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A fter a marathon of back-to-back workdays, I was ecstatic to finally have a day off. With the cash I’d accumulated from Zeke’s generous tips, plus a little extra savings, I was eager to treat myself to something special.
The afternoon was mine to savor, and I reveled in the slow pace, meandering through thrift stores in search of hidden gems. But I couldn’t resist popping into Charla Mae’s, if only to indulge my senses and maybe find a small luxury that wouldn’ t break the bank.
The moment I pushed through the door, warm golden light wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the faded, dusty storefronts I’d visited all day. The pristine interior felt like a breath of fresh air, a welcome reprieve from the stench of second-hand smoke and stale fabrics that had clung to me all morning. The air was rich with the faint, sweet aroma of lavender and sandalwood, mingling with the subtle scent of leather and freshly pressed linens. The soft rustle of silk, the delicate undertone of perfume, and the hum of ambient music combined to create an atmosphere of understated luxury.
A sense of liberation rushed over me as I wandered through the open space, the chaos of typical shopping trips now a distant memory. My eyes drank in the minimalist décor and sleek displays, each one soothing my frazzled nerves like a gentle lullaby.
I drifted toward the cocktail dress section, my gaze widening at the stunning selection, each piece a vision of glamor and sophistication. Every gown seemed like a masterpiece, promising elegance and allure. A longing stirred within me. Could slipping into one of these creations transform me, even for just a moment?
I was powerless against the pull of a show-stopping black number with a sultry slit, its dark fabric vibrating with promise. Holding it up to my body, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way it shimmered in the mirror. The silk caught the light like gemstones, casting a subtle glow that danced with a seductive whisper. It seemed to throb with life, as though it had been waiting for me all along, beckoning me to surrender to its mystery.
“That dress was made for you.”
I spun around, startled, heart leaping as I came face-to-face with Zeke. His sudden presence made me jump, and I gasped, my hand flying to my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. The shock left me flustered, my face burning with embarrassment.
Clearly amused, he tugged the corners of his mouth upward, fighting to hold back a smile. My awkwardness was on full display, and I wanted to melt into the floor.
“Sorry about the sneak attack,” he said, his low, rumbling laugh vibrating through me, creating a flutter in my stomach. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Still catching my breath, I shot back, “My goodness, you should wear a bell or something.” Exhaling, I shook off the surprise and muttered, more to myself than to him, “How do you even walk so quietly?”
He glanced around, his expression darkening as intrigue clouded his eyes. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t go repeating this, but…let’s just say I have a certain set of skills that don’t exactly fit on a résumé.”
My face froze, and my brain came to a screeching halt. What secrets was this guy hiding behind those ridiculously entrancing eyes ?
“Oh, yeah?” I said, trying for casual but failing miserably as my voice wobbled slightly. “And what exactly would those be?”
His grin widened, a trace of something dangerous carved into the set of his features. “You could say I’m…well-versed in problem-solving. A ninja, if you will—trained in the ancient art of stealth and subtlety.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Ninja-like, stealthy, and...lethal?”
He straightened, smugness radiating from him as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit. “Exactly. But, you know, in a charming way.”
I let out a short laugh, but a tiny, irrational part of me hesitated. Was he joking? Probably.
Hopefully.
My gaze drifted upward, the height difference between us impossible to ignore. It was hard to imagine someone his size moving silently, but then again, I supposed blending into the shadows would be a necessity in his...line of work.
“I’m really glad we ran into each other,” he said, his hands slipping casually into his pockets as he took a small step back. “I’ve been thinking about that trail you mentioned, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me. You said it’s not a good idea to go alone, and honestly, I don’t have anyone around here who’s up for hiking. ”
“Oh, I’m married!” I blurted out, mentally facepalming as soon as the words left my mouth.
Zeke’s eyes widened with surprise, followed by a soft, indulgent chuckle. “I figured as much,” he said, his gaze briefly dropping to my wedding band. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. Just a friendly gesture. Back in New York, some of my closest friends are women. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I totally get it.”
I. Am. Mortified. How could I have ever thought he was flirting with me? It’s painfully obvious I’m not his type. He’ll probably be telling his buddies back home about this later, and they’ll all have a good laugh at my expense.
I forced a casual smile, waving off my earlier outburst. “Oh—not uncomfortable at all,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Just friends, of course. No big deal. I’d be happy to be your guide.”
Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” He drew the words out, as if still uncertain. “You just seemed so familiar with the area. I thought you’d be the best person to ask.”
I tried to laugh it off. “No, you’re right. Makes sense. Honestly, I’m probably the best person to ask. I’m one of the few who still regularly use that trail.”
His face lit up, a grin spreading from ear to ear. He clapped his hands together in excitement. “Fantastic! I was thinking of heading out this Saturday. Do you think you can make it?”
