Chapter 21 #2
She’s forgiving him way too easily. He made up some excuse to take different cars here so he could avoid her, and then he had the audacity to show up late. He should be groveling.
“I just . . . I have to do this.” He takes a shuddering breath that I think is meant to be calming, but his hands keep shaking.
I swear to god if he came to lunch just to break up with my mother in public—
“Everything all right?” Noah asks him before casting a wary glance in my direction. Under the table, he squeezes my hand.
Whatever happens, I can face it with Noah at my side.
Besides, if I need help burying a body, I know he’s not above committing crimes. And Hazel will happily hop on a plane to assist.
“You’re sweating.” Mom frowns at Adam, dabbing at his shiny forehead with her napkin.
“I’m like a snowman in Florida,” he agrees.
He bites his lip, fumbles in his pocket, then the other, before he sinks to his knee.
I’m not sure who gasps louder—me, Mom, or Noah.
“Angela.” Adam’s voice cracks with nerves. I’ve never seen anything more adorable than my mother’s boyfriend trembling on the floor in front of her with a small black box.
When he pops the box open, a giant diamond glistening, Noah nearly shouts, “Damn.”
Mom’s gaze meets mine, round with an unasked question. I nod as tears blur her face. I’d love nothing more than to see my mother happy, and even though we’ll both always miss my dad, he would want her to be happy too.
“Angela, will you—”
Before Adam can finish his proposal, Mom squeals and launches at him. “Yes!”
My mother is engaged, and I’m in a fake relationship.
Worse, my mother is engaged, and I’m on a fake date with an insufferable man.
I’m unbelievably, ridiculously, happy for her. But in this moment, I couldn’t envy her more.
Accepting another date with Michael Hunt was a mistake. I should’ve learned my lesson the first time.
I didn’t think it was possible for him to become more unbearable, but he’s spent the last two hours proving me wrong.
He keeps bumping my foot under the table, which I initially shrugged off as clumsiness or, at worst, obliviousness. But after the third time politely letting him know that he’s bumping my foot, not the table, I’m realizing it’s not accidental at all.
He’s trying to play footsie with me. Not to mention the not-at-all subtle excuses he’s given to touch me.
An alleged errant eyelash on my cheek that I didn’t catch a single glimpse of when he supposedly blew it off his finger.
A strand of hair he felt compelled to brush behind my ear.
A mole on my arm that he insisted on examining because it might be malignant, even though I explained I’ve had the mole since birth and reminded him he’s not a doctor.
Occasionally, I’ll find myself on a date with a man who conveniently forgets the fake, paid part of our arrangement. But I can count on my hand the number of them who have ignored my dismissal of their advances and kept going anyway.
Michael Hunt is, unfortunately, one of those men.
I’m starting to think he invited me on this date on the false pretense of a business dinner that was conveniently canceled at the last minute.
I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
All I want to do is go home, lie on the couch under a pile of blankets, curl up with Prick on my chest, and read a dark romance in which evil men meet gruesome ends and a lucky woman gets railed by the man who protects her from those men. My favorite way to unwind.
Actually, what I really want to do is get back to work on this giant commission. Yesterday, I officially accepted my client’s offer, and they transferred the money to my account within five minutes after I sent the invoice. The invoice was for a deposit, but they sent the full payment.
The full ten thousand dollars. In one lump sum.
My jaw dropped seeing that much money in my bank account.
Now, all I want to do is go home and lose myself in the process. Stay up until two a.m. sketching, erasing, and scouring the scenes my client sent me to make sure I’m getting every detail right.
Once I’ve completed my initial sketches, I’ll send them over. If the client approves, I’ll make final tweaks before adding color. Hopefully, they don’t regret commissioning me for so much money.
Part of me is still convinced this is all a scam.
If it sounds too good to be true, it is.
Especially considering my client has never actually given me a name and has gone only by the handle on their social media profile, and their payment came from a random LLC.
But the money is in my account, and the bank confirmed nothing has been fraudulent, so who am I to keep questioning it?
“So.” Michael’s voice lowers, and he gives me a half-smirk. “Your place or mine?”
Ew. The line nearly makes bile rise in my throat.
Now I’m faced with every woman’s worst nightmare: rejecting a man who does not take rejection well.
