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I throw back my whisky, then hold the empty glass out to be refilled. I’ve had little fires pop up here and there as people try to take what is mine. But no one had blatantly tried to use my company name and services.
“Whoever it was, they wanted to go undetected. Unfortunately for them, they probably didn’t realize it was one of my establishments and that I would report the incident to you.”
I think on this for a while. “Or they knew exactly what they were doing and saying. And who you were and your operations in my business,” I state.
Either way, I’ll have to deal with it immediately and make visits and calls to find out anything and everything I can about this mystery man.
“A calling card, you think?” Crue considers. “Either way, friend, it looks like you have a stray or an enemy brazen enough to grab your attention.”
CHAPTER 11
Honey
For a few weeks I don’t see Dawson, and I’m fine with that. Although part of me expects him to walk through the door every day. But that leaves a bitter taste since the last time he came here, it was with an outrageously beautiful woman. And I was too embarrassed to ask Crue if that beautiful woman was his girlfriend. Because that would make it sound like I’m interested in Dawson, and I shouldn’t be.
No! I mean… I’m not.
That is until I’m closing the store, and a car pulls up. I recognize it immediately. I’m attempting to lock the front door as he slides his sunglasses onto the top of his head while strolling toward me. My heart rate picks up a notch as he gets closer, and I wonder if I should shut the door in his face and hide inside.
Probably not the best of ideas.
He is my boss, after all.
Marco pushes off the pole that he’s leaning against. It’s the same place he waits for me every day because he refuses to let me walk to and from work alone.
Dawson raises his hand to stop him. “I have business here with my employee, and you are not to interrupt, or I’ll consider it trespassing.”
“You can’t speak to him like that,” I say, angrily.How dare he speak to Marco like that.But then I turn to Marco and say, “Dawson won’t hurt me, Marco.”
“Your father doesn’t like him. Therefore, I don’t trust him,” Marco states. And I know he’d do anything to get to me if he had to.
Dawson is oozing with that no-fucks-given power shit, but there’s something else. He also seems tense and slightly off. “I’ll be fine, Marco. Just wait out here for a little longer, please.”
He doesn’t lean back against the pole but remains where he is, alert.
I step to the side to allow Dawson in. He walks past me, and I catch a hint of his scent. He smells good.Really good. But there’s an undertone of whisky. He’s not drunk, but he’s definitely been drinking. Shutting the door behind him, I lock it so no late shoppers think we’re still open and walk in.
He’s watching me. The store is dark, and he makes his way silently through the racks and out the back. I follow him with a huff, feeling like an obedient, devoted worker. But then again, he is my boss, and I should do as hesays.
When I finally step into Alana’s office, he’s leaning against the table, waiting for me expectantly.
“Honey,” Dawson says, with that smile that would drop women to their knees and break them.
I can’t help the gulp I take as I drink him in. He’s so imposing in size, taking up most of the space in the small office. And I know he’s imposing in size elsewhere too.Stop thinking about that.
“Dawson,” I say, crossing my arms angrily over my chest, still mad at how he spoke to Marco. At least he didn’t call him a lapdog or something like that. Marco has been called all manner of things over the years because of his dedication to his role in shadowing me. But I suppose someone like Dawson respects the role, understanding the life-binding contract my father had forced Marco to take to protect me.
“I had a visit the other day from Crue,” he states.
“Okay.” I’m confused what that has to do with me.
His gaze never leaves me. But the harshness that was there when he walked in seems to be vanishing. Little by little, I see the tension in him dissipate. I don’t even know if he realizes he has his own tells. Or maybe no one has looked close enough before.
“You were asking about me?” Dawson says.
“No,” I lie.
“Hm…” He pushes off the table and steps toward me. I want to step back, but I don’t, and I stand my ground. I’ve grown up with powerful men all my life and know not to back down. But with Dawson, it’s different. It’s not intimidation, it’s temptation, and that’s a more powerful thing. I fell for his game once. Stopping, he stands directly in front of me. “You were asking about me,” he states again.
