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“I’m not giving you my number, especially not after this. Please get away from my car. I’m trying to go to work,” I say, waving my keys in front of me.
He frowns, rubbing his chin and cocking his head to the side. “Maybe if you give me your phone number, I’ll move.”
“If youdon’tmove, I’ll call the police.”
He pouts his lips, clearly just pretending to be upset. He’s mocking me, and I hate him. He’s just like all the assholes I went to high school with. Stupid, conceited, and believing that they’re entitled to women’s bodies.
It doesn’t matter that he’s so attractive it makes me want to vomit. I don’t care that every time he lifts his hands, I imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around my throat. And it certainly doesn’t move me to hear the deep rumble of his voice when he speaks, his Russian accent wrapping around me like a viper.
“Seriously, move,” I say, waving my hand to the side. I’m also waving the filthy thoughts about him away. I have no time to screw up my life by eventhinkingabout giving him my phone number.
He shakes his head, stepping to the side, but not far enough to make me feel comfortable going to my car. “Is that better? I’m sorry I frightened you.”
“You’re not sorry, and no, that’s not better,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Just fucking move.”
“Such language,” he teases, his eyes glittering playfully in the midday sun.
I hate that he’s so physically attractive. I’m getting goosebumps even though I’m freaking the fuck out. My only hope is to push him away hard enough so that he doesn’t come back to tempt me again.
I don’t have time for men, especially not ones like him. He’d only play games with me like he’s doing now, and my heart can’t handle the pain after all I’ve experienced.
My keys jingle as I wave for him to move again. “Just get out of the way, please. You’re making me late.”
He holds out his hands in a show of innocence. “I’m not in the way. Go ahead, get in your car.”
“How about you go ahead and kill yourself, asshole,” I snarl back.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and retrieves a long revolver, sliding it out with a smirk. The silver barrel glints in the sunlight like the edge of a blade, and my stomach drops. I don’t know whether to fight or run, but like always, all my body will allow me to do is freeze.
If I die, I want it to be on my terms, not because some psycho followed me home and shot me in the parking lot in broad daylight. I can’t get my legs to move, though, no matter how hard I scream at them in my head to start running.
I’m stuck.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t turn the gun on me. He puts it against his temple, smiling like a lunatic as his finger brushes against the trigger. “Is this what you want?” he asks. “My brains blown out across the parking lot?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat is tight, and my tongue is as dry as paper. I want to scream at him to stop, but I can’t.
His grip on the revolver tightens, and his finger presses into the trigger. “Kill myself? Isn’t that what you said?”
This must be a joke, some kind of prank he’s pulling on me. Maybe this is the sick initiation hazing that all runway models must endure, but I doubt it. Either there aren’t any bullets in his revolver, or he really is as crazy as he seems.
“Pasha,” I gasp, suddenly remembering his name. “Pasha… can you put the gun down, please? Just put it down and we’ll talk.”
He frowns. “That’s not what you said before.”
“I was angry and confused. I’m sorry,” I plead. “Just… just put it away.”
“What’s there to be confused about?” he asks, pressing the gun a little harder into the side of his head. “You wanted me to kill myself, and honestly, Valerie, if I can’t have you, I think I really am better off dead. So, I guess this is goodbye.”
His finger eases into the trigger, slowly but calmly, like he’s not the least bit afraid of his head exploding as a result. That doesn’t stop me from leaping toward him, slapping the gun away from his head at the last moment, right before the bang.
And thereisa bang. It’s loud and makes my ears ring and my head spin. I stumble forward, catching myself on the hood of thecar and spinning around to see Pasha looking at me like he didn’t just attempt to kill himself.
He’s grinning with his gold tooth showing.
“Put that fucking gun away,” I gasp, digging my fingers into my ears to stop the ringing.
To my surprise, he listens this time, tucking it into his jacket pocket and looking around to check if anyone witnessed what just happened.