He insisted that the waiter give us a booth in the quietest corner of the restaurant with the least amount of foot traffic.
There’s no one nearby, and I haven’t seen our waiter since he delivered the check.
Outside, the moon reflects off the few cars left in the parking lot.
Judging by the staff shuffling around chairs and sweeping, they’re about to close down the restaurant.
The interior is dimly lit to create a romantic, seductive atmosphere.
Instead, the shadows make me feel like I’m in a horror movie.
I search past Michael’s shoulder, but our waiter is nowhere in sight.
Please hurry.
Michael’s slimy hand grabs mine until I snatch it back. “Your place,” I snap. “That’s where you will be going. Alone.”
His smile falls away.
When he stands, a brief wave of relief washes over me. He’s walking away. Sure, he might cuss me out first, but in a few moments, I’ll be free from this man and never have to see him again. I’ll wait for his car to leave the parking lot, and then I’ll head home.
But he doesn’t leave. He towers over me, jerking me up by the elbow.
The jolt of pain makes me hiss through my teeth, but his grip is iron-clad.
“Don’t play with me. You’ve been batting those eyelashes and flashing those fucking tits all night.”
My dress covers every inch of skin up to my collarbone, and I’ve been blinking at the normal rate since we sat down. Even if any part of what he said was true, it wouldn’t justify his reaction. I could be stark naked in front of him and not owe him a damn thing.
I grit my teeth as his grip on my elbow tightens. My pepper spray is in my purse. If I have to spray this man in the face in the middle of a restaurant, I’ll do it. He’s not taking me anywhere. “Let go of me!”
I reach back for my purse, still hanging from my chair, but he yanks me toward him. Pain lances through my limbs.
Shit. I’m in trouble.
“She told you to let her go.” The voice is so low and dangerous, I almost don’t recognize it. Chills run down my spine as a tall figure emerges from the dimly lit shadows behind us. “If you don’t remove your hand, I will.”
Michael doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see who’s threatening him. His attention is focused solely on me like a predator assessing its prey. “Mind your fucking business—”
The word is barely out of his mouth before his hand is ripped from my arm, the cool air tingling against the spot where he was squeezing me hard enough to leave a bruise.
Noah has Michael pinned against the wall, hand flat on his chest. In any other situation, Michael’s wide eyes and parted lips would almost be comical.
“You’ve got three options.” Noah’s growl is so low, I almost can’t hear him. “Walk away now, wait for the police to show up, or take your chances with me.”
Michael shakes him off, not bothering to weigh his options as he rushes for the nearest exit and disappears out the door.
As soon as Noah turns on me, he’s morphed back into the man I know. Soft blue eyes filled with concern and a tender smile. “Are you okay—”
I launch myself at him.
Noah nearly stumbles as I fling my arms around his neck and press my lips to his.
When he recovers from my attack, his warm arms wrap around me in a tight caress.
My tongue slips past his lips, and we melt against each other. He keeps me upright as my knees grow weak, hot desire pumping through my veins from the mix of adrenaline and lust.
If I weren’t worried about having an audience, I’d blow him right here in that booth. How could I not after witnessing him defend me like that?
If Noah hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what would’ve happened. Michael easily could’ve dragged me out through that exit with him before anyone noticed.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips. “I’ve never been more grateful to have a stalker. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He chuckles. “If I knew that was what turned you on, I’d pick more fights.”
At last, our waiter returns to collect the check and cash. He gives Noah a double-take but doesn’t question us further as he nods, takes the money, and wishes us a good night.
I pull Noah behind me as I rush out the main entrance. I took a rideshare here, and luckily, Michael’s car isn’t lingering in the parking lot. Smart.
Noah’s sedan is in a dark, empty corner of the lot, as far as he could get from any lights and other vehicles. Perfect. It’s like he anticipated exactly what would happen tonight. Exactly what I will do to him.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” Noah offers.
I shake my head, buzzing with adrenaline, and nudge him toward the hood of his car. He stumbles, the back of his legs colliding with the metal, but he doesn’t go down. He’s not used to me pushing him around, but by the grin he’s wearing, he’s not against it. “What are you doing, Summer?”
“What do you think?” I drop to my knees in front of him.
“Are you kidding?”