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Yeah, my brother.
“Why does it even matter to you?” The question escapes my lips with more bite than I planned. I’d prefer to avoid any confrontation. After all, Sal’s old-school mantra is still ingrained in me—the customer is always right.
“It doesn’t,” he replies, his tone dripping with conviction. It’s as if he’s daring me to engage and refute his claim. There’s an enigmatic quality to his words, a taunting rhythm that needles at my defenses. “If you planned to leave for the company of a man who truly captivated you, I wouldn’t still hold your attention, now would I, Charlotte?”
His unwavering confidence leaves me momentarily flustered, and I find myself staring at him with a mixture of confusion and challenge. I moisten my lips, summoning a measure of courage to keep up with this verbal dance. “Well,” I begin, drawing in a steadying breath, “the concept of a date can be multifaceted.”
His head tilts, a subtle yet provocative gesture that seems to beckon me further into his enigmatic realm. “A date with a man,” he continues, his words dripping with suggestion, “carries a different connotation compared to one with a mere boy.” The way he leans in, his forearms resting on the edge of the table, sends a charge of energy through the air. I feel his presence acutely, like a magnetic force that compels me to remain, even as my instincts nudge me to retreat.
How do I reply to that?
His proximity is simultaneously unnerving and intriguing, a paradox that holds me captive. As his voice deepens, a tantalizing undertone emerges, wrapping around his words like a velvet ribbon. “And you, Charlotte,” he murmurs, the resonance of his voice stirring something within me, “possess an innocence that would be utterly lost on someone unacquainted with the desires of a woman.”
I’m caught in his web of words, my thoughts racing as I grapple with the force of his attention. A sense of vulnerability washes over me, my composure teetering on the edge of uncertainty.
I refuse to let him overwhelm me. Determination ignites within me, a stubborn fire that refuses to be consumed by his mysterious aura. What has come over him? Why the sudden interest? More importantly, how can I restore the balance and return things to normal? I need to regain control of this situation before his presence becomes an unwelcome distraction in my carefully constructed life.
“I don’t date.” The words slip from my lips, and I can feel a telltale blush creeping up my neck. It’s as if he’s managed to coax out a secret I hadn’t intended to share, exposing a vulnerability I usually keep hidden. He doesn’t strike me as someone who asks questions. He’s more the type to demand answers and take control.
Just as I’m bracing myself for his response, a timely interruption arrives in the form of Sal’s boisterous greeting. “Hey ya, toots.” Sal appears by the table, short and dressed in his own suit, though a much less impressive version compared to this enigmatic stranger. While Sal’s appearance might be a tad disheveled, he’s always been a familiar and friendly presence, the kind that never gives off any unsettling vibes. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll see you later. Check the schedule on your way out.” Turning back to the strange regular, Sal grumbles his name. “Desmond.”
Clutching the coffee pot, I offer a nod to both of them and retreat, finding a temporary sanctuary in the bustling back office. The weight of the situation sinks in as I realize the subtle power play Sal just executed. It’s like a chess match, a confrontation I hadn’t anticipated, and one he monopolized on.
Shaking off my unease, I hurriedly stash my hard-earned tips in my purse, tucking them alongside the important custody papers. With swift movements, I shed my apron, my focus on escaping the current scenario rather than analyzing it. Tatum’s presence in the doorway draws my attention, her vibrant red hair cascading over her shoulder.
“He got you to agree to take over for Harlow tomorrow, didn’t he?” Tatum remarks knowingly, her tone laced with a touch of amusement. “I heard she’s just planning on nursing a hangover.”
“I probably would have agreed to anything to get away from those two,” I admit with a shiver, the memory of that intense encounter still sending ripples of discomfort down my spine. “And she’s going to a concert.” The words come out as a reassurance to both Tatum and myself, a reminder that life goes on, despite the unsettling interactions that occasionally find their way into my world.
“There is something off about him, don’t you think?” Tatum twists her face in a way that signals she’s about to dive into a juicy topic. She brushes off the mention of Harlow’s plans with a dismissive wave, zeroing in on the more intriguing subject. “He’s like one of those billionaire characters from those romance novels.”
I slide into my black heavy coat, sensing the impending chill outside, despite the diner’s warmth. At this time of year, the northeast isn’t balmy but crisp, and the act of buttoning up my coat feels like preparation for stepping into a different reality.
“Book billionaire?” I roll my eyes, despite my hunch that he’s wealthy.Blood money maybe.“More like he’s got that old money vibe.”
“You think he’s involved in some shady stuff?” Tatum whispers, glancing around to ensure our gossip session remains private. Sal doesn’t mind our little talks as long as we prioritize our customers.
“Criminal? I wouldn’t put it past him.” The conviction in my voice reflects a deeper intuition. My gut feeling goes beyond just suspecting his wealth—it’s a strong sense that there’s more beneath the surface. I chew on the inside of my cheek, my gaze skimming the diner, where conversations hum and cutlery clinks. “Whatever he has going on, I want no part of it.”
“Shame.” Tatum sighs. “He looks like he fucks like it’s his job. Not going to lie, I’d call him Daddy and let him do anything he wanted to me if someone looked at me the way he looks at you.”
“Ew. Seriously, Tatum?” I press a finger to her red lips, feigning disgust. It’s a classic Tatum move, speaking without a filter, and it often leaves me both amused and exasperated. There’s something oddly endearing about her candidness. “You can have him.”
“I tried, I really did.” She pouts and even stomps her foot, revealing her playful, youthful side. I give her a pointed look, and she responds with an exaggerated eye roll.
Chuckling, I arch an eyebrow inquisitively. “And what did you do? Unbutton your top?”
Her eyes widen, and she flashes a mischievous grin. “Not just unbuttoned, sweetheart, but I left a fewstrategicbuttons open. Plus, I swayed my hips a little when I brought him his coffee. You’d think that would at least get me a wink or a smile, right?”
I struggle to suppress my laughter at her antics. “Well, Tatum, it sounds like he’s got your number, and for your own good, I’d say it’s best to keep your distance from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous.”
She huffs dramatically. “Fine. Desmond is all yours then.”
“Trust me, Tatum, I don’t want him.” That’s the truth. There’s something about Desmond that goes beyond his good looks and mysterious aura—something that raises all my internal alarms and urges me to steer clear.
She clucks her tongue again, her signal for me to get a move on. “You better head out. You know how Jani gets when you’re late.”
I wince at the reminder. “Yeah, last time she made Milo walk here alone.”
