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Good thing neither my father nor I cashed the checks. That might have been one scandal I'd have never lived through.
Back to Jett.
To the latter question, if he asked, I might have answered “yes” without a blink because, to me, my father was dead and long buried. Like the rest of everything else in my past.
I didn't hate him, but I didn't care about him either. I believed that my life would be better without thinking he was alive on some continent, moving forward without me.
If he could do it, then I could too.
We walked into another aisle, and he picked off an item from the shelf. I leaned closer to inspect the expiry date.
“And you?” I asked and looked up. “Why are you here?”
Our heads were so close, that if someone stared from behind, they might have thought we were smooching.
His gaze burned with an interesting intensity and, again, my toes warmed in my sandals.
Jett was attractive.Incredibly attractive. In a way that could make any sensible woman swoon. And if I was interested in pursuing a relationship, I might have swiped right on his profile.
But I wasn't.
The scar on my heart was too deep. Barely healed or forgotten.
So, all I could do was smile in a way that hinted at acozyfriendship, and nothing more. I took a step back.
Understanding flickered through his eyes and he rubbed his strong jaw. “Chauffeur for some wealthy douche. Been working for him for three years now, and I can count the number of times he's said something nice to me.”
I picked a can of sweetened corn. “Promoted from the Uber, huh?” So, he wasn't on vacation.
“When you put it like that…”
“It doesn't change anything.” I returned the can to the shelf and pulled out another. Canned sausages. “Your boss is a douchebag, and you need a raise to be able to stomach his douche-ness.”
His head fell back, and he laughed. “I thought you'd say I should quit.”
His laughter made me smile. “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Keep the job. If it pays well, you'll feed well. That's what matters. Sometimes.”
Jett hesitated. “And what if he’s a… bad man? Won't that matter?”
Yes, Nessa. Tell him. Doesn't it matter that your heart still aches for a bad, bad man?
I froze and the can slipped from my grasp. It clattered on the ground.
“Oh, shit.”
“Oh my…”
“No, it's my fault.”
We muttered and reached for the can at the same time. Four hands stretched out to the ground and one, which was neither Jett's nor mine, stopped the rolling can and lifted it.
“How clumsy of me.” Embarrassed, a chortle slipped past my lips, and I raised my head to thank the kind stranger. “Thank you so—”
The words dried on my tongue, my breath left my lungs, and my heart dropped to my stomach.
No.
His emerald eyes bore into mine and I heard the timbre of his voice whisper in my ears,“I’ll find you, kitten. And when I do, I’ll make you fucking pay.”
