Chapter Two
Ava had been following this stupid rich fucker for months, and she had made sure he knew it, too.
Of course, it had gotten her fired. And a restraining order. And worst of all, a call from Ellie.
But none of that mattered now, because she was here, because this infuriatingly good-looking man from the café might have tipped Cale off before she could shoot him in the back like he deserved. Still, she could at least beat the absolute shit out of him.
Cale hit the damp pavement with a thump and a scream, and Ava landed on top of him. Everything else faded away: the other man’s shout, the sound of rain on pavement, the cars screeching around them, the distant noise of doors opening and his security team shouting.
Her fist connected with Cale’s short, squat nose. Once. Twice. His jaw. His eye. His jaw again. His nose a second time.
And then two strong, calloused hands hauled her abruptly off.
Cale was holding his nose and moaning, blood trickling down the side of his jaw.
He was, unfortunately, alive.
“You fucker,” Ava heard herself screaming. “You motherfucker.”
The arms that held her firmly were well muscled and immovable, wrapped around her from behind as they lifted her off her feet.
“Easy.” That steady, controlled voice murmured against her ear.
Not security, like she had originally thought.
She twisted around, attempting to swing at him, but he caught her arm.
It was the stupid man from the stupid café, holding her firmly against him.
She flailed in his arms—and she may not have been subtle about her attack on Cale, but she made up for it now as she slipped one hand in his suit pocket.
Grabbing for a wallet or keys but settling for a small notebook and pen there.
“Let me go,” Ava snarled, continuing to flail. He didn’t seem to notice he’d been pickpocketed. “Or I’ll—”
What was she going to do? Take the knife out of her purse and stab him? The purse was discarded on the ground several feet away, and Cale’s security guards were running from the building, big men who could stop Ava as easily as the one holding her right now.
To her surprise, the man dropped her. “Get the fuck out of here,” he said softly.
She put both hands on his chest and shoved as hard as she could.
He raised an eyebrow at her, unmoved.
One of Cale’s security guards was helping him up, and another had his gun drawn, pointed at Ava.
She snatched her purse and ran.
Her sandals—why had she worn sandals? to a murder?—slapped the pavement as she ran, weaving around dumpsters and down the alley that led away from the scene of her attempted crime.
It wasn’t that she had thought she had a good plan, not really, but how had it gone so spectacularly wrong?
She had been flirting her way into information about Cale for weeks.
She’d talked to assistants and former assistants.
She’d called the woman who did his laundry.
She’d even found his personal chef, for fuck’s sake.
Ava rounded the corner, pausing for breath in the small parking lot for café patrons.
Of course, she had also been commenting on each social media post his business made, following him on every platform, and sending him furious letters about his complicity in—
That was too much to think about right now.
Her heart was pounding, her breath impossibly short.
She could do this. She could take a minute and right her breathing and she could get away before Cale’s security found her, and—
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Ava reached into her purse and grabbed a Dove chocolate. Dark, always. She popped the chocolate into her mouth and tossed the wrapper in the direction of the dumpster. These chocolates calmed her, always had.
There was a handful of cars in the parking lot, but she recognized the sleek black Volvo that the man from the coffee shop—AJ?—had driven.
Impulsively, she pulled her keys from her pocket and scratched a long line into the car door. If she had more time, she would have drawn a whole dick.
Because he deserved it for thwarting her in her most crucial moment.
Ava should have planned better: a car, a bike, hell, one of those stupid e-scooters that littered the sidewalks and made the city unnavigable would have been better than getting there on foot.
She ran again, weaving through alleys until she reached downtown proper, where she flagged the next taxi she saw. Once she was inside, it felt like the first time she’d truly caught her breath all day.
Or maybe it had been longer than that. She popped another chocolate into her mouth and leaned back against the dingy seat.
The hostel was at the edge of the city, a dozen small bedrooms that had seen better days.
Hers, at least, was a single, directly across from the shared women’s bathroom, and she managed to enter without having to talk to anyone.
Most people who stayed in places like this didn’t want to talk. That much Ava was banking on.
She dead bolted the door, letting out a sigh of relief. She would shower, rest, gather her thoughts, and make a new plan, one that couldn’t be thwarted by handsome men with perfect hands.
Another chocolate, a sip of water, and Ava opened the notebook she’d lifted from the hot, annoying café man, Brad or AJ or whatever he was actually called.
And then she stopped, her blood running cold.
Inside the notebook were meticulously written notes . . . on Cale Jacobson’s schedule.
For the next day, Friday. There was a note that said 7:00 a.m. PST (who needed the time zone? Weren’t they all in the same one, since they were here?) and beneath it green juice, two baristas working, smaller security team.
And beside it, a single red X.