Right now, he’s myboss. Someone with the power to fire me, to take that nice fat paycheck and all the sweet benefits away. I’m loving my new job, my new colleagues, my schedule of working only four days a week. Do I want to screw that up over a rabid sexual itch that’s obviously one-sided?
“Have a good night, Bridge,” he says when I just sit there staring at him without an answer. “My date’s here.”
Date? I twist around to see a gorgeous brunette striding toward our table. Tall, lithe, classily dressed; dainty jewels, brand-name handbag dangling from her wrist. She could easily be a friend of Brook’s, as this is how all her friends look—swish and high-maintenance.
As she reaches the table, I straighten from the bar-height chair.
“Sorry I’m late, hun,” she tells True before pecking him a kiss, then moves to the seat I’ve just vacated without acknowledging me. Almost as if she’s used to women being all up in his space.
She just settles in and begins prattling about a big client she just landed.
I’m invisible to her, but not to True. His eyes haven’t left me. Not even when she kissed him. It’s weird, because it’s as if he wants something from me, but at the same time, it also feels like he wants nothing at all to do with me.
When Classy Boss Chick finally realizes his attention is elsewhere, she reluctantly turns to acknowledge me with a sigh. “Hi. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. But he’s with me tonight. So can you pick up whatever this” —she gestures between me and him— “is some other time?” Without waiting for a reply, she mutters, “Thanks” and turns back around.
Wow. Well… okay.
When I flick my gaze from her to True, his eyes are no longer on me. I’m dismissed.
Muttering out a “Night,” I turn and head back across to my colleagues, telling them, “I think I’m gonna head out.”
“Wait,” Lance says, leaning forward, “which one was it, True or Trent?”
“You can’t tell?”
He shrugs. “Usually, yeah. But True’s been a lot like Trent as of late, so it’s been almost impossible to tell.”
The others nod in agreement.
Considering I’d initially thought it was Trent earlier, I get it. “It’s True.”
“Told ya!” Benny says, clapping his hands. “Pay up, suckers.”
Each of the men groan as they hand over twenty-dollar bills, and I shake my head. Of course they’d bet on it. They bet on every damn thing.
“Okay, I’m out,” I say. “See you all on Thursday.”
I’m about halfway to my car, in the parking lot on the left of the building, when the hairs on the back of my neck spike.
Someone’s following me.
Not just following… they’re hereforme.
The threat is as raw in the air as guts from a busted fish.
I almost smirk to myself. It’s been a while since I’ve had any real action.
Security detailing for the wealthy isn’t exactly thrilling or threatening, and it can sometimes be deathly boring, depending on the job. Not that I’d trade it for being a free agent again, but I do miss a bit of thrill every now and then.
Making the occasional hiccup sounds of someone who’s shit-faced, I begin faking drunken sways. Once I’ve reached my car, I dip my head and fumble around in the pockets of my leather jacket, slurring, “Where’s my damn key?”
From my periphery, I can see the shadow of my stalker casted by the dull light from across the lot.
Knife in hand. No gun. No second shadow. He’s alone.
Good, because I turned in my Red Cage service weapon after my shift, and my personal weapon is inside my car. Giving the stalker time to get closer, I keep digging around in my pockets.
Once he’s close enough, poised to attack, I duck and dodge in his direction—but fast and far enough that, when he swipes his knife at me and catches nothing but air, the force of the action whips him right around before he’s facing me again.
