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?

Case chuckles. “No, you don’t.”

I arch an eyebrow. “What other excuse do you have for her putting us back here?” I question.

“She knows I prefer it back here,” he replies simply.

“Oh,” is all I say. I’m sure she knows everything that he prefers. Sexually. “How well do you know her?” I blurt out then immediately sink back into my seat. Why did you ask that?

He doesn’t even bother to look up from his menu as he smirks. “Well enough.”

Why does that make me feel jealous? That someone knows him in a way that I don’t? The man is dark and dangerous. All you have to do is look into his eyes and they promise a night you would never forget. He just screams power and those tattoos … they call to me like a dangerous threat. The way the blue and black lines travel up and down his forearms. His left forearm has a black skull that looks like it belongs to the devil himself. It has dark blue flames that come through the outline of the skull. Then there’s black ink that looks like smoke coming out of the skull’s mouth. It looks like it’s on fire. My eyes roam up to his black t-shirt, and I wish I could lift it up to see the rest of his tats. Both arms end right at his wrist. But the watch on his right hand covers part of it. I feel my insides tighten at the thought of him taking off his shirt for me to look at his chest. Every time he moves, it pulls his shirt tighter and I can make out his pecs. I wonder if they feel as good as they look. I sigh heavily; maybe it has been too long since I have had sex.