Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Bree
C ompanion buzzes on my wrist with what feels like excitement. Or maybe I'm projecting. It praises me with hearts when I switch off the alarm. Honestly, I didn't need to set a reminder. I've thought about this date every day since we agreed that morning. When I wasn't wondering what he sees in me, I was thinking about what I'd wear, what we'd eat, how the night would go. Thinking about how he set up a date without calling it that, how he totally likes me, well, I couldn't help but get excited.
Okay, maybe he doesn't like me. But he does want to see me again.
And apparently, we're going to a fancy restaurant? He told me the dress code was elegant chic, but that's all.
Even now, butterflies are flitting around in my stomach. I don't know exactly where we're going, but I made sure to look the part. I picked a soft white turtleneck dress that hugs my body down to my knees, strapless to show off my shoulders. White platform heels complete the look, kind of pushing the limits of elegant chic, but what the hell. I rarely get to dress up like this, and I feel sexy. I'm just finishing up my makeup—just a natural look with a deep red lip—when Companion lets me know I've got a text message.
As I was hoping, it's from Sam.
"Aah, he'll be here in five minutes," I sing out loud to no one, smoothing my hair in the mirror.
My curls are slicked back into a high ponytail. No doubt about it, I look good tonight. I smile widely at my reflection, then run to pick up my purse and the last few things I need for the night before heading out the door.
Maybe I'm more excited for the date than anything else. I don't know much about Sam other than he's hot. We haven't been texting much this week, he seems super busy. But what I do know is that it's been too long since I've gone out. Guys just aren't that into me. I've been getting kind of worried about that, actually. For some reason, I seem to scare them off. When a guy asks me out, he ends up ghosting me after the first date. So although Companion helps me track sexual encounters in the case of surprise pregnancies, I haven't had much to log. I can only get lucky for one-night stands when I'm feeling impulsive.
I'm nervous as I wait for Sam to pull up to my street. Is he going to ghost me, too? That'd be so awkward. What if he stops responding to my texts and I run into him at the park?
Too late to back out now, though. A stately vehicle is slowing down next to the curb in front of me, all black and gleaming, and I have to clench my teeth to stop my jaw from dropping open. Sam gets out from the back once it comes to a stop and walks over to me.
"Bree, nice to see you again," he says with a grin.
His dark hair frames his face and tumbles to his shoulders in waves, freshly combed rather than carelessly tousled or pulled into a low ponytail. And his tailored gray suit is paying him every compliment in the book.
"Ready to go?" he asks, nudging me out of my daze as he opens the door for me. The car looks too expensive to even touch.
"Yes, sorry!" I say, coming to life and walking forward to ease into the car.
"You look lovely," he says softly as I sit, and I smile up at him.
He closes the door, and I settle into the creamy leather. Sure enough, a driver sits at the front, separated from me by a thick partition of glass. I'm trying to wipe the surprise off my face when Sam gets back in beside me.
This guy is loaded!
"Some car!" I blurt out, unable to contain myself.
"You like it?" he asks calmly. "It gets me where I need to go."
The driver starts to pull away as I laugh at Sam's response.
"Are you sure I'm not underdressed for the restaurant?" I go on, incredulous. I think back to the two times I've seen him, and nothing even hinted at him having money like this.
"You look perfect."
I blush at his compliment, forgetting why I was shocked for a moment.
"I hope you'll like it," he goes on. "It's one of my favorite places."
"You haven't told me where we're going," I remind him, the nervousness trickling back in. I suddenly don't know what to do with my hands. I clasp them tightly together in my lap, feeling shy.
"I haven't?" Sam glances down at my hands, which makes me stop fidgeting.
He leans forward and takes the lid off a black metal bucket resting on the spacious car floor. Inside is a slender bottle, which he gently takes out. Skillfully, he pours the bubbly liquor into a thin glass before replacing the bottle. When he returns his attention to me, he scoops my hand up from my lap, cradling it in his huge warm one, and pushes the glass stem between my fingers.
"Here, to take the edge off. There's nothing to be nervous about." Sam smiles reassuringly at me, his eyes lingering on mine.
