She jolted, turning around. Her smile came easily. "Hello, Mr. Cartmen."
Carrying his suit coat over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the first couple buttons of his shirt undone, Mr. Cartmen glanced around. She followed his gaze, thinking he was looking for his ride.
"Please, call me Keith. How's the shelter doing?" he said.
Mr. Cartman helped her get her permits approved by the city. Without him, she would've had to wait months to get in front of the Planning Commission.
She smiled. "Full to capacity every night."
"Wonderful." He stepped closer. "I'm done for the day and planned on going out for dinner and a drink. I'd love it if you'd join me."
"Oh, I couldn't." She lifted her phone and looked at the display as if she were running late. "It's nice of you to ask, though. Thank you."
"Come on, a drink then...it won't take any time at all." He placed his hand on her back and turned her around.
"No, really." She planted her feet. "I'm running late."
"Aubrey," he practically cooed as he put his hands on her shoulders, working his way up until he hooked her neck. "A little drink. Just you and me."
She pulled against his hold, but he wouldn't let go. "Mr. Cartmen, please."
He leaned in at the same time the squeal from a car's tires rounded the corner. She jerked her head and saw a black BMW skid to a stop at the curb, the window down, and Serge filling the car. Every muscle in her body relaxed at the sight of him, and she exhaled.
"Get in the car," Serge said.
"Hey, Adams." Mr. Cartmen let her go and held out his arms as a sign of no foul. "Nice night."
"Youevertouch her again, you'll fucking die." Serge stepped out of the car, escorted her to the passenger side, opened the door, and shielded her from Mr. Cartmen.
Safe inside the car, she watched Serge walk around to the driver's side, ignoring Mr. Cartman, and climb in. She hurried and latched the seatbelt, ready to get out of there. He had never hit on her before.
She glanced at Serge, thankful he had shown up when he did. His whole body screamed that he wasn't lying when he had threatened Mr. Cartmen. Her stomach rolled. If that happened, she'd be responsible because of her foolish idea to gawk at his office building.
Serge hit the accelerator. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I wanted to get Chinese food," she whispered. "I wasn't with Mr. Cartmen."
"He'd fuck you and leave you before you could get a dime out of his pocket." He shifted into a higher gear. "Do you think you're any different to him than the whores he hangs around?"
"Serge, I wasn'twithhim." She pressed her hands into her thighs. "I hired him to do the paperwork for the permits I needed before I opened the shelter, and he saw me walking. I stopped, and he asked me out. I told him no."
"The nearest Chinese restaurant is three streets back." He braked on the turn and circled the block. "You were staring up at my office."
Her mouth opened, and she refused to look at him. He couldn't possibly know. Sure, he could guess, but he had no idea what she was doing on the sidewalk.
He pulled in behind her car and shut off the engine. "I want to know why you're here, looking for me. And so help me God, if you don't tell me what I want to hear, the next time someone like Cartmen comes around, I won't be there to save your ass."
She looked at him, then jerked off her seatbelt and exited the car. Furious with herself for even caring if he was okay, she marched to her car. At the door, she punched in the keyless entry code.
When her fingers curled under the door handle, two strong hands whirled her around and backed her against the vehicle. "What are you doing? Let go of me."
First, Mr. Cartman and now Serge. Did she have a sign around her neck asking to be assaulted?
"Answer me," he said.
In her personal space, he refused to back down. She stared into his eyes, aware of the anger and the position he'd put her in.
Finally, she eased her curiosity about his health—his lip was healed, and his cheek was no longer swollen.
