Page 19 of Pretty Broken Wings

And yet, here I am.

For two days, I’ve fought the suggestion to get help. Two days of pure misery, and I don’t even get natural light for long because it’s October, and the sun goes down so fucking early.

I hem and haw about the potential of asking someone for help. I don’t even have an office. I had an office before, but I find it’s just easier to meet clients in coffee shops or even the goddamn library and then bring the paperwork back to my place. All of my magnifiers are here, and when I have the right glasses, it’s not that big of a deal.

When I stand up, I get dizzy.

This is not working.

“No one’s gonna apply,” I mutter, untucking my piece of gum from between my teeth and cheek, chewing in a nervous habit.

It’s a short-term position, literally only two or three weeks, just to be my fucking eyes. I refuse to ask my mom. She hates my job, and I don't want her to see the details of this case. She’s lived it once; it’s not fair to ask her to live it again.

So the next morning, I put an ad in the paper. Personal Assistant Needed for Gage and Co. Start Date: Immediately.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It’s cold, and the wind from the coffee shop door blows up my skirt.

Fuck. I uncross, then recross my legs, trying to get the warm parts of my thighs to warm up the rest of my icy skin. The shop is cute, with maximalist decor, dark lighting, and a bunch of framed photos and collector’s items all over any spare wall space.

I’m here for an interview.

The stripper job didn’t work out. It couldn’t be because I got black-out drunk and then passed out in their facility. At least, that’s what they told me I did. I’m not convinced I wasn’t drugged because I don’t remember much, but I do remember Axel was there. And I think he brought me home.

I seem to collect men who hate me like it’s a sport. They’re drawn to me like I’m a wounded animal, and they’re fucking starving. I must have been a horrible person in a past life because I seem to have the absolute worst luck.

Just when I was thinking of begging for my job back at the grocery store, I came across an ad in the paper. The opening is immediate, and the pay is good. Almost too good to be true. I’m not sure it isn’t a setup because I was told to wait at a specific table in the shop, but I don’t have the money or energy to care all that much. I’m fucking hungry, and I’m fucking tired. I’m starting to question if it’s worth it to keep running.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll cut off my ex’s balls before I go back to him, but how long will his death buy me? Two weeks before the cops come knocking? My parents have the money, but they hate that I got with a man without marrying him. Hate, as in, cut me out. Said I was living in sin. I’ll die before I go begging at their doorstep.

With the past two days of no food in the fridge, that’s looking like a potential. I’m not gonna lie; I swung by the dumpster at the grocery store and picked out some produce that wasn’t half bad. The food waste that goes on there makes me livid. Of course, Axel would run a wasteful business.

The bell on the door tinkles, and I turn, taking in the entrance of the coffee shop. A huge man steps through the doorway in a jewel-toned blue suit, with hair white as ice, and cheekbones cutting icy shadows on his smooth skin. Axelfucking Newman strides into the coffee shop. Only today, he doesn’t have glasses on, and he strides straight to my table.

He’s stalking me. He’s actually stalking me. The realization moves through me like syrup. It takes until he’s standing at the other end of the table for me to click all the pieces together.

I stand up, grabbing my purse. “You just can’t leave me alone, can you?”

Axel squints at me. Then, he steps around the table, getting closer to me and staring at me.

“Fuck off!” My heart is racing now. I try to back up, but I bump into the chairs behind me. Axel’s getting closer and closer, and I’m fucking trapped.

Before I can move, he darts his hand out to grasp my wrist, yanking me closer. His breath puffs over me with the smell of cinnamon. “You?”

I struggle to rip my hand from his grip. He’s fucking strong. “Get away from me! Fuck off!”

Axel doesn’t let go. His grip is firm, but it doesn’t hurt. His eyebrows are twisted in surprise.

The people around us are starting to look. But no one does anything. They just stand there, watching.

“Christ above,” Axel groans, looking at me closer. Then, he lets go of me.

I scramble back, waving at the baristas who are paying no attention. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Do what you want. I won’t work with you.”

I get a table between us, and then his words hit me. He won’t work with me?Hewon’t work withme? I whirl on him, a sneer on my face.