Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
FUCK AND FORGET
ELOISE
I could’ve locked the door hours ago and it wouldn’t have made a difference.
But today is different. Instead of stressing, today, I read. I sipped tea. I watched the sun descend behind the buildings and posted a beautiful picture on the shop’s social media accounts.
When the bell jingles, fifteen minutes before closing time, I look up, ready to make the third sale of the day.
Until I see the green eyes, staring back at me.
This is what I get for fucking a stranger.
For thinking about him far longer than I should’ve.
I’m paying for the treacherous behavior that society—except my mother, who’d be delighted—warned me not to engage in.
Like women aren’t allowed to fuck and forget.
Well, it looks like the man I’m trying to forget isn’t letting me.
Ezra stands in front of me, the epitome of power, even in his relaxed stance. He stands here like he has a right to be here. Like he owns the place.
He will never own this place.
“I know I’m the last person you want to see…” His words are soft, his hands are up.
It’s a direct contradiction to how I see him: a villain, ready to do whatever it takes to win big.
To take more than just my body. To take my family’s life’s work, and my own.
“I’m glad you at least know that.” My words are brazen, filled with fire. “I guess that’s where the astuteness stops because here you are.”
I keep my legs folded into each other as I appraise him from my stool behind the counter. He isn’t in his suit today, and I’m not sure which look I prefer.
This was the way he’d been when I met him. When I fell for his charm.
Stupid bitch.
“I’d like to help you,” he says, his words slow and measured as I look into his eyes. I refuse to cower, not when he came looking for me .
“You want to lie to me and use me,” I correct him, lifting a leg to press my foot against the stool’s stretcher. I warm at the sight of his eyes following the movement.
I hate him, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what that night felt like. It makes me dislike my hippocampus, wishing my brain would stop working overtime, remembering hands and sighs and mouths on skin when he comes around.
“Eloise—”
“You are wasting your time.” I run my fingers through my thick hair, tucking all of it behind my shoulders. “God, I don’t even know your last name.”
There’s a chuckle that bubbles in my throat, releasing as I mentally flip through the moments I let this stranger take hold of my thoughts.
How sad I’ve become.
Ezra watches me as I set my feet down on the ground and nearly double over with laughter, tipping the stool, unable to keep myself from indulging in the moment’s insanity. Tears track down my face, and I straighten, attempting to wipe them away.
“Just go home,” I tell him, shaking my head, my nonsensical smile still on my face. “None of your tactics will work here. You got what you wanted. No need to stick around.”
“Is that what you think? You think I want this place that badly?” He steps toward me and stops when I tilt my head to the right.
His eyes meet the ground for a moment before lifting back to my face, challenge glittering in his gaze. He takes another step toward me, then another.
“Why else would you be here?” I roll my eyes with a snort, wanting him to stop. But he doesn’t, so I try harder to repel him. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sentimental over a quick fuck. You don’t even know me to care about me.”
It doesn’t work. He’s standing in front of the register now.
“I’m no saint. I don’t do charity work, and I don’t spend my valuable time on things I have no desire doing.” He leans in, hands bracing the counter, and I want to jerk away. But I keep my smile pasted on my face. “Listen to me, Eloise. You will be out of here before the end of the year if you don’t come up with some sort of miracle.”
“We’ve been making it so far.” My shrug has him straightening, his brows drawn as he assesses me.
There’s a moment of silence between us, and I wonder what’s going through his mind. If he thinks I’m this helpless young woman who will fall for anything he’s saying. If he does, it’s my mission to show him otherwise.
“Who wants a life like that?” he questions, brows still drawn, words a little harder. I watch him unravel for a moment before he pulls himself back together. “Let me help you. I’ll take the burden off your shoulders, and you can have as much freedom as you have now.”
His offer sounds like everything I need. Like it could take my life and turn it into a fairytale.
But I’ve read enough of them to know they stay right where I experience them: in books.
“You are a liar and a manipulator, and I would be a fool to get into business with you,” I tell him, trying to convince myself of the same.
“But you weren’t when you got into bed?—”
“We fucked against a bookshelf. There was no bed, and there were no feelings.” Now I’m the one leaning forward, hissing words that I’m glad no one else can hear.
“Seems like I’m not the liar here,” he murmurs, his gaze settling on my lips.
Danger.
This is dangerous.
I need him as far away from me as possible before we mistake verbal sparring for foreplay.
The heat coursing through my body has my hands shaking, and I lean back to keep it from taking over the moment. “You certainly are the only person keeping me from closing up and going home.”
His stare lingers, running over my white T-shirt, my polka dot high-waisted shorts, and my jittery hands. They twist in my lap, giving away my anxiousness at his close proximity.
I nearly sigh when he turns away, bringing my legs together.
“It’s James,” he tosses over his shoulder, moments before the shop door slams shut, the bell above it jangling tauntingly.
Ezra James.