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“I don’t know. I don’t like the way he’s looking at you. It’s like that asshole from Cloud 9 who wouldn’t leave you alone. I don’t want you to end up on the nine o’clock news as a missing person.”
“I’m good.” Even though I’d been thinking the exact same thing, I forced a small laugh out to reassure him and squeezed his shoulder as I slid behind him. “I’m going to grab more limes.”
“Have one of the barbacks do it.”
“It’s ok. Gives me a break from being eye candy. Maybe he’ll turn his sights onto you next.” I shot him a grin when he rolled his eyes.
“Get a couple of whole ones for the peels!” Jude called after me. “Oh and oranges!”
I lifted a hand to let him know I heard and ducked into the kitchen. It was late and the kitchen staff had all gone home, meaning my path to the cooler was blessedly free of tray-wielding servers and sweaty chefs screaming all night over who fucked up what appetizer.
Pulling open the door to the industrial fridge, I propped it open and stepped in, scanning the shelves for what I needed. Spotting the limes, I snagged a container of the sliced variety and balanced some whole ones on the lid before searching for the oranges.
When I turned around again, the way out was blocked.
My stomach plummeted. A tremor swept through me and I almost dropped everything.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped, hoping my anger disguised the fact my voice cracked.
It wasn’t the hot mystery man or any other shit-faced patron.
It was a sleaze bag that kept coming back into my life like fucking herpes and one I hoped I’d never see again. I guess that was asking for too much. I should have known better. Peace wasn’t in the cards for me. I’d been living in one nightmare after another since the day I was born and this asshole was the latest incarnation of it.
Ken, the slimy bastard that he was, smiled his charming, politician smile and took a step closer with his hands spread, like some magnanimous display of his goodwill. “It’s beensolong.”
“Not long enough.”
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he continued, unfazed by my glare or my tone. “Seems your phone is always turned off these days.”
“Or I got a new number. Take a fucking hint, asshole.”
“Come on, now.” He actually had the nerve to pout at me. A grown man pouting because his favorite boy toy told him to fuck off. Everything about him made my skin crawl but that childish shit he used to try and manipulate me actually made me want to vomit. “Don’t be like that, Marek. I said I was sorry.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I told you I’m done.” Since there was no other way out of the cooler except through the door he was fucking standing in, I shoved past him as roughly as I could. Even though it was only my shoulder that touched him, the contact sent another current of disgust through me and I strode back to the bar as quickly as my legs would go.
I threw that same shoulder into the swinging door to the barroom to rid myself of the contagion. I was two steps through the doorway when his hand landed on my arm, squeezing hard and jerking me backward. The whole limes and oranges rolled off the top of the container in my hands, scattering beneath the tables on the edge of the room.
“We’re not done yet,” Ken said behind me.
I tried to shrug him off before I dropped the sliced limes too and made an even bigger mess I’d have to clean up, but he held on. “Let go of me!”
“Let me explain.”
As much as it repulsed me, I took a step closer to him, lowering my voice so people near us wouldn’t hear me—not for his benefit, it was so I didn’t lose this fucking job. He still hadn’t let go of my goddamn arm and every second he touched me, my stomach knotted up even more. “Explain how you’re a sick fuck? Yeah. Got it. No explanation needed. We’re done. Get it through your fucking head. Now let go unless you want me running my mouth to the first reporter I come across. I’m sure the press would have a fucking field day with you.”
The oily smile he gave me prompted an involuntary shudder and a desire to scrub myself with a Brillo pad. “Aww. You forgot. It’s your word against mine. And we both know what your word is worth.”
“Fuck you, Ken.”
“You’re so worked up tonight. I love it when you’re all worked up. It always gets me hard.” He let go of my arm. For a split second, I was relieved. But then he grabbed my face and pulled me toward him, like he was going to actually fucking kiss me right there in public.
I dropped everything in my hands and shoved him away from me as hard as I could, no longer worried about discretion of any kind. “Are you fucking serious?! I’mnotkidding! Stay the fuck away from me!”
His eyes glinted, enjoying the challenge so much his pupils had nearly obliterated the shit-brown color of his irises. Or he was high. Given how reckless he was being, it was probably both, which meant he was even more unpredictable than when he was sober.
As soon as he lurched forward again, his hands outstretched, my body reacted of its own accord. My fist flew out, catching him right in the side of his face.
Ken spun and crashed into one of the high-top tables, knocking it to the floor and tumbling after it, scattering coasters and drink menus everywhere.