I want to look away, but his dark green eyes have me frozen in place. I just stare—until I realize he's expecting me to say something. What tips me off is the smile he's fighting back.
"Y-yes!" I finally agree, nodding quickly and zipping the glass to my lips.
Sam turns away to pour himself a drink as I down about half of mine, forcing the bubbles to go down. It's not the smartest choice, but I want to get over these nerves as soon as possible. Being so close to this guy in the back of a car is doing things to me I hadn't anticipated. He's so in control, so calm, ready to problem solve. Just like how he quickly noticed my nervousness, he also caught me before I could fall the last time we met.
It's kind of nice. If I'm not in control every second with him, things won't completely go to shit.
Maybe the drink is hitting me fast, but I relax a little.
Actually, I'm going to have fun tonight.
Sam tastes the liquor, his eyes on me. His long fingers hold the glass gently yet firmly, and I remember his touch on my hand.
"Do you do that a lot? Just watch people without saying anything?" Sam jokes.
"That's my job, you know," I say, masking my brief embarrassment. "I'm a journalist. I pursue the real story at any cost." I waggle my eyebrows.
"What kind of stories?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows back.
"Whatever my editor passes to me." I don't hide the grumble in my voice and take a long sip. "I'm still working my way up to writing my own stories, pursuing the topics I'd like to uncover. For now, I write about what grabs people's attention."
Sam nods, studying my expression. "What do you want to write about instead?"
I swirl my drink in the glass, trying to think of an answer. I've never had a good answer, even for myself. Journalism appealed to me because I thought I could earn my own success, separate from my parents. But did I just start doing anything that was far enough removed from them? Sometimes I wonder what I'd really like. It's like I don't have time to sort that out with myself.
I shake my head slowly and give a little laugh. "Writing about popular topics is fine for now. I'm just complaining."
Sam doesn't say anything, and I don't look up. It's obvious this is a bit of a sore spot for me, and I feel awkward that I brought up the topic in the first place.
"Hey!" I perk up as music softly fills up the silence. "This is my favorite band!" I look from the front of the car to Sam, confused. "Is the radio playing?"
"No, they don't play this on the radio." Sam laughs. "This is my playlist. I like this band, too."
"No way! No one I talk to ever knows these guys!" I angle toward him enthusiastically, almost spilling my drink.
"Careful," he warns. "Have you already had too much? Lightweight?" Sam makes motion to take my glass, and I pull it out of reach, grinning from ear to ear.
The rest of the ride is much more comfortable. My nerves disappear as we talk about lighter topics, pointedly avoiding work. I want to know what he does, but if I'm not ready to talk, I can't expect him to spill all the beans. But as soon as we get to the stunning restaurant, his possible occupation is all I can think about.
The Skyview absolutely delivers on its name. Located at the tippy top of one of the tallest buildings in the city, the restaurant has a 360° view of the city far below. Our table is right by the window, and the twinkling lights steal my attention right away. Which is an impressive feat, considering how beautiful the interior is. Gold accents mix with white marble to create an elegant vibe, and not too many tables crowd around. This is the kind of place you have to fight to get a reservation at.
Sam is right at home. He handles it all, including the menu we'll be enjoying for the evening and our drinks. I gratefully keep silent, letting my attention drift to the city below as I try to adjust to the setting.
What could his job possibly be?
"Well, how do you like it here?" Sam asks, though I have a feeling he doesn't really need an answer. His eyes twinkle in the cozy lighting.
"I don't know if this is going to be enough to pay you back for stealing your lunch," I say, pressing a hand to my chest in mock concern.
But as we eat, I realize he absolutely doesn't need me to pay him back for anything. He said this place is his favorite, so he must be used to carefully curated plates of culinary delights. Me, on the other hand…
I hardly know what I'm eating—tiny little balls that explode in my mouth, juicy cuts of meat, and perfectly prepared veggies I've never even tasted before. But I'm having the time of my life, and Sam seems to enjoy my reactions to the food. We finish off a bottle of wine before the meal comes to an end, and I find myself perfectly satisfied despite the many little dishes that came and went.
