did you find the delivery?

I shoot upright, pizza in one hand and phone in the other. How the hell did I forget about that? Turning on the spot, I deeply regret not turning on more lights. Well, that must be remedied. ASAP.

Dropping the partially eaten piece of cheesy goodness back into the box, I double-time it over to the light switches and flick them all on.

The sudden onslaught of light is a little overwhelming, but I blink through it as I start making my way through all the kinky furniture on the sex dungeon side of the apartment.

I make my way past the medical table, pillory, spanking bench, and other furniture that I still need to research, but no box. Derek’s Wall of Torture is almost a distraction, but that’s when I spot the box over by Darcy’s rainbow wall.

His ropes look exactly as they were last week, including having the blue and black ropes back in place. Which almost sends me down a rabbit hole of wondering what the cleaning process is for the ropes, but I stay focused on my mission.

Turning from the wall, I find my treasure. Right now, in the very center of Darcy’s space, is a decently sized, plain brown shipping box. It’s easily two feet by two feet, and at least one foot high.

I nudge the box with my foot, and it barely budges. Okay, so whatever is in the box is heavy. Using my phone, I take a photo of the box and start to send it to Darcy, but then another idea occurs to me.

Swapping over to the group message thread, I send the image there. Then I send a little message as well, because I can.

Me: *smirking face* This is me not asking for permission to open this.