She really didn’t. “He put his hands all over my arse and flicked his tongue at me, and you think I overreacted?”
Her boss had the brains to keep quiet about her last comment at least, I’d give him that. “Go back out there and get names and numbers, apologize, and clean up the mess. We’ll have to cover the dry cleaning at least. Do that and you can keep your job.” I don’t think you know your employee very well. She’s done with you, asshole.
She gaped at him in shock for a moment, then put her hands down and began untying her apron. It took a few seconds for her to get the crisscrossed ties free, but the passage of time only seemed to increase the anger coming off her in waves. Her idiot boss just stood there watching her, waiting for her to drop the apron.
Which she did. Right at his feet to lie with the scattered business cards the dogs had given to her. Good girl.
“No, thank you, Martin. I quit this hideous job, and don’t you ever try to contact me again.” Smart girl.
“Brooke,” he yelled after her, “who is going to pay for all of this?” I think that would be you, Martin.
But Brooke had already grabbed her things and was at the door when she turned back one last time, her long blonde ponytail whipping around her neck from the force. She was so very angry, but her composure was a thing of magnificence—and her words spoken in that accent of hers, awe-inspiring. I couldn’t take my eyes away for anything.
“Take it out of my final pay. And then you can fuck off.” My dick is so hard for this girl right now.
Then Brooke was really gone.
“I’ll cover any damages, but I sincerely doubt there will be any. The guy who grabbed her was way out of line and I witnessed the whole thing. I’ll cover the dry-cleaning bills, too.” I handed the fool my card and left him standing there in the kitchen with his mouth hanging open like a goldfish gasping its last breaths.
I caught up to her out on the street where she was in line for a cab. She looked me over as I walked up but she didn’t say a word.
“Hey, those were some impressive self-defense moves you’ve got,” I said.
“Sorry you were in the line of fire in there.” She indicated her head toward my suit, which was pretty much trashed with shrimp cocktail sauce.
I shrugged. “It’ll clean. How about you? Are you all right after that disaster in there?”
“I’ll be fine as soon as I can get home.” Her voice didn’t sound as strong as before, and I sensed the adrenaline was wearing off. She was upset and rightly so.
“Can I give you a lift? My car can be here in five minutes and I’d be happy to take you wherever you need to go.”
She shook her head. “That’s not possible unless your car can float on water.” She checked her watch. “Besides, I don’t know you and I would never get into a car with a man I don’t know.”
“Fair enough,” I said. Although I was disappointed she wouldn’t take me up on my offer, I had to agree with her superior logic. A girl who looked like her definitely shouldn’t go with any man she didn’t know. It would be dangerous. For some reason I hated the idea of her in any kind of danger. “I’m really sorry you had to endure that crowd tonight. I hope I didn’t do anything to offend you—”
“I saw you stand up to him, and I thank you for that. And no, you didn’t offend me with your ignorance of meatballs. I’m happy to have helped sort out that little problem for you. Now you are an informed connoisseur of the rare delicacy called a meatball, and you owe it all to me,” she replied with a hint of a smile.
She was so awesome, trying to joke around with me when it was apparent she was still upset about the clusterfuck that had happened to her inside that reception tonight. She looked beautiful, but very . . . sad. If I had to choose a word to describe how she appeared to me, it would have to be sad. And that bothered me greatly.
“Thank you for the meatball tutorial. I enjoyed it very much. I’m Caleb by the way. Caleb Black—”
I was interrupted by her phone chiming out the unusual but unmistakable ring tone of Ricky Martin’s “Shake Your Bon-Bon.” Interesting choice I thought, as she turned away to take the call.
“Fucking hell, I’m so glad you called me back.” The word fuck in that accent—damn . . .
“I can still catch the eight-thirty ferry if I hurry so I’m going home after all. I won’t be staying over.” Ah. That’s not possible unless your car can float on water. Got it.
“Long, dreadful story. Suffice to say I’m looking for a new second job.” She needed a second job?
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” The offices on Hereford Street.
“I love you, too.” Boyfriend or just friend?
My stalking skills were improving by the second if I was now capable of listening in on entire conversations and deciphering them. I’d caught every word she’d spoken. A cab pulled forward for her, and she said clearly, “Blackstone Island Ferry Company,” to the driver as she got in.
I watched her cab pull into traffic and drive away until it was out of sight.