"So?" Sam prompts me again, folding his hands expectantly on the immaculate table. He didn't make the tiniest mess. I wonder if he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth.
"This was amazing," I gush, unable to keep myself from beaming.
"Skyview has the best food in the city, hands down."
"Are you a foodie?" I lean in close, hoping the answer is yes, but he laughs me off.
"I'll have to disappoint you." Sam chuckles, a deep sound that sends a ripple across my skin.
"After a night like this? Keep trying."
Sam grins as we slip into a comfortable silence, and my stomach fills again with butterflies. He has this way of making me feel like I'm the only girl around.
I wonder how attentive he is in other settings.
I clear my throat and look away, feeling my cheeks heat up.
"I'll be right back. I'll just go touch up my makeup," I say with a little smile.
He nods, and I excuse myself, trying to empty my head of thoughts of his lips on me. I really can't help myself, can I? It feels like I'm being romanced, and Companion knows something like this has… like, never happened.
"How pathetic," I murmur to myself, stepping into the women's bathroom.
The spacious room gives off a princess vibe, light pink and white marble. The lights make me look stunning. I stop to check my reflection in the floor-length mirror near the entrance, and that's when a dark shape suddenly rushes in.
I recognize the staff uniform, but it's a man, charging right for me. Before I can scream, his hand is covering my mouth, and he's pushing me deeper into the bathroom. My heels scrape across the floor as I struggle to gain purchase, but he doesn't stop shoving until he has me flat against the wall.
"What a treat," the man whispers into my face, his eyes raking down my body.
I twist and writhe in his grip, but he quickly shows me what he's carrying in his left hand—a knife.
"Play nice, and I won't have to use this. Okay?"
My eyes bulge out of my head, my chest rising and falling as my heart rate skyrockets. I can barely get a breath through his dirty fingers, and thankfully, he starts to pull his hand away.
"Don't say a word, don't scream, or I'll plunge this into you and stain this pretty dress of yours."
I nod furiously, my hands up in the air to show I won't do a thing. I'm waiting for someone to come in, that's what I'm doing. My eyes keep darting behind him, but he doesn't notice. His eyes are on my body, and soon, his hand is groping at me. I groan, my stomach twisting at his touch.
"Oh, you're lovely," he mumbles, his hand dipping lower to my thighs and gripping the hem of the dress. "I bet you're lovelier under here."
I whimper and shut my eyes, turning my head away. My legs are trembling, and I want nothing more than to kick this guy in the dick, but the knife is pointed directly at my ribs.
"Please," I start softly, but he shakes the knife.
"Not a fucking word." His fingers dig into my thighs. "Don't make me tell you again?—"
"Hey!!"
A voice filled with fury and shock rings through the bathroom, and as the guy turns toward the sound, Sam is already upon him, his eyes blazing with violence. He doesn't look twice at the knife before his fist sinks into the man's face. I finally let out the scream I've been holding in and leap away. Tears immediately spring to my eyes and fall down my cheeks, and the sound of fists hitting flesh surrounds me.
Sam doesn't hold back. His fists connect again and again with the man's face, even after they come back bloodied. A chill runs down my spine. I can't move. He's unleashing such a fury that it's hard to breathe.
But I can't let him keep going.
"Sam!" I scream. "Don't kill him, Sam!"
I start tugging on his shoulders, trying to get him off the guy. A part of me wants to see him keep going, but I can't let Sam go to jail over this creep. I feel the power rippling through his body as he strikes the man. I know he won't stop, so I wrap my arms around one of his and cling.
"Please, Sam, please!"
Finally, I feel his body still. I quickly jump up and look down at my attacker. He's groaning and moving on the floor—not dead. Then, much too late, actual staff pour into the bathroom.
Sam snaps into control, explaining the situation and directing the staff to act. They comply at once, a couple of men restraining the guy and a few others going off to call the authorities. Then he steps to my side and pulls me close.
"Come on, let's get out of here," Sam whispers against my hair. "Are you okay?"
Now that he's stopped, I feel like I can barely walk. My body is back to trembling, and my only lifeline seems to be the arm Sam has thrown around my shoulders.
And with him so close to me like this, I can smell the blood on his knuckles.