4. Chapter Three Laurent
Chapter Three: Laurent
The next time I open my eyes, I’m lying on a couch and looking into a pair of fierce amber eyes belonging to a big, broad-shouldered lion of a man. Disappointment floods through me. Where did my Freckles go?
“He’s awake,” the man states gruffly.
I try to sit up, and groan, clutching my side. My bloody shirt is gone and a fresh bandage covers my wound. The dull throbbing makes me grit my teeth, but at least it’s not a sizzling fire anymore.
“Careful,” a woman says, coming into view. She’s small and curvy with long dark hair and incredible violet eyes. “I stitched you up and gave you a painkiller, but you need to take it easy.”
“Thank you.” I lean back against a pillow and release a low breath. They’re crowding around me in a small room with a desk, filing cabinet and lots of paperwork scattered around. I’m assuming I’m still at the restaurant I stumbled into before collapsing, and maybe they moved me into a back office.
“I’m Aubrey and this is Gray, my husband.” He gives me a nod. “We’re friends with Addie and Ryland.” Ah, my Addie-Baddie came through for me, bless her morally gray heart. “And you’ve already met Savannah.”
Ah, there she is. My freckled savior. I perk up as Savannah moves into view from behind Gray’s lumbering body. I wish he’d move back a little so I could see her better.
“What happened?” she asks. The loveliest shade of green-gray eyes—a smoky sage color—dip to my bandage.
“Stabbed,” I grit out, shifting on the couch and accepting the bottle of water she offers. “Thank you.”
A frown pinches her dark brows, and she seems about to say more, but Gray speaks first. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“No.” Twisting the top off, I take a sip. I choose to lie because the last thing I want to do is involve any of them in my troubles. I mean, it’s technically the truth. I have no idea who the asshole is who stabbed me and stole the book.
The big man’s eyes narrow, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t press. “There’s not much else we can do here,” he states, looking over at his wife who is packing up what appears to be a pretty impressive first aid kit. “You done, Sparkle?”
She nods, directing her attention back to me.
“The best thing you can do is rest. Luckily, the wound was a clean slice and not deep. I recommend you have it checked again in a few days. I’m going to leave you with some extra painkillers, and the stitches can probably come out in ten to twelve days. ”
“Great, thanks.” I don’t plan on going to a doctor. Too many questions I have no intention of answering. No one will be checking on my progress, and I’ll be cutting the stitches out myself.
“Do you have someplace to go?” Gray asks.
I nod, very carefully slipping my ruined shirt back on. “I’m staying at the Del.”
“Good.” He lifts his phone. “I’ll have an Uber take you there.”
Directing my attention back to Savannah, I send her a smile. And it’s charming as hell. One of my best. “Thank you, Savannah.”
She blinks in surprise. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You unlocked the door, and I probably got blood all over your floor.”
“It’s fine,” she insists, looking a little flustered.
“You saved me, ma chérie.” Okay, so sometimes I have a flair for the dramatic, but she was brave enough to open the door, having no idea what was waiting on the other side, and deserves all my praise.
Gray snorts, sending me a look that tells me he thinks I’m full of it, then promptly informs me the Uber driver will arrive in ten minutes.
I’m not sure why he’s rushing me out of here, but he’s starting to get on my nerves.
I was hoping to hang out a little longer and chat with the lovely Savannah.
Savannah, however, turns her attention to the couple. “Thank you for getting here so fast.”
“Of course,” Aubrey replies.
The women exchange a hug, and Gray squeezes Savannah’s shoulder. I run my tongue over my upper teeth, trying not to glare at the man. It shouldn’t bother me if he touches her. I don’t even know this woman.
But I’m quickly realizing I’d like to.
She’s exactly my type—long, dirty blonde hair with a slight wave and mesmerizing eyes the same shade as Eucalyptus leaves.
She might be average height, but there’s nothing else average about her.
Shapely legs snag my attention, and don’t even get me started on those delectable freckles.
The temptation to kiss each one is nearly my undoing.
