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I nudge a metal visa at him and toss out another prize-winning smile. “Try this one. It’s also in my husband’s name, but—”
“I’m sorry, I just—” he says, interrupting me.
I talk louder. Confidence! Big smile! “It’ll be fine, this one will work, can you just—”
“Miss, really, I can’t, but maybe you can—”
“Please,” I say loudly, all that confidence cracking in half, before he can interrupt me again. Half the bar’s staring at me now. I sound shrill and panicky, which is pretty much dead on. “Just run the fucking card, okay?” Frustration and fear break over me like a wave. “I’ve had a really, really long day, basically a really long life, and I don’t need your holier-than-thou bartender bullshit on top of the nightmare I’ve already gone through just to get here, so please, run the stupid card and settle my bill so I can leave before he finds me.”
I know as soon as the words slip out from between my lips that I made a very poor decision, but I’ve never been good at stopping myself once I get rolling.
I’m a cannonball loosed on the world, all momentum, nothing else. Once I’ve opened my mouth, there’s no going back, as my ex can attest.
His favorite pet name for me was “mouthy bitch.”
Christopher was a real charmer.
The kind of man my mother would’ve calleda little bit rough.
My mother: also a real charmer.
“Sorry, miss,” the bartender says and crosses his arms. He’s looking at me like he’s made up his mind, and it’s not good. “I can’t run any of these, and if you can’t pay for that drink then we’re going to have an issue. Should I call security, or do you have another way to pay?”
I want to scream. Bile rises in my throat. Everyone’s staring, the whole damn bar, and this was a terrible mistake. I should’ve gone somewhere smaller, quieter, somewhere out of the way, somewhere that wouldn’t give a crap where the money was coming from, but I had this image of escaping my violent bastard ex-husband in style.
But that’s all crashing down around me.
I’m going to get arrested over a single martini.
“Please,” I say and it’s the most pathetic I’ve ever felt. All my anger slowly drains away, replaced by terror.
If I’m stuck here all because some mustache-twirling jerk suddenly grew a moral compass, Christopher’s going to show up. He’s going to appear, and he’s going to kill me.
Maybe not right away. But slowly, surely, I will die if I stay with that man.
A shadow appears at my elbow. I figure it’s hotel security, come to throw me out on my ass, or maybe to call the cops. I turn around, forming a million different excuses, ready to cry if that’s what it takes, anything to avoid getting caught by my ex—
A man’s standing there. Tall and broad, massive actually, muscular and brooding with dark hair and dark eyes.
He’s handsome in a startling way and my mouth works, trying to find words, but there are none. His suit fits him perfectly, but he still looks like he’d rather be in a pair of jeans and nothing else.
My jaw drops, and for once in my lousy life, I have nothing to say.
His dark, nearly pitch-black eyes meet mine. A jolt of excitement spikes down my stomach and into my core. His lips are full and pink, and he’s looking at me like he wants to peel me apart to study my insides. But in a really weird, sexy way.
“Put her drink on my tab.” His voice is a rumble, practically subsonic.
“Mr. Kazan, are you sure—” The bartender starts, but the big man interrupts him.
“Yes,” he says. “Now, please.”
The bartender practically melts away in fear.
I stare at the enormous man and blink for a beat, trying to come to grips with what just happened. “Thank you,” I say and clear my throat as I gather up my credit cards. “I really appreciate it, but—”
His hand comes down on my shoulder. He doesn’t grip, and it’s not threatening, but there’s a clear message.
“Stay,” he says and a jolt of worry lances into my stomach.