I paused for a moment, mentally reviewing my schedule. Surprisingly, it was clear. “Yeah, I’m free. I’d love to join you.” I studied his face for any signs of hesitation, but his expression remained neutral. “The hike’s a bit longer than most, so we should probably get an early start. How about 8:00 AM? That way, we’ll have plenty of time before it gets dark. We can meet at the Rocky Ridge Trailhead entrance.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but it would also give me time to make it home before my curfew.
Zeke nodded enthusiastically. “Perfect. I’ll be there at 8:00 AM sharp. I’m really looking forward to it!” His gaze flicked to the dress still cradled in my arms. “You really would look great in that, by the way. See you Saturday!”
I glanced down, having forgotten it was still there, and muttered, “Maybe…” But before I could say more, Zeke was already halfway out the door. I called out quickly, “See you then!”
He turned, offering a brief wave of farewell before stepping into the street. The doorbell above chimed a gentle goodbye.
As the door clicked shut, a nagging doubt crept in. Had I completely lost my mind agreeing to venture into the woods with someone who might actually be a hitman? My confidence that he wasn’t barely cracked 45% .
Hypothetically speaking, if he were a deadly assassin, I’d likely be safe as long as I wasn’t the intended target. After all, it’s bad for business to go around killing random civilians willy-nilly.
But the fact that I was even entertaining such a thought was a clear sign I was craving social interaction. The extremes I was considering for the sake of friendship were downright unhinged.
On the other hand, if my suspicions were correct, having someone like Zeke in my corner could be a blessing in disguise. A friend like him would make me feel protected and cared for. And let’s not forget, he’d been nothing but kind and respectful from the start. For whatever reason, I trusted him.
My eyes dropped to the price tag of the dress, and my heart sank. The amount was staggering—my entire savings in one purchase. It was impossible to justify, no matter how much I longed for it. I gave it one last wistful glance before reluctantly returning it to the rack.
As I wandered toward the jewelry display, my eyes landed on a delicate gold bracelet. The slender chain had this simple, chic vibe, and when I saw the price, a wave of serendipity washed over me. It was exactly what I had been looking for.
The store clerk approached, her smile warm and inviting. “Would you like to try one on?”
I nodded, my finger hovering over the sparkling metal. “May I try this one? ”
She followed my gaze, a gleam in her eyes, and smiled. “Of course, coming right up!”
With practiced ease, she removed the bracelet and extended her hand to me. As she fastened it around my wrist, she looked up with a questioning expression, waiting for my approval.
I lifted my arm, admiring the bracelet’s effortless beauty. “This is perfect,” I said, my voice full of certainty. “I’ll take it.”
After wrapping up my shopping trip, I headed home to get ready for dinner with Reggie. Every month, he treated me to a meal out, giving me a welcome break from the endless cycle of cooking and cleaning up afterward.
As I stepped into the old farmhouse, I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, the pulsing sound of Reggie’s music spilling from his lair as he prepared for our night out. I silently hoped he’d be in a good mood this evening.
Once inside, I let my naturally red locks fall free from the clip, spirals tumbling down my back. The serum I worked through my hair tamed the most unruly strands, but I smiled at the familiar wildness—something I’d come to embrace over time.
I slipped into a silky white dress that hugged my form just right, finishing the look with black stilettos that made my legs seem impossibly long. A bold sweep of crimson on my lips was the final touch, its pop of color a sharp contrast to the otherwise understated tones .
Just as I was admiring myself in the mirror, a loud knock on the door startled me. “Brynie girl, you ready to party?!” Reggie’s voice rang out.
I snapped the lipstick shut, grabbed my purse, and called back, “Be right out!”
At the restaurant, Reggie handed over our names to the hostess, who led us to a quiet, intimate table with a warm smile. The waiter arrived promptly, took our drink orders, and gave us the menus before quietly stepping away to let us deliberate.
As I scanned the menu, I noticed something telling: no prices. This place catered to the affluent, the ones who didn’t need to check costs before ordering.
Reggie’s financial situation had always been a bit of a mystery. He never flaunted wealth, nor did he splurge on expensive possessions, but it was obvious he was comfortable. His quiet confidence spoke volumes. He had a substantial safety net, even if I wasn’t allowed to see it.
Since day one, Reggie had made it clear that I needed to maintain my financial independence—no handouts, no free rides. But sometimes, especially during these lavish dinners, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were his way of subtly showing me just how much more he had than I did .
His voice broke through my thoughts, dripping in a smug, patronizing tone. “Notice how the waiter was so courteous and efficient, Brynie? You might want to take a page from his book. If you followed his lead, you might find yourself earning more tips.”
It was as if I were a student, and he the wise professor, imparting his vast wisdom. It didn’t sit well with me.