“There’s no need for you guys to wait,” Savannah says.
“We can wait.” Gray pierces me with another look. Like I can’t be trusted. Like I’m some kind of criminal. Well, I suppose, technically-speaking, I am.
But seriously? Isn’t he a former assassin?
“No, it’s late,” Savannah insists. “I appreciate you coming.” She glances at me. “And I’m sure he does, too.”
“Laurent. My name is Laurent.”
Our gazes lock, and she gives me a slow nod. “Laurent,” she murmurs. “It’s nice to meet you. Despite the, ah, circumstances.”
“The pleasure is all mine, chérie.”
I’m completely focused on Savannah’s gorgeous face, yet in my periphery, I can see Aubrey’s lips lifting in a smile as she pulls her overbearing, overly-big husband out of the small office. And I don’t miss the slight scoffing sound he makes.
“Behave, Gray,” she whispers.
“You’re French?” Savannah asks, drawing my full attention back to her. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. I love how feminine and delicate her features are—almost doll-like. And those freckles—taches de rousseur—sprinkled across the bridge of her nose make her look far too young.
“Oui, parlez-vous fran?ais?”
She giggles. “No. I took Spanish in school. Not that I remember anything.” Straightening up quickly, as though she caught herself doing something wrong, she clears her throat, and all the flirt seems to fizzle out of her. “I need to lock the door behind them. And we should go wait for your Uber.”
“Of course.”
I follow her through the restaurant, which has a great vibe. Cozy, yet with some elegance going on, too. I can tell she’s put a lot of love and care into it.
“This is your place?” I ask, noticing the family pictures once we reach the entryway.
If I had to guess, I’d say it’s her parents and sister.
There are several photos, and I lean in to study the one with two little blonde girls, their arms wrapped around each other and big pink bows in their hair.
Both have that adorable smattering of freckles across their nose.
“It is. I named it after my dad.” She sounds so proud. “That’s me and my younger sister, Harper,” she says, noticing me checking the picture out. “I think we were like six and eight there.”
“Very sweet.” I don’t know many people who’ve worked hard to build a business like this. Okay, I don’t know any. The people I associate with already have a fortune or merely take what they want.
I watch as she locks the door and waves to Gray and Aubrey as they pull away from the curb.
Something about Little Miss Freckles intrigues me, but it’s best to keep my distance.
As much as I’d like to play with the lovely Savannah, the only thing I’d end up doing is screwing up her perfect life.
She clearly has her shit together and works hard.
I’m a thief and the furthest thing from legit.
The smart move is to get into the Uber currently pulling up and leave with gratitude and a charming farewell.
“Looks like your ride is here.” She gives me a small smile.
I turn to face her. “Thank you for your help,” I murmur, extending my hand. She looks down at it then reaches out, but I’m not interested in a casual, impersonal handshake. Lifting her delicate hand to my lips, I brush a kiss against her soft knuckles. “Until we meet again, ma chérie.”
Which will probably be never. But I’m infamous for my dashing entrances and exits. Granted, tonight’s entrance wasn’t too debonair, but you can bet your last dollar my exit will be.
Savannah flushes as I push the door open and stride out with as much swagger as I can, considering I’m filthy and sporting fresh stitches pulling at my side.
Out of nowhere, a strange feeling washes over me—like I’m walking away from my future—and I pause mid-step. I’ve never experienced anything like it before, and for the first time in a very long time, I’m not sure what to do. Hesitation fills me.
Until the driver’s side door of the Uber opens and a man gets out. He moves around the vehicle and I spot the gun in his hand. Seriously? Why is nothing ever easy?
“Where’s the book?” he growls.
“I don’t have it.” Clutching the bottle of water, I slowly raise my hands and glance over my shoulder. Savannah still stands there, watching closely, a funny look on her face. I’m hoping she takes me putting my hands up as a warning to lock the door and get back out of harm’s way.
Instead, she throws the door open and motions for me to hurry back inside, calling, “Laurent!”
