Chapter 15 He Calls Her a Project. I Call Him a Corpse. #2
Monroe tilts his head, putting on his best oh, whoops, that was totally an accident face.
Izzy doesn't react. Not outwardly. She just keeps going. Like she didn't just get groped in broad daylight in her own damn store.
I clench my fists.
I gave her my word.
I wouldn't cause problems for her.
I'd wait.
She knows she just has to say my name, and I'll be there.
I force myself to breathe. To stay put. And then someone else steps into the frame.
I frown. The guy looks familiar. Then my brain catches up.
Evan.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Evan walks in like he owns the place, like he's someone worth noticing. It takes me about three seconds to figure him out. The way he carries himself. The way he talks too loudly, smiles too hard. The desperate undercurrent to his confidence, like he's constantly seeking validation.
It's textbook.
Low self-esteem.
So he finds a woman who should know she's out of his league, and instead of building her up, he drags her down—makes her question herself, chip away at her own confidence—all so he can feel bigger in comparison. A classic move from insecure men everywhere.
I grind my teeth, watching.
Monroe lights up when he sees Evan.
They shake hands, and clap each other on the shoulder.
Ah.
So they know each other. They're all grins and fake camaraderie, two men who think way too highly of themselves.
Figures.
What sticks out more, though?
Evan doesn't even look at Izzy.
Doesn't greet her.
Doesn't acknowledge her at all.
Just walks in, shakes hands with his buddy, and starts talking like she's furniture. Like she's not even worthy of basic courtesy from the man who's supposed to care about her.
Because that's who he is.
A man so fucking average he has to keep a woman like Izzy feeling small just to feel big.
They sit down on one of the couches, laughing, drinking whatever overpriced bullshit Monroe had Daniel bring him. The crystal glasses catch the light as they talk, gesturing animatedly about some deal or another.
And Izzy?
She's just standing there.
Awkward, waiting, watching, not sure if she should stay or go. I can see the tension in her posture, the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot.
She waits for a lull in the conversation and tries to make her escape.
I flip on the audio feed, adjusting my headset. I need to hear this. The sound crackles to life, voices suddenly clear despite the ambient store noise.
"Well," she says, polite as ever. "If you two want more time to catch up, you can let me or Daniel know if you need anything further—"
Evan stops her.
"No, actually," he says, waving her closer. "I came to pick you up for your lunch break."
Izzy blinks. "Oh?"
"Yeah. I'm taking you to your first dietitian appointment."
She freezes.
Her face goes red.
Right there.
In front of Monroe.
In front of Daniel.
In front of the goddamn security cameras.
The fuck?
Evan doesn't stop.
No, of course he doesn't.
Evan turns to Monroe, completely ignoring Izzy, like she's not even standing right there.
"She's finally getting serious about her health," he says, like this is some cute little makeover project. "I booked her an appointment with a dietitian—first session's today."
Izzy goes rigid.
Even from here, I can see the subtle change in her posture—the way she draws inward, her hands unconsciously going to her sides like she's trying to make herself smaller.
In this moment, I recognize a pattern, the same one I've seen whenever she talks about her weight.
The confident store manager who just outperformed every other location by forty percent vanishes, replaced by a woman who's been told repeatedly she takes up too much space.
Evan doesn't notice.
Or maybe he does and just doesn't care.
"She's already getting there, obviously," he adds, laughing like this is some inside joke. "But, you know, a little bit of work, a few tweaks here and there, and she'll be in incredible shape. Just wait."
My vision blurs.
Tweaks?
A little bit of work?
Like she's some fucking car he's taking to a body shop?
Monroe laughs.
Then he says something that makes my vision completely black out.
"I did something similar for my wife," Monroe says, swirling his drink. "Just be careful, though. Izzy's got a great ass on her. Wouldn't want to lose that grip, if you know what I mean."
My fist connects with the concrete wall beside me, a deep thud echoing through the narrow corridor.
I swear I feel it give. A small indent, maybe just dust settling around my knuckles, but enough to tell me I hit it hard.
Hard enough to make my arm throb.
Hard enough to remind myself that I still have control.
Barely.
Izzy doesn't move.
She just stands there.
Frozen.
Listening to these pathetic excuses for men talk about her like she's a goddamn investment piece.
Something to be maintained, trimmed, reshaped.
This is too much.
Way, way too much.
I gave her my word.
But fuck that.
Because what about her honor?
My hand is on the door.
I'm seconds from stepping onto the floor when I hear her voice through the headset.
"I'm really sorry," she says, tone perfectly neutral. "I'd love to go, but I have a meeting with Callahan to go over holiday security plans. I'll have to take a raincheck."
Something tightens in my chest.
It's not just that she said my name—it's the way she said it.
Like it's hers to use. Like she knows it means something.
Like she trusts that I'll be there.
My pulse kicks up, something possessive settling in my gut.
She called for me.
She chose me.
And I'm already moving.
I'm by her side before Evan can even process what she just said. He opens his mouth, already protesting. "Izzy, you're a manager. You can just reschedule. The holidays are months away—"
Then he sees me.
And stops.
Because we both know who wins in a fight.
I stare at him, silent, unwavering.
I know what I look like.
Guys like him—the ones who can't even bench their own body weight—I scare them.
He'll make up for it with big talk and expensive watches, but at the end of the day?
He's intimidated.
And he knows it.
I glance between the two of them, my voice calm, steady, revealing nothing.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," I say smoothly. "But I need to steal her away."
I let it hang, then add, "For our security meeting."
Izzy gives them both a perfectly fake smile.
Before Evan can get another word out, I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her toward the employee area.
I can still hear them talking behind us.
Still hear Monroe laughing.
Still hear Evan muttering something under his breath.
But I don't care.
Because she's mine now.