AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER THREE
Another day,another night at work. I know it’s only been two days, but I was hoping Reed would turn up again. Him showing up kind of made my night the past two days, but today I wasn’t so lucky. It isn’t surprising because luck is never on my side, but it was a nice thought.
After making sure all the customers have cleared out from the second floor, I ride the escalator back down to the first and grab my broom and dustpan. Because this is a store strictly for adults, you would think messes would be minimal, but that’s the furthest thing from how shit really is. Abandoned candy wrappers, condom wrappers, and opened merchandise litter the aisles of our DVD displays. I make my way through each one, gathering things I need to put up on the way and using my broom to sweep up unknown trash and substances. It would be nice to delegate this job to someone else, but I’m the only one here, just like every time I work the night shift, which means cleaning, stocking, and locking up is all on me.
As I make my way to the next aisle, I hear the bell above the door ring. I internally kick myself because I’ve made the mistake of not locking the door right at midnight when we close before.
“We’re closed!” I call out, hoping it will deter whoever came in right back out.
When I don’t hear the door signaling anyone exiting, I come out of the aisle ready for an argument, but it isn’t just any customer standing at the entrance. It’s Reed. He’s dressed more casually than before in a crisp white T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and tennis shoes. His dark hair is slicked back and messy at the same time, and that sexy smirk is on his lips. It seems to be a permanent fixture, I’m realizing.
“Evening, Juliet.”
I give him a tight smile. “As much as I would love to stand here and talk, I can’t. “We’re closed.”
Stepping further into the store, he nods. “I know.”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay… Well, you can come back tomorrow when we open.”
He shakes his head with a playful scoff. “I’m not here to buy anything, per se.”
Leaning the broom and dustpan against a shelf and abandoning all the merchandise in my hands on a nearby display, I walk closer to him. “Am I supposed to know what that means?” I should be insisting he leaves, but I don’t really want to. Instead, I’m standing here talking to him like the desperate bitch I am.
“No, but I came to explain.” He laughs.
“Explain what exactly?”
“I have a proposition.”
I laugh because this is clearly a joke, but I play along anyway. “Okay, go ahead, then.”
“I want you for one night.”
I stay silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never comes. A manic laugh bubbles in my throat and spills from my lips as I glance around the room, looking for the cameras. Like I said, this is a joke, and someone has got to be watching and laughing with me at this point.
“Are you okay, Reed? Have you been drinking? Do I need to call you an Uber?” I finally ask, swallowing my laughs down.
The smile on his face falls as he stares at me. “I’m perfectly sober, Juliet.”
I squint at him, stepping closer. Invading his personal space, I can smell the cologne on his shirt. I so badly want to wrap my arms around him and breathe the scent in, but I stop myself. “Do you wear glasses, then? Because clearly you don’t see what I do.”
“You’re right,” he counters. “I don’t see what you do. I see a thick, sexy, natural beauty with a quick mouth and sense of humor.” He pushes the hair framing my face behind my shoulder. “And I want to claim her.”
My eyes close of their own accord. Every nerve ending on top of my head radiates with heat, sending trendles of fire all the way from my scalp down to my toes. With that one, single touch, he ignited a fire I’ve never felt burn.
“Reed…”
“Juliet…” he echoes with my name.
Opening my eyes, I take a step back and hold out my hands. “Look, I’m not sure what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t want any part of it.”
His smile zips back to his lips. “This isn’t a game.” As if to drive the point home, he pulls an envelope from the pocket of his sweatpants and hands it to me.
I take it with a shaky hand and open it. Unlike my rejection letter, the contents of this are thick—at least nine pages—and sealed with a stamp from his lawyer.
“Is—is this a contract?”
He shrugs. “Of sorts. Call it a contract of consent.”
