Mr.Right novel Chapter 17

I dream surprisingly sweet dreams during the night and wake up to the piercing sound of a whistle being blown in my face.

Not a very pleasant way to wake up on a Sunday morning.

My eyes open slowly to find the blurry figure of Maverick, standing over me with a whistle in his mouth.

"What in the world...?" I grumble and cocoon myself back in the sheets.

He blows the whistle even more loudly.

Inevitably, my eyes fly open and I sit upright in bed, glaring at him. I'm sure there's drool all over my face, but I'm not really concerned about that right now.

I'm more worried about why I'm being woken up at 6.32 am on a Sunday morning.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." He smiles down at me as I roll my eyes, waiting for an explanation.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, girl, that's not going to help your cause," Maverick says and throws a handful of clothes at my legs. "Change into these and meet me upstairs in the gym."

I see his figure slowly retreating out of the room, followed by the sound of a door closing.

My hand stretches out to find my glasses, and I place them over my eyes to examine the clothes he left.

They're gym clothes. Purple ones with white stripes at the side.

What the hell is he up to?

Very reluctantly and with a lot of grumbles, I shrug the clothes on and slip my feet into my mismatched slippers. They're mismatched because I accidentally packed one of Jacqueline's by mistake, when I wanted to escape Jim's house without being caught.

I would have bought new pairs, but I actually think it's kind of cool to have slippers like this.

It wasn't hard finding the gym as the word 'Gym' is boldly inscribed on the door.

I push it open and pop my head into the room.

Maverick is also in gym clothes and he's standing in the middle of the room. His phone is pressed to his ears and his back faces the door.

My eyes roam the entire room in awe. It's pleasant and inviting, with top-of-the-range equipment such as cardio machines, selectorized weight machines, yoga mats and a martial arts studio.

There's even a flat-screen TV on one wall.

Holy cow! What else does this house have? Is there a restaurant and bar somewhere that I don't know about?

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask when he ends the call and tucks the phone into his pocket.

"You said you needed help and you didn't specify what type of help. So we're doing things my way. And if you're wondering whether to panic, I think you should. You should be terrified of what's coming. You're in for a bumpy ride."

I scoff. "Yeah, right. I'm definitely quaking in my mismatched slippers..."

He motions for me to come over and I oblige, standing between him and a thick, leather punching bag that hangs from the ceiling.

"How do you vent out your anger?" he asks, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Um... I cry?"

"That's it?" He looks incredulous. "You don't ever feel like punching someone's face in when you're pissed off?"