Loving Elise (Love and Blood #1)

Chapter One - Elise

CHAPTER ONE

Elise

There’s no way to tell time: seconds, minutes, hours, days—it’s all a blur of drifting in and out of sleep, eating oatmeal and bread when it’s brought to me, and staring at the wall.

Cuts and bruises cover my arms and legs, visible through my ripped and bloodied clothing.

It’s been days since I woke up in the basement, but the wounds are still sensitive and raw.

My meager meals aren’t enough to energize my body, and I can feel myself growing weaker.

The lack of good hygiene and nutrients has minimized any healing that should’ve taken place by now.

I’m about to drift off to sleep when I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

My eyes dart to the tray of food, steam faintly rising from the oatmeal, still warm.

If someone is coming to see me, it isn’t a routine visit.

I scramble backward on instinct, getting as far away from the solid metal door as possible, but the effort is in vain.

The doorknob turns, and my visitor enters the room.

This can’t be good.

Six days earlier

I wipe off the counter and listen to the pleasant chatter of customers. It’s been a slow day at the bakery, but I’m not complaining. I didn’t sleep well last night.

I made it three weeks without a nightmare night, but my luck ran out last night. By five, I’d given up on sleep completely, and I’ve been at work since seven.

It doesn’t help that I can’t stop worrying about this phone call with Dad tonight, but there’s no avoiding it. I’ve pushed it off long enough, and I’m officially out of time.

I have no doubt he’ll be difficult, so I replay my best arguments on a loop. One shot is all I get—once he says no, it’s game over.

The sound of the door opening pulls me from my imaginary debate, and I look up to greet the newest customer. As soon as I see him, I have a difficult time remembering how to breathe, let alone speak.

The first thing I notice is how his presence seems to consume the room. There’s a collective lull in conversation, and all eyes seem to follow the man sauntering toward the counter.

His hair—cut shorter on the sides than on top—is dark brown and windswept, no doubt thanks to the breezy weather. He has a closely trimmed beard that outlines a strong jawline and full lips set in a charming half-smile. His posture—which effortlessly commands the room—is confidently relaxed.

I’d expect a man like him to complete his larger-than-life look with a suit, but somehow, the dark jeans and plain gray tee fit him better.

As he approaches, customers begin looking away to return to their conversations.

If only I could do the same.

He slips one hand in his pocket, scanning the menu above my head with analytic eyes. I’m about to attempt to look away when he glances down and meets my gaze, locking me in place. Dark eyes stare into mine, and my cheeks warm at the attention.

He didn’t catch me staring, right?

“Can I order here?” he asks, suppressing a smile.

He definitely caught me staring.

“Yes, of course! Welcome to Milwaukee’s Finest. What can I get for you?” I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze.

“I can’t decide what I want. Any suggestions?” He leans one hip against the counter, bracing his weight on one arm, flexing as he does.

“Well,”—I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and avert my gaze—“I would suggest the chocolate pastry. It’s made from scratch every morning. It’s my favorite.”

“I’ll take two—bagged separately—and a large coffee.”

I ring up his items and open my mouth to tell him the total, but before I get a word out, he hands me a fifty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

I don’t make a move to take the bill from him. “Sir, that’s more than a thirty-dollar tip. Please, let me give you your change.”

“Keep it,” he commands, and his tone doesn’t leave room for argument, so I take the money.

His eyes are trained on me as I prepare his order, but his body is turned outward to face the rest of the bakery. “How long have you worked here?”

“This is my third year,” I tell him as I bag the pastries. “I like it a lot. Not many bakeries sell authentic, house-made pastries.” I set the bags aside and grab a cup to pour his coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Neither.”

“Here you go.” I present his food with a smile.

He doesn’t take it. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

I may be out of it right now, but I’m positive he asked for two chocolate pastries, bagged separately, and one black coffee.

I open my mouth to tell him just that, but he interrupts me. “I could’ve sworn I asked for your number, too. I’m not sure I could forgive myself if I left here without it.”

I’ve had customers flirt with me before, but it’s usually just a wink or a have a good day, gorgeous. I’m so caught off guard by his forwardness that I’m momentarily rendered speechless.

He digs into his pocket for his phone and places the device in the palm of my hand.

