Chapter 7
Lauren
Same morning
I woke up to yelling.
Well, not yelling exactly. More like guys downstairs being loud and pissed off.
My head was pounding. My ankle was throbbing. And I had no clue where I was for about three seconds until it all came back.
The bar. The fight. Falling. Jackson’s bed.
Oh god. Jackson’s bed.
I stayed really still and listened.
“She needs to be gone by noon.”
That wasn’t Jackson’s voice. Older. Angrier.
“Dad, she’s hurt—”
Oh. Oh shit. His dad.
“I don’t care. Insurance won’t cover this.”
Great. I was an insurance liability now. Add it to the list.
“She almost got your bar shut down. Tommy and Derek got into it because of her.”
I wanted to argue that I didn’t start that fight, but technically I was the reason they started swinging at each other, so.
“Get her out of here by noon.”
Footsteps hit the stairs. Heavy boots. Coming up.
I sat up too fast, and my head spun. I grabbed the edge of the bed and tried to look like I’d just woken up instead of eavesdropping on them talking about me like I was a dead raccoon that needed removing.
The door opened.
No knock. Just opened.
An older guy stood there. Jeans, flannel, work boots. He had Jackson’s face but meaner.
He looked at me, then at the bed, then back at me like her sleeping there was offensive.
“You the girl from last night?”
“Yeah.” My voice came out scratchy.
“Bill Taylor. I own this building.” He didn’t move from the doorway. “You can’t stay up here. I’m not taking another hit over one bad night.”
“Relax. I’m not trying to sign a lease.”
His face didn’t move.
“You need to leave.”
“Okay.”
Because what else was I supposed to say to that?
“Today.”
“Got it.”
He turned and walked out. Didn’t close the door behind him.
Cold air kept slipping in from the hall. Downstairs, a keg slammed into something metal hard enough to rattle the bedframe.
I stared at the open doorway, then at my other boot under the chair.
Noon.
One night in, and I was already a problem with a deadline.
“Amazing,” I muttered, grabbing for the boot. “Really nailing first impressions here.”
I shoved my foot into it anyway, sucked in a breath at the pain, and pushed up to standing.
Perfect. I was getting thrown out, and I couldn’t even do it without wobbling.