I TEXTED JANINE EARLY the next morning and explained that I was still feeling sick, and wouldn’t be in to work. She was great; told me to take it easy for as long as I needed to.
I lay in bed for a while and stared at the ceiling. Then I brought my hand to my neck and touched the mark on my throat. I’d traced over it last night when I got home. I could feel the slightly-raised skin under my fingertips now. I wondered if I could avoid leaving the house until it faded.
Probably not.
Eventually, I got up and shuffled to the kitchen to feed Buster. Then I shuffled to the bathroom and showered. Then I shuffled to the bedroom again and flopped onto the bed.
My life had been quiet. Predictable. I went to work, I came home, I fed the cat. On my days off, I wrote stories about my dad’s life on the oil rig, and it had blossomed into a small income. On top of my inheritance from Aunt Kathleen, I was comfortable, and would be for a long time. I liked my life.
And then I kissed handsome, annoying Corey Knox, and the whole thing went sideways.
I wondered what he was doing while I was lying in bed, staring at the popcorn ceiling, replaying last night in my head.
I didn’t expect him to call, so when my phone rang around noon, I ignored it. I was in the middle of a writing sprint, and nothing interrupts me when I’m writing. At the end of my sprint, I checked my phone and saw the missed call from a private number. My heart started pounding.
It could have been anyone. A telemarketer, or a wrong number. But I knew it wasn’t.
My phone chimed.
Hey there, angel.
I stared at the message for a long time.
Hey, I sent back.
His reply was immediate.
You okay? You left in kind of a hurry last night.
Well, that was the understatement of the century.
Yeah, sorry about that. I hesitated, wondering if I should send an explanation, then decided against it.
I’ve never had a woman just take off like that. ;)
I rolled my eyes. I’d probably beat him to the punch.
First time for everything, eh? I sent back.
I guess so. You working today?
No.
There was a pause. Maybe he was waiting for details on what I was doing. If so, he was going to be waiting a long time.
We wrap at 8 tonight. You busy?
Was I busy? I looked around my apartment. Laundry was done; the dishes were clean. I usually only wrote until about six. I couldn’t have been less busy tonight.
Super busy, I lied. Sorry.
Another pause. Then:
Tomorrow night?
Was he serious? What happened to waiting three days before calling a woman? Or maybe that dating rule didn’t apply to celebrities.
Working at the Brew.
After that.
I sighed and stared at the phone. I wanted to. I really did. He’d been funny and sweet and he was an amazing dancer. And the things he’d done to my body were beyond description. But he was Corey Knox. He was public property.
No, I sent. Sorry.
There was a longer pause.
Ashlyn.
I didn’t answer.
I want to see you again.
I could feel tears pricking the back of my eyes.
Please, Ashlyn. Do you want me to beg?
I laughed weakly. No, I sent. You look ridiculous on your knees.
That got me a laugh.
Heh. Well, then? When can we meet?
Oh, Corey. We can’t. Not again. Not ever.
We can’t. Different worlds, Mr Knox. But thank you for last night. I had a lovely time.
Ashlyn, please.
I shut off my phone and went back to writing.
#
“CUTE SCARF,” LUCAS said when I strolled into work the next afternoon.
I grunted.
“You’re turning into a regular fashionista. Learn that from Marsha?” He grinned at me as I hung up my coat and put on my apron. I dug into the pocket and threw a piece of chalk at him. He ducked. “Fun date?” he said, as I took up my position at the espresso machine.
I shrugged. “It was... interesting.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Just interesting?”
I grunted again.
“Oh, come on, Ashlyn.” He leaned against the counter. “Enquiring minds want to know!” His grin turned mischievous. “How did those tattoos taste?”
I punched him in the shoulder, a little harder than I needed to. “I didn’t taste them,” I snapped.
He rubbed his arm and smirked. “Too bad.” He reached out to hook a finger into my scarf, but I dodged. “Unh-huh,” he said. “Looks like someone had a taste of something.”
