“Are you satisfied?” he asks abruptly.
“What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for five minutes; four of those spent below my belt. I assume you’re assessing whether I’msafe?” His lips twitch, ghosting his earlier smirk. His eyes flare, catching the hint of his smile and holding it there like a secret. “So, are you satisfied with what you see?”
My cheeks flush catching his meaning, but I cut across his question with one of my own. “How do you know my name?”
He points to the corner of the room. On one of the pink upholstered chairs stands a pile of books and beside those a limp, blue rucksack. Mine.
“You conveniently left your name on the library tag, Jules.”
Well, fuck. I’d scribbled on the old-school tag in a fit of whimsy not long ago. Took a strange sense of pride in seeing my name inked onto the page like a living tombstone, something to prove I existed. With everything being digital these days, it just felt sad to know I’d be erased. That my custodianship of these books would be forgotten.
But look where whimsy got me
I scan the pile, searching for my notebook. Chances are he read that too but I don’t care as long as it survived. The blue coverpeeks out from the bottom of the pile and I heave a sigh of relief. Still, a library tag doesn’t explain how he found me.
“And what about the bar? How did you know where I worked?”
“I didn’t. I had you followed. The second you ran out of the Tower, Aiden was on your tail.”
“You had no right!”
He leans forward in his chair. Staring penetratingly. Enjoying my incredulity. “I had every right, not to mention a duty. You were a trembling mess. Anything could have happened to you. I wanted to be sure you were safe.”
“You wanted to be sure you could question me at your convenience,” I huff, knowing better.
“Yes, that too.” I raise my brows at his admission. He raises his too. “What? You expect me to apologise for being honest, Jules?”
“No. I’m just surprised.” I hadn’t expected him to be straight about it. I’d been convinced his gentle persuasive chatter was bullshit designed to put me at ease, but this glimpse of honesty makes me wonder about him. I give in, though not gracefully. “Fine. I get it. You need to talk to me, so talk. I can’t stay all night. I need to get home.”
“Who’s at home?”
“I don’t see how that is any of your—”
His smirk grows wider. “The quicker you answer, the quicker you leave.”
I hate to admit it, but he has a point. There’s no harm in telling him, and he’ll find out for himself if he really wants to. “My dad, my mum too if her shift is over, the twins, and Casey my baby sister.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty next week.”
“You study at the community college?”
I point to the books in reply. The college name is stamped on the inside cover of every book. “You read the library sticker, right?”
He nods and the smirk transforms into a grin. “So, you study, you work in a bar, and you live at home? In Olive Tower, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re a master at the art of conversation, Jules.” He rolls his eyes.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr Nagano.”
“Touché, and you can call me Dax.” He offers me a small smile, tilts his head and runs his eyes over me before speaking. “Do you plan on giving me more than a sentence at a time?”
I answer him with a side smile of my own. He is sharp, intimidating, and striking, but he also has a sense of humour and a way about him that makes me feel both nervous and at ease. “I’m answering your questions. You aren’t asking anything that requires a longer response.” I lean back into my chair, reaching out to rest my arm along the backrest.
