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That means she’s going to be awhile, or she might not just behangingout.
Having lost the desire to continue my solo act, I make my way back through the crowd and head back to our little booth.
I sit there for at least twenty minutes, sipping on a glass of wine I probably shouldn’t have.
When I add another twenty minutes and realize Harper hasn’t even noticed I’m gone, I decide it’s probably best to leave.
That might sound over the top because we practically just got here, but I know what Harper is like when it comes to men who interest her. It’s customary for her to do this, and it looks like Mr. Bartender is tonight’s lucky winner.
It’s just that, whenever this sort of thing happened, I’d always have Avery. Now I don’t.
The thought tugs on my heart, and I realize that if I sit here any longer, I’m either gonna look like a loser because I can’t shake the memories of what used to be, or I’ll attract unwanted attention from the guys looking at me from across the bar.
It’s definitely time to leave.
Quickly, I grab some paper from my purse and scribble a note down for Harper, telling her I’m going home. I tuck it under the wine bottle so she’ll see it, then make my way down the steps and head across to the other entrance to the cloakroom.
This side is less crowded, but it looks like it might take twice as long to get there. No matter; it’s not like I’m in a rush.
The music fades as I walk down the corridor and verge onto an empty path with a wider space.
There, a burly-looking man wearing a leather jacket steps out from the corner. The moment his dark eyes lock onto mine and he smiles at me, I sense trouble.
He gets closer, reeking of cheap cologne, far too much alcohol, and desperation.
I sidestep him, getting out of the way, but he moves even closer, walking right beside me.
“There, there. What’s the rush? I was looking for you.” His breath stinks of old cigarettes.
“I think you need to leave me alone.”
“Not likely.” He laughs. “I saw you dancing earlier and knew I had to have more.”
“Leave me the hell alone.”
“I said not likely.”
Christ.It’s times like these when I wish I’d Miko, my bodyguard was here with me. I didn’t bring him along because I hate feeling like some pampered debutante princess, or worse, like I need a babysitter.
I also thought I’d be fine without a Miko because I’m seldom, if ever, recognized as Jason Bell’s daughter. Natalie is the opposite. People recognize her everywhere she goes because her face is everywhere. On billboards, magazines, and t.v.
The asshole continues following me, and I walk a little faster, cursing my heels.
When am I going to reach the damn cloakroom? All I can see is the endless hallway before me.
“Would be great to see you naked,” the asshole rasps, then, to my horror, he shoves me against the wall so hard I see stars.
I hurt my bad hip, too, and now my leg is numb.
“Get off me!” I yelp, but he pushes himself against me with more force, blocking any escape.
He tries to kiss me, but I shield my face from his disgusting lips and frantically look around for anyone who can help me. But there’s no one.
The asshole’s fingers dig into my arm, sending pain shooting through me. "Come on, baby, just let me fuck you."
Panic blooms in my chest. Shit. This isn’t happening. "Get the fuck off me."
Damn it to hell. I should have stayed home tonight. All I did was attract the wrong attention.
