Whores like you should stick to what they know best.
“Everything okay?”
I jerk my head up and nod hastily before stuffing the letter in my pocket. “Yeah, yeah. Just a… just some guy I turned down.” I force a laugh. “Guess he didn’t know how to take no for an answer.”
Eddie shakes his head. “They’re expensive flowers. Looks like someone is trying to charm you.”
“Yeah looks like it.” I snatch the bouquet. “I’ll just stick these in water.” I lie and head toward the kitchens. “Hey, Eddie, who delivered these?”
“I don’t know, Jess. I wasn’t really paying attention. I just took them and left them here.”
“Did you sign for them?”
“Probably. I was busy trying to get the place ready for tonight. Don’t have time to be dealing with your admirers.” He says this casually enough but it still sounds defensive. I can’t figure out why.
I fling the flowers in the trash in the kitchen and pause to take a breath. What the hell am I going to do? I’ve finally got a good job. I can’t start again. Am I in danger? Whoever this person is knows where I live and where I work. And what can I do? I can’t go to the police. I don’t know anything and I’m not willing to draw attention to myself. What if I end up in the papers or something? The thought of being exposed brings bile into my throat.
Pain and humiliation swamps me. Memories of being physically exposed in front of strangers swim through my head. Gripping the kitchen table until my knuckles hurt, I concentrate on breathing and trying to forget. At times, I’d self medicate and it’s so tempting to fall into that trap again. I still have the pill from earlier in my bag. Strong painkillers often helped when working for hours on end. No one cared if it hurt or if you were exhausted. As long as they got their shots, that’s all that mattered.
But my life is different now. I’m strong, I can deal with this. I was only nineteen when this all hit—still raw from running away from my aunt’s home and my stepfather’s behaviour. It probably is just someone I’ve blown off, like I said to Eddie. Guys do come onto me at work but I never give in, no matter how charming they are.
Until Hunter, that is.
Pressing my fingers to my temples, I attempt to shake myself out of my thoughts. Now is not the time to be thinking about Hunter or this mysterious flower giver. I rub my forehead and straighten. Time to get to work and forget either person exists.
***
At three a.m, the streets are quiet enough but my head bangs as I wait for Eddie to lock up. Though the other staff came in eventually, it was a busy night and having only just recovered from a migraine, this shift took its toll. I dodged a few overly amorous and drunk customers while trying not to remember when Hunter had come to my defence. Regret swirls in the pit of my stomach. Funny how I kind of miss him being my alpha male now.
Eddie stuffs the bar keys in his pocket and I check the locks, a duty that falls to me since I seem to have become second in command recently. Mostly because I will work at short notice I think.
“See you next week, Jess.” Eddie heads off to his car with a wave and I wave back.
A shiver wracks me and I pull my jacket tight. Spring might be considering giving way to summer but it’s still cold at night. Yeah, that’s why I’m shivering. As I turn and head toward the bus stop to catch the night bus, a shadow catches my eye. There’s people around—party goers, workers like me, tourists—but something has me on edge.
I breeze past a laughing tipsy couple and keep my head down until I reach the traffic lights. Fighting the urge to tap my feet as I wait for them to change, I barely suppress a scream when a hand curls around my shoulder and I whirl around.
“Hunter!” His lopsided grin makes my toes curl.
“Princess.”
I frown. Why does he keep calling me that? I am nothing like a princess. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to check you were okay.”
I hold my jacket around me. “It’s three a.m.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep.”
The implication he was concerned about me hangs in the air between us, crumbling another brick of my resolve. That migraine has a lot to answer for. His hair is slightly dishevelled as if he might have been tossing and turning or running his hands through it repeatedly.
“You really didn’t need to—”
“I know, I know.” He holds up a hand. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that playing hard to get only encourages men?” Hunter chuckles at my shocked expression.
“I’m really not—”
“Maybe.” He cocks his head. “But I can’t resist a challenge. Guess I’m a sucker for punishment.” He jerks his head toward the opposite side of the road. “Will you at least let me drive you home? For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”