Chapter 8
ANYA
Two Weeks Later
Clucking my tongue, I hit the power button on my phone and put it back in my pocket. There’s no use checking every fifteen minutes. Things won’t change this fast. I mean, they haven’t changed in the past week; there’s no reason I’d get this email now.
“No news?” Bash asks, his hand pressed to the small of my back.
I shake my head. “No.” A sigh escapes my lips.
There’s no use hiding anything from him.
We’ve been together for two weeks and it’s like he’s known me my entire life.
Bash reads me like I’m an open book written in big, bold letters.
“I’m not upset. Not really,” I say, looking up to meet his doubtful eyes.
“If I had been approved, they would have let me know by now. I know it.”
“Love,” he starts in that sweet and husky voice, the tone he has only for me. “You don’t know that. They didn’t make it clear.”
“The stories were not that long.”
“There might be hundreds of them.”
“It’s the biggest publishing company out there. They have enough people to read through them all.”
“Anna?” a barista calls, cup in hand as she narrows her eyes at the name she wrote not five minutes ago.
“Anya,” I reply with a chuckle. Not the first time, not the last. I pick my caramel frappuccino up and extend Bash his black-no-sugar cup. “Here, love. Your cup of mud.”
Bash laughs. The sound of his laugh is rich, and it always makes me smile.
Because he’s such a serious man, every time I make him laugh is a small victory.
“Rude,” he teases me, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
He guides me to one of the tables up front, near the glass windows, and we perch ourselves on top of two stools.
I mean, Bash stands with the back of his thigh touching the stool. It’s too small for him to sit properly.
“Don’t lose hope, love,” he says, tilting my chin up.
I smile at him, leaning forward to brush our lips together. “Honestly, I don’t want to put my hopes up. This was my first story. It’s okay for it to suck.”
“It doesn’t.”
I shrug and tug on his lower lip with my teeth.
“Don’t care,” I murmur before kissing him.
For real. I don’t think I won the contest, and that’s alright.
That’s alright because I have him. I have Bash with me, and he’s the best thing that could have happened.
With his love, his fierce love, I know I can take on the world.
He inspires me to be a better person. His love makes me want to try again, so try I will. I will write another story and another one until someone publishes it. Until someone thinks my stories are as good as I feel they are.
I have to tell Bash. He needs to know what he does to me. He needs to know I’m in love with him and how he changed my entire life by just existing.
I part my lips for him and Bash’s tongue dips into my mouth.
He kisses me hard, every swipe of his tongue over mine claiming me further.
I sigh into the kiss, and he raises a hand to bury his fingers into my hair.
He grips and tugs, the pain both sharp and amazing.
A moan escapes me this time, and we should stop before I decide to sneak into the bathroom...
A hand curls around my arm, and I’m jerked back.
I stumble, kicking the stool. It hits the ground with a clang and my frappuccino flies from my hand.
The coffee and cream splatter on the clean floors before bouncing to my black leggings.
I stare in horror, then snap my attention to the hand gripping my arm.
A part of me thinks Bash went overboard. The other knows he would never do that.
Bash shoots to his feet. His eyes go round in horror, his shoulders squaring. My gaze climbs the hand to an arm. To my father’s arm. He scowls at me, pure rage on his face. My stomach plummets.
Oh, shit.
“What in the—What—Do you really think —” My father stammers, stops, and starts again.
I have never seen him speechless. A vein pulses in his temple, his face going angry red.
He’s so pissed he can’t come up with words to insult me.
His gaze shoots to the coffee shop around us.
Because of the stool and my frappuccino, everyone’s staring.
Everyone’s asking themselves what’s going on.
I know Dad cares more about his reputation than anything else, so the second someone pulls a phone, his gaze connects with the person, and he lets my arm go.
He swallows once, twice, then glares at me again.
“Home,” he roars. “Now. I can’t believe what you were doing. ”
He saw us. He saw me kissing Bash. And I want to tell him it’s alright, because we love each other, but I know that’s not how it goes. Bash is from the other side of the tracks. He’s working class, and my father would never allow this relationship to happen.
If Bash took me in, we could...
I whirl around to meet his eyes, but he gapes at somewhere over my father’s shoulder. Bash parts his lips. “Boss, let me explain...”
Following his line of sight, I catch the bodyguard who has been having my father’s back. So he’s Bash’s boss. Of course, my father would want the best. The man’s face is a mask, no feelings coming through, but the moment I look back at Bash, I know it.
He needs the job. He won’t defend this relationship because he needs the job so badly. And I love him enough to know I should step away. For his sake, I should step away.
Passing between my father and his bodyguard, I race out of the coffee shop.
Step after step, I pick up my pace, darting down the block back home.
My side hurts and my throat burns after a couple of blocks, and I’m close to home when another hand grips my arm, halting me to a full stop.
I almost stumble again, but the person throws an arm out and keeps me from falling.
My heart thanks God Bash came after me. I raise my gaze. Adrenaline shoots through my veins. This is not Bash. And the unknown man smirks as he locks his hands around me. Hard. He makes it clear he won’t let me go. Fear takes over, but he doesn’t let me move an inch.
“Senator Taylor’s daughter by herself? What a lucky strike,” he murmurs, grinning at himself. And he said my father’s name. Is that him? Is this one of the people threatening us? And he smiles, he smiles because he knows. He knows I’m alone.
He knows I have no way out.