24
Violet
B roadway parks his G Wagon close to the elevator in Scarlett ’s underground parking lot.
The muscles in his jaw tick and his knuckles are white against the steering wheel. He’s clearly unhappy, the veins on his arms shifting when he kills the engine and turns to face me, a storm raging in his deep, brown eyes.
“I don’t want you to do this,” he says for the tenth time today. “You don’t have to work, Violet.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve been sitting on my ass doing nothing way too long. I hate feeling useless.”
“You’re not useless. And you don’t have to rush into this. Give yourself a few more weeks.”
I reach out, covering his hand with mine, and he curls his fingers around my wrist, pressing that soft pulse point.
Once again, the sensation relaxes my tense muscles as if at the touch of a magic wand.
“I’m not rushing. I’ve been cooped up for six weeks, just... existing . If I’m not moving forward, I’m basically moving backward.”
He shakes his head once, increasing the delicious pressure of his thumb. “That’s not true.”
“Of course it is. The world goes on with or without me, Broadway. I don’t want to be left behind, so I need to at least try and keep up.” I gently remove my hand from his caress, reaching for the door handle. “I’m just training this week. There’s no one there save for the staff until the last hour of my shift, correct?”
He bobs his head, those dark, penetrating eyes boring into mine. “Promise me something. The minute you feel one bit uncomfortable, you’ll tell me.” He pushes the phone he gave me on Friday into my hand. “Keep this with you at all times.”
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.” I push the door open, stepping out of the car. “Oh, and Broadway?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not made of glass, so don’t treat me like I’ll break.”
“You shouldn’t have said that, baby,” he mutters under his breath, the words not meant for my ears.
Pleasant chills slide down my spine and my cheeks heat at how effortlessly baby rolls off his tongue, loaded with more emotion than anything I’ve ever heard him say.
I turn my back on him, inhaling an inconspicuous breath to calm my racing heart.
Too bad my head has different plans...
It fishes out a montage of the time we’ve spent together.
The first time I saw him. How he folded me into his arms outside the auction house and held me so close, cooing in my ear. How pissed off and worried he was when Ryder unhooked my collar, every single night we spent in his G Wagon, last Friday at Carter’s when he locked me in his arms to calm me down.
The hours we’ve spent together since I moved in with him, our chats over breakfast and dinner, how easy it is to just... be with him. The calmness that washes over me whenever he enters the penthouse, and how mellow I am when his fingers manipulate those pressure points on my neck or wrist. The way he looks, walks, talks, smells, and—
“I know you’re not easily breakable,” Broadway says, stopping by my side. “But that won’t keep me from worrying about you.”
Another wave of heat slams into me, making my knees weak. He’s close again, arm-in-arm with me—well, my arm to his elbow because he’s fucking huge.
I know he worries that being at the club where so many men come and go will hinder my progress. Tom explained that much when I told him Broadway had been trying to talk me out of the idea for days.
Still, knowing he worries and hearing him admit to it so openly are two different things.
If I’m being honest with myself, I worry too.
I worry that I’ll see a familiar, hated face and succumb to my panic.
It’s a possibility.
While serving strangers should be easy, I doubt I’ll be able to keep calm if an auction winner walks through the door.
Thankfully, the chances are slim. Most of them don’t live in Ohio. There’s no reason they’d venture to Scarlett.
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him, sounding a little breathless even to my ears.
He grinds his teeth, still unhappy, but after a tense moment, he bobs his head, gesturing toward the elevator that’ll take us into the club.
Carter assigned me to bar duty despite my complete lack of experience. Waitressing is easier to learn than mixing drinks, so I’m fairly certain I got the gig thanks to Broadway’s nagging. He’d have a fit if I were out among the crowd. It’s no secret drunk men get very forward with waitresses, so I’m grateful to be behind the safety of the bar.
Broadway takes me inside, hovering close behind, the scent of his cologne soothing my anxious mind. I want this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried.
For the next five hours, Broadway doesn’t leave my side while he introduces me to the staff, then sits by the bar, sipping Coke and watching Arthur explain the ins and outs of working the bar.
At five pm I set a glass of Bourbon in front of him with a small smile. Of all the drinks I’ve mixed today, Broadway’s is by far the easiest. Just a glass and three fingers of Bourbon. He takes a sip then leans over the counter, bending his finger so I’ll meet him halfway.
“All good?” he asks, the Bourbon on his breath surprisingly pleasing. “The doors open in ten minutes.”
He throws it in casually, like a reminder, but we both know that what he’s really doing is giving me one last chance to change my mind and flee before the club starts filling up with strange men.
Little does he know I’ve been psyching myself up for this since Carter said he’d get me a job here. Fear is easier to manage when I have time to think through every possibility and prepare for possible threats.
I had plenty of practice living under Blaze’s roof. If I didn’t learn how to fortify my mind against being raped every weekend, I probably wouldn’t have lasted half as long as I did.
“Are you staying?” I ask Broadway.
He bobs his head, eyes roaming my face in great concentration, like he’s trying to read my mind. “I’m taking you home, remember?”
Home . He always makes it sound like it’s not just his home, but mine as well, and every time, without fail, it fills me with a mixture of joy and anxiety.
“Then I’m fine.”