I bite down on a smile. “How can I give my number to someone I don’t even know?”

“I believe it’s called making friends.”

“I usually know the names of my friends,” I counter.

He places the pastry bags on the counter and holds out his hand. “My name is Hayden Montez. I just moved here from California. I work in real estate at an agency two blocks away, and I’m single.” His smile grows. “Now you know a few things about me.”

He’s got a point, so I relent and shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Hayden. My name is Annie.”

I feel a pang of guilt at the lie, but it’s necessary.

I finish typing “Annie Smith” along with my number and hand his phone back to him. He messes with it for a few seconds, and as he puts his phone away, mine vibrates in my back pocket.

“I hope to hear from you soon, Annie,” he says, picking up his order before leaving.

He’s halfway to the door when I notice one of the pastry bags is still on the counter. I call out to him, but he doesn’t turn around. He only lifts his phone before exiting.

For a moment, all I can do is stand dumbfounded and watch the exit.

After several seconds, I shake my head and pull out my phone, reading the message.

Hayden: Enjoy the pastry.

The rest of the work day passes quickly, and I’m ready to go home by the time Kaitlyn is waiting at the door.

Kaitlyn is the head of my security detail. I used to hate being trailed everywhere I go, but after six years, I barely even notice anymore. Kaitlyn is my favorite. Being the same age as me, we’re more like friends.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get my dad to hire a female for my security team since there are absolutely no women in my father’s line of work. He only agreed to hire Kaitlyn after months of my begging. I’d been desperate for a friend who understood the complications of my life.

“Someone had a good day,” she observes.

I smile, remembering Hayden from this morning. “Were you around when that guy was flirting with me?”

Her eyes spark with interest. “No, I must have missed it. When did that happen?”

“Around noon, I think.”

“I would have been running perimeter. What happened?”

We climb into the car—her in the driver’s seat as usual—and I recount the events.

“I can’t believe I missed all of that,” she says, taking her phone from her lap. “What did you say his name was? I’ll have Jace run a background check.”

“No way.” I shake my head at the mere suggestion. “I do not want my dad to find out. It’s just innocent flirting. Maybe if it gets more serious, we can run an official check. Promise me that you won’t do anything for now?”

Kaitlyn studies me warily before saying, “Okay, no background check yet, but be careful. Your dad would have my head if anything happened to you.”

When I think back to Hayden’s warm eyes, I’m confident Kaitlyn has nothing to worry about.

It’s almost seven, and my hands won’t stop shaking. My eyes keep flitting to my phone, and the TV does little to distract me from my nerves.

Half an hour until the call with my dad.

I’m so lost in scenarios that I jump when my phone buzzes. For a second, I wonder if it’s Dad calling early, but I know better.

Dad doesn’t change his plans.

I relax and reach for the phone, but my nerves spike again when I see the name on the screen.

Hayden: How was work?

Consumed by the stress of my impending call, I’d completely forgotten about my encounter with the handsome stranger.

I pour myself a glass of wine before responding, desperate for the liquid courage.

Annie: It was really nice. Thanks for the pastry. Whoever suggested that has great taste.

I press send before I can second-guess myself.

Not even two minutes have passed before it vibrates again.

Hayden: Well, she might have great taste. It depends on whether or not she’ll let me take her out to dinner.

Annie: I think she’d like that.

Hayden: Then no, she doesn’t have good taste.

My smile is wide as I write my reply.

Annie: On second thought…

I turn off the television, no longer needing the mindless distraction.

Hayden: Don’t go breaking my heart now, gorgeous. How about tomorrow night?

My fingers fly over the screen, ready to accept his invitation, but I stop and count the days in my head.

Tomorrow is the third Sunday of the month.

The only night I’m without security. The only night my father demands I stay inside.

Disappointment settles in my stomach like a ten-pound weight, and I lean back against the couch.

This is just my luck.

Annie: Tomorrow isn’t the best for me… How about later this week?

I wait for his response, and my heart drops when I read it.

Hayden: I’m going back to California on Monday to get the rest of my stuff and I won’t be back for a week. I’d really like to see you before then.

The temptation to break my father’s rule is strong, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve never been much of a rebel.

Annie: I’d love to see you before you go, but I can’t do tomorrow night. I’m really sorry.