Shit. That definitely wasn’t the plan. Well, here we go…
Her presence distracts the guy just long enough for me to whip my water bottle into his face. He lets out a surprised yelp as I spin around and race back to the restaurant.
“Hey!” he yells.
I don’t want to drag Savannah into this any further, but I also don’t want to get shot. Getting stabbed was quite enough for one evening, thank you very much.
Running back inside, I yank the door shut and twist the lock.
“What’s going on?” she demands, but there’s no time for explanations. Getting her as far away from the glass door is my first priority.
My instincts are spot-on, because as we run through the dining area, I hear a couple of pops and the sound of shattering glass.
Her feet abruptly stop, mouth dropping open in shock, and I grab her hand, towing her forward. “Is there a back door?”
“Yes, this way.” As we pass her office, she digs her heels in. “Wait!” She pulls out of my grip, hurries over to her desk and grabs her purse.
“Uh, chérie, we really need to go.”
“Car keys,” she explains, rushing past me. “C’mon!”
The way she suddenly takes charge has me grinning. Who is this magnificent woman?
Following closely on her heels, making sure to cover her smaller frame with my larger body, I dare a quick look over my shoulder. No sign of our pursuer. Not yet, anyway, but I know he isn’t far behind.
We hurry through the kitchen, skirt around a massive island and several sinks, pass a large commercial stove and a walk-in freezer, and then rush out the back door.
The cool night air hits my face as I follow Savannah over to a purple Honda Civic that looks older than the first Nokia phone, but with less battery life.
Merde. We need this baby to get us out of here, and serious doubts begin flooding my head as she reaches over to manually unlock my door.
I climb in and the engine sputters to life as Trigger Happy comes barreling out the rear door.
Savannah hits the gas, turning the wheel hard, which, at this point, makes me question if there’s even power steering, and she heads straight for the parking lot’s exit. Meanwhile, I keep my eyes on Trigger Happy, who abruptly turns around and runs back into the restaurant.
“Shit! He’s going back to his car. Drive faster!”
We squeal out of the lot, past what I thought was my Uber ride, and hurtle down the deserted Main Street—well, as much as this dinosaur can hurtle, anyway.
It’s certainly not a sports car, and I’m really wishing we were behind the wheel of my Ferrari 488 GTB.
Not only is she the sexiest car in the world, she’s fast as fuck.
And, of course, she’s red. More specifically, Rosso Corsa—or Racing Red. Because, hey, it’s me. I like flash.
“If you haven’t noticed, this is a thirty-year-old Civic,” she fires back. “And where the hell am I going?”
I guess I should be thankful it started up.
“The Beach Village at the Del.” I frown when she coasts to a stop at a red light. “Are you serious right now?”
“What? It’s a red light.”
Behind us, there’s a squeal of tires and an engine guns through the quiet night. Turning in my seat, I see Trigger Happy coming at us like a bat out of hell.
“Run it!” I yell.
“Okay!” she hollers back, hitting the accelerator. She’s white-knuckling the steering wheel, and I mentally slap my forehead. My adorable getaway driver has probably never been in a car chase before.
“You’ve got this, Savannah,” I encourage her, reaching over to touch her elbow. “We just need to shake this guy before we go back to the Del.”
“I don’t know how!” she cries, starting to panic.
“You can do it,” I assure her again, squeezing her arm as I brace my opposite hand against the dashboard. “See that street coming up? Take a right, and then you’re going to take an immediate left and gun it.”
She gives a sharp nod, focused on the street coming up fast. The Honda takes the right much smoother than I expected.
“Now, hard left!” She jerks the wheel and we skid around the corner. I point out another street. “Turn there.”
After circling around a few blocks and making some fast turns, I look out the back window, and there’s no sign of Trigger Happy.
“I think we lost him. Excellent job, chérie.” My compliment makes her sit up a little straighter, and she sends me a dazzling smile. Hmm, I wonder if she has a bit of a praise kink.
“Good girl,” I murmur, just for fun. And because I’m devious like that. I swear, her cheeks flush. “Now take that left and keep going straight. We’ll hit the hotel.”