She lets out a whistle when she sees my car parked on the side of the road. I smile proudly at her reaction. Women judge a man by what he drives. “Nice car,” she says as she admires the curves of my brand new white Corvette.
“Thanks.”
I walk over to open the passenger door for her, and she thanks me before I close her door. I get behind the wheel and start it up.
I pull onto the road, and I catch her look over at me shyly. “I …” She pauses. “I want to thank you for coming to get me. You didn’t have to.”
Oh, but I did. “It was no problem,” I say coolly. I get calls from blocked numbers all the time, so it was no surprise when I woke to a blocked number. What was a surprise was the beautiful woman on the line. I couldn’t believe my luck. She needed my help. Of course, I was gonna run to her side. What did piss me off was seeing that man when I pulled over to help her. Who the hell did he think he was? She has no idea how cruel this world can be. But I know someone who does—Nicole!
“I love you, Case.” She kisses me on the cheek before she pulls away and laughs softly. Her dark brown hair is up in a high ponytail wrapped with one of those bows that are bigger than her head, and she is dressed in her black and white Tigers cheerleading uniform. “I’ll see you after the game,” she calls out before she turns to walk out the front door.
I shift uncomfortably in the driver’s seat as I pull myself out of that memory. I can still see those blue eyes clear as day, and it makes my chest tighten. Now is not the time to go down memory lane. Taylor thinks I’m one of those bad guys, but I’m not. Well, not the kind of bad she thinks I am.
She clears her throat, and it pulls me from my thinking. “I also wanna tell you I’m sorry,” she says softly, trying once again.
“No need ...” I don’t deserve an apology.
“Yes,” she interrupts me. “I shouldn’t have accused you of breaking into our house.” She sighs heavily. “Blane doesn’t have friends I can trust, and I thought … Well, after you threatened me in the club, I just figured you were one of those people.” If she only knew the real me. “But I saw what you did for us last night when I got home. That was nice of you.”
I was trying to suck up. I shift the car as I pick up speed. A quick glance at the clock shows that she called me over thirty-five minutes ago.
“I’m just glad you kept my card,” I say as I slide my eyes over to look at her. Her face flushes before she turns to look out her window as I speed down the highway. I hate that it makes me feel good about myself because I don’t deserve that, not from her.
I tighten my hand on the steering wheel and shift the car as I feel that tightness return to my chest. She has no idea how much I have done in order to get what I want. And the sad part is that I don’t really feel that sorry about it.
I pull up to her coffee shop and turn off the car. I go to get out and open her door for her, but she’s already out and slamming her door shut. “Thanks again. I owe you,” she calls out as she runs toward the front door of the coffee shop.
Yes, you do! She just had no idea I’m going to make her pay up.
I smile as I lean back against the hood of my car. I cross one ankle over the other and cross my arms over my chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TAYLOR
“Please?” I beg. “You can’t fire me,” I whine to Mr. Binsen as he sits behind his computer. “I got here as fast as I could,” I say trying to hold back the tears as I take deep breaths from running from the parking lot. This is one of those days where I wish I had just stayed in bed.
“Taylor, you’re almost an hour late,” he reminds me as if the big cuckoo clock hanging up above his head is incorrect.
“I know,” I say wanting to stomp my foot. “My car broke down. What was I supposed to do? I called up here. And then I called you.” I wish I could explain to him how desperate I was that I called a man who has the potential to be dangerous to me. And how I feel like he somehow ended up saving my life from a potential rapist or murderer.
He reaches over to the bag of Lays potato chips that sit on his desk, grabs a handful, and then shoves them in his mouth. All of this without looking away from his computer. “Yes. Duncan filled me in,” he says through a mouthful of chips.
I take a deep breath and try not to cry or cuss him up one way and down the other. “I can’t lose my job,” I decide to say desperately.
“Sorry, Taylor. I have to do what is right for my business. And I need someone who is reliable. You are not.” And with that, he starts to smile as he stares at his computer. I stand there just staring at him, and after a few long seconds, he starts to laugh and talk in German. He must have won something online.
I spin around, open the door, and close it behind me before I storm down the hallway. I reach up and wipe the single tear off my cheek when I shove open the front door to the coffee shop, ignoring Duncan calling out my name behind me. I start to walk down the sidewalk wondering what in the hell I’m gonna do now when I hear my name being called out again.
I spin around thinking Duncan followed me outside when I see Case leaning up against his white Corvette staring at me. “What are you still doing here?” I demand.
He frowns as he tilts his head, his sunglasses shading his eyes. I sigh as I run a hand through my dark hair. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” He just dropped whatever he was doing, which was probably a woman, to come and get me off the side of the road. And he called a tow truck to get my car fixed. I close my eyes and growl as I think of my car. How am I going to pay to fix my car if I have no job? “Fuck,” I hiss.
“What happened?”
I open my eyes and see him approaching me slowly as if I will pounce on him like a caged animal. I wish I could hit him. Punch him in his perfect, handsome face. Hell, the chance to attack anyone sounds good at the moment. Maybe that would make me feel better. Instead, I point at the front door. “I just got fired,” I grind out. “Because I was late. Who cares that I work my ass off here.” Sure, it’s just a coffee shop, but I work hard at that job. There were times I went in before school and then went right back after classes. Then had to stay up all night to do homework and study. It never ended. “Who cares I’m the first one to cover for someone else.” My voice rises. “Who cares …?”
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Calm down,” he says softly. “Before you call unwanted attention.”
I take a second to look at the busy street and notice that people are staring at me with either concerned eyes or looks of disgust. Why wouldn’t they? I look like a hot mess and feel like a crazy person. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” I say with a small laugh. Geez, I’m losing my mind.
“Where would you like me to take you?” he questions.
This is too much! “Oh. No. Thank you. I can’t ask you to …”
“You’re not,” he interrupts. “I insist.”
After he walked me back to his car, he informed me that I needed to eat. I tried to tell him that I didn’t need food, but he wasn’t taking it. So I threw my hands up in the air and said sure, why not? It’s probably the last good meal I’ll get for a while until I find a new job.
He chose a little Italian restaurant at the end of the street. I’ve worked at the other end of this street here in downtown Chicago at the coffee shop for the last three years and never took the time to eat here.
As he holds the door open for me, I mumble a thank you and instantly regret letting him choose. I’m too underdressed for a place like this. My jeans and white button up shirt look out of place compared to everyone dressed up from their Sunday morning church services.
The woman seats us in the back and frowns as I watch her sniff the air. I lift my left arm to smell the sleeve of my shirt. “I smell like smoke.” Crap. Did I say that out loud?