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“I’d much rather sleep in my bed tomorrow night.”
“Fine,” he says with a defeated sigh. “But if you change your mind and need a day to recuperate, let me know.”
“I’ll see you bright and early on Monday, August,” I tell him.
“Travel safe.”
As soon as I hang up, a middle-aged man sits next to me, despite plenty of other seats at the bar. My guess is he was waiting for me to finish my conversation before he approached.
I ignore him in favor of pretending to read an email. The last thing I want is to be pulled into a conversation with someone I’m not interested in talking to. I’m scolding myself for not leaving the bar while I was still talking with August. I blame the devilishly handsome stranger for distracting me.
“Excuse me.” The guy next to me taps me on the shoulder.
I look over and meet his beady black eyes. Sweat drips down his temples, highlighting his receding hairline. He pulls out a grimy handkerchief from his pinstripe suit, which is too small around the middle, and wipes his brow.
I grimace when he sets the used handkerchief on the counter between us.
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying my best to hide my repulsion.
“I’m Larry. I’d like to buy you a drink.” A grin spreads across his face, exposing a poorly done set of veneers, which makes it more unsettling than friendly.
“I appreciate the offer, but I already have one.” I lift my glass for emphasis.
“You definitely need something stronger.” His nasally voice grates against my ears.
“No, thank you.”
“Come on, baby. From the moment I saw you, I wanted to tell you that if beauty were a crime, you’d be serving a life sentence.”
I let out a choked noise. “I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression, but I’m not interested.”
Being direct tends to be the most effective approach when turning down someone’s advances. It leaves no room for misinterpretation or for leading someone on for the sake of being nice, which never ends well.
Larry’s eyes narrow. “Is this how you treat someone who compliments you?”
“It’s how I treat men who don’t know how to take no for an answer.” I grab my purse, ready to hightail it out of here. I’m startled when his meaty hand clamps around my upper arm.
“Sit. Back. Down,” he hisses sharply.
“Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth. This guy has another thing coming if he thinks I’ll comply with his harassment. “I said I’m not interested.” I place my hand over his and dig my fingernails into his skin, causing him to loosen his grip.
“Why you little bit—”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.” The deep voice sends a thrill down my spine.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find the stranger I was ogling earlier hovering over my unwanted guest. A sharp exhale passes my lips when I realize he’s not a stranger at all—it’s Cash Stafford. It’s no wonder he felt familiar. He’s been my brother’s best friend since we were kids, although I haven’t seen him in almost fifteen years.
The unwanted sensation of butterflies in my stomach when his eyes soften and he flashes me a smirk before turning his attention back to Larry.
“Leave now, or I’ll call security,” Cash threatens calmly.
Larry gives him a wary glance, not daring to question his order. He has enough sense to shove his handkerchief in his pocket and scurry out of his chair, and rush toward the exit. His compliance may have something to do with the jagged scar on Cash’s face, spanning from his left eyebrow, carving a winding path across his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. The pronounced pinkish color gives him a menacing appearance.
My memory takes me back to after his accident when he expressed how much he hated the scar because it served as a constant reminder that his outward appearance was differentfrom everyone else. It didn’t help that Whitney, his high school girlfriend, never shied away from complaining about how it looked whenever she got the chance. In my opinion, it’s sexy as hell. A reminder of Cash’s willingness to help someone in need—consequences be damned.
My hands tremble as Cash gives me a wicked grin. He may be devastatingly handsome, but from what Theo’s told me about him over the years, I was right to think he was dangerous—just not in the conventional sense.
Something tells me he won’t be as easy to get rid of as Larry was.