Page 17 of Possessive Ink

“I notice things,” he says simply, like that’s a reasonable answer.

“You know nothing about me.”

“Yet,” he corrects. “But that’s easily remedied. There are lots of things we both need to learn,” he says vaguely, but I have a feeling his statement has a deeper meaning that I don’t understand.

“How do you know where I work?” I ask him when he slows to a stop outside the resort. “I never told you.”

“The address was on the invoice at the laundry,” he says like it should be obvious.

Sliding from the car with a grace that I wish I could emulate, he opens my door and helps me climb out, his hand burning a permanent imprint on my spine when he places it in the same spot and starts to guide me up the path to the entrance of the resort.

“Who the fuck was that guy on your cell?” Wes shouts the moment I step through the door, his eyes going wide and his voice freezing mid-word when he spots Atticus behind me.

“I—” I start, but Atticus silences me with a lethal look, stepping in front of me and blocking me from Wes’s view.

“She’s going to need the cash for the groceries and any outstanding pay you owe her, plus the money for her two weeks’ notice,” Atticus says, his voice low and lethally calm.

“Police,” Wes stutters. “I’m calling the police.”

“Go right ahead,” Atticus growls, crossing his enormous tattooed arms across his chest. “I’ll wait.”

When I try to step out from behind Atticus, he gently pushes me back, squeezing my hip in warning.

“She’s going to need a reference too. A glowing one,” Atticus says, his voice gruff and decisive.

Wes makes a noise that’s somewhere between fear and annoyance, but he doesn’t bother to speak again, and we fall into silence apart from the sound of paper being shuffled. Turning to look at me, Atticus’s eyes soften as his lips curve into a smile. “Do you have anything that you need to take away with you?”

I nod.

“Okay, go grab it while he’s finishing up,” he tells me.

Unsure, I glance at Wes, but Atticus steps between us again. “Go get your stuff.”

Tiptoeing around the desk, I head for the small cabinet against the wall and pull out the handful of things I brought with me when I started this job. I have a cardigan for when it gets cold and a small pink plush stuffy that one of my old customers at the coffee shop gave me on my last day.

“Don’t forget your cake,” Atticus reminds me.

A snort of slightly hysterical laughter bursts from my lips as I rush into the small staff room and open the refrigerator only to find my cake box gone. Spinning around, I scan the tiny kitchen, then spot the crumpled cake box sitting in the trash.

Suddenly outraged and angry, I storm back to the front desk and yell, “You ate my cake?” at Wes.

Instead of responding, Wes’s frantic eyes dart from me to Atticus. Without saying a word, he reaches into his pocket, unfurls a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and places it on top of the pile of bills that’s already sitting on the desk.

I have no idea why my eaten cake is the thing that finally sends me over the edge, but hot tears burn at the backs of my eyes, dripping down my cheeks as I glance around the reception area sadly, knowing that it’s unlikely I’ll ever come here again.

“Don’t cry,” Atticus snarls.

Quickly wiping my cheeks, I suck in a breath, attempting to stem the flow of tears that are still falling from my eyes.

I’m not sure if it’s my show of emotion or Atticus’s visible anger, but Wes suddenly starts writing quickly, signing his name with a flourish before he slides the reference, check, and cash across the counter toward us.

“Your shit is in my trunk. Come and get it. Don’t look at her or speak to her,” Atticus growls, taking the things from the desk and turning me toward the exit.

His hand on my hip tightens as he ushers me to his car, opening the door, and physically lifting me into the seat before he closes the door behind me.

A moment later, a cowed-looking Wes creeps toward the car and rushes to unload the bundles of clean laundry while Atticus watches him, his eyes narrowed into angry slits.

Not bothering to wait for Wes to carry the laundry away, Atticus closes his trunk, turns his back on Wes, and climbs into the driver’s seat beside me.