I plastered on a sweet smile, my fingers digging into the edge of the menu as I fought to keep the sarcastic retort from slipping out. “I’m always mindful of my time at each table. Never been one to linger too long.”
Reggie lazily swiped his tongue over his teeth, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Really? Sal’s account differs. He says you can get…a bit clingy with the customers.”
My jaw clenched, struggling to hold on to any shred of composure. So that’s what Sal’s been saying about me. I couldn’t believe it. “That’s a complete lie! My customers love me.”
The words felt hollow, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Had I lingered too long at Zeke’s table? The thought gnawed at me. Had I crossed a line? I wasn’t desperate for validation… was I? Had I come across as clingy?
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.” His attention drifted to a beautiful blonde sitting nearby, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the table as he let out a long sigh, the conversation clearly no longer holding his interest .
The waiter returned with his notepad in hand, quickly taking our orders and refilling our drinks with a practiced sweep of his arm. After a brief nod, he turned and slipped away, his footsteps fading into the quiet of the restaurant.
Reggie took a slow sip of his Scotch, the ice clinking against the glass as he watched me over the rim. He leaned in just slightly, gaze sharp. “So, how’s the dressmaking going?”
I tucked a few rebellious curls behind my ear, my fingers lingering in my hair for a moment as I shifted my weight. “It’s a work in progress. I’m fitting it in around everything else—doing what I can, when I can.”
His expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern, authoritative edge. “Let’s face it, Brynlynn. Making dresses is a waste of time. You’re better off sticking to what you're good at—picking up more shifts at the diner. At least that way you’ll contribute something useful.”
Pick up more shifts? Is he serious? I’m already running on empty. Meanwhile, he’s off God-knows-where—partying or scheming. I have no idea what he actually does for a living. Every time I ask, he dances around the question, giving vague answers or changing the subject. It’s like he expects me to just accept that he’s some kind of mysterious, successful man without ever explaining how he actually makes his money. I’m starting to wonder if it’s even legal .
I tried to sound casual, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “Maybe…I could work with you?” I asked, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve, avoiding his gaze as my heart picked up speed.
Reggie’s eyes grew cold, any trace of warmth replaced by a glacial, icy stare. “We’re not hiring. And even if we were, you’re not exactly the most qualified,” he said, his tone cutting. “Your skills are better suited to simpler tasks—like asking ‘do you want fries with that?’ all day.”
I blinked, the words catching me off guard. “Excuse me?” The question slipped out in disbelief, followed by a surge of rage that felt almost primal. “Did you really just say that?”
I didn’t know what came over me. I’d never stood up to Reggie, never dared to challenge him, but something inside me snapped. A strange, unsettling energy pulsed through me, my heart pounding with an indignation so vast it was all-consuming. My emotions swelled, raw and untamed, slipping beyond my control. The chandelier above us flickered violently, casting erratic shadows across the walls. The air thickened, charged with something unseen, something electric.
I locked eyes with him, fury building inside me, threatening to explode.
His fingers clamped around his glass, his knuckles whitening as the amber liquid trembled. His eyes blazed with anger, but beneath it, something else lurked—a subtle twitch in his eyelid, a brief crack in his carefully constructed mask. His gaze flicked upward, jaw tightening as the lights shuddered, then flared back to full brightness. Just as quickly, his focus snapped back to me, his expression hardening, smothering whatever unease had surfaced.
His hand shot out, clamping around my wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise. “Watch yourself,” he growled, his voice low and controlled, but edged with something sharper. Something cautious. The grip loosened, and he let go of me with a dismissive shove. A sneer twisted his mouth, a cruel echo of the intensity that came before. “What a coincidence. A mini earthquake to match your mini tantrum.” His sarcasm hung in the air, needling beneath my skin, stoking the fire already burning inside me.
I rubbed at my wrist, keeping my gaze fixed on my lap, then smoothed a hand down my dress, trying—and failing—to regain control. Every movement felt deliberate, exposed. The waiter approached with our plates, setting them down quietly before slipping away.
The rest of the meal stretched on in tense silence, punctuated only by the sharp clink of silverware against fine china. Each bite felt heavier as Reggie’s words chipped away at me, slowly unraveling the fragile threads of confidence I’d managed to stitch together. No matter how much they stung, no matter how they tore at me, I couldn’t deny it. He was right .
My dress-making dreams, once full of hope and possibility, now felt like distant fragments, slowly fading into the background. The harsh reality of my situation settled in, like a cold, suffocating blanket: I was adrift in a sea of inexperience, my skills nonexistent, my prospects as bleak as a dying star.
A string of dead-end jobs was my only resume, a fragile thread that could barely support the weight of my ambitions. The future loomed before me, an empty, desolate landscape, full of false promises and shattered hopes.