My cheeks flamed. Thankfully, customers were trickling in, and we were busy enough for the rest of the afternoon that I was able to avoid answering. I tried to bury myself in my work, but the slow times were brutal.
Corey had texted me four or five more times, but I hadn’t answered. What was the point?
Five minutes before my shift ended, a flock of reporters swarmed the shop. I was about to hang up my apron and make myself a coffee, but that plan went out the window. Lucas and I were kept busy, and even Janine came out to give us a hand, serving pastries and helping on the coffee machines.
I was handing my machine over to Eli when Corey Knox rolled in.
He was even more handsome than I remembered. I ducked into the break room and peeked out, hoping he hadn’t seen me. No such luck.
Corey stepped up to the counter and smiled winningly at Lucas. “Same again, kid,” he said, and Lucas grinned. “Ashlyn still on?”
“Sure!” Lucas looked over at me, hiding in the back. I shook my head frantically at him. “She’s just in the break room, but she’ll be right out.”
I glared at him. He crooked a finger at me, and I shuffled out of the break room without looking at Corey.
“What?”
“Mr Knox would like his usual.”
I frowned. His usual? How many times had he been here?
“Yeah, please.” Corey slapped a five on the counter. “Keep the change.”
Lucas smirked. “Big spender.” He rang in the order and jerked his thumb at the espresso machines. “Hangover Citrus, Ash.”
I growled softly as I passed behind him. “Fuck you,” I whispered, and he snickered.
“Thanks, kid,” Corey said, moving to the pick-up counter.
I snatched a cup from the stack and scribbled his initials on it: CAK. I remembered saying his name the other night.
Repeatedly. Loudly. Between moans.
Not helpful, brain.
Corey came around to the side of the counter, closer to where I was working. He leaned against the counter. I could barely hear him over the grinder.
“Ashlyn. I need to talk to you.”
I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “I have nothing to say.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “You had plenty to say the other night.”
I glared at him. “Maybe I’ve run out of words.” I ran the coffee machine, filling his cup.
His voice was surprisingly soft. “I don’t believe you could ever run out of words.”
I slapped a lid on his coffee and slammed it on the counter. “You don’t know me, Mr Kn –”
“Don’t.” He grabbed my wrist, so fast I barely saw his hand move. I gasped. “You don’t get to call me that,” he growled. “Not after what we did.”
I could feel myself starting to shake. I bent my head towards him and whispered: “If you don’t let go of me, Corey Anthony Knox, I will scream the house down.”
He blinked and let go. “I need to talk to you.”
I untied my apron. “You already said that.” I tried to keep my expression as neutral as possible. “I’m done.”
“Done?”
“My shift,” I said, hanging up my apron. I lifted the counter and stepped out. Letting it fall back into place, I turned to him, my voice low. “And we never had a chance... Corey.”
He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “Please, Ashlyn.” Oh, god, no. Please don’t say my name like that. He opened his eyes and looked at me intently. “Do you want me to beg?”
I stared at him, horrified.
“I will.” He’d picked up his coffee, but now he set it back on the counter. “I will get down on my fucking knees if you don’t talk to me.”
“Are you kidding me?” I whispered. I gestured to the reporters, hiding the movement behind his bulk. “They’ll eat you alive.”
He leaned down and picked up his coffee again. “Your manager’s office,” he said softly. “Five minutes. Or so help me god, you will be in all the papers as the woman who made Corey Knox beg.”
I winced. “You wouldn’t.”
He gave me a dark look. “Try me.”
I swallowed nervously and tried to gauge if he was serious. He certainly looked serious.
“Well, Ashlyn? What’s it going to be?”
I slumped. “Fine,” I whispered. He nodded once, picked up his coffee, and strode over to the other side of the shop to talk to Janine.
I took off my glasses and rubbed my forehead. I could just leave. He couldn’t follow through with his threat if I wasn’t around, right? Then I remembered: Marsha was meeting me here at nine to drive me to the animal shelter. I couldn’t leave the shop without missing her, and breaking my promise to help care for the litter of kittens that had just been born.
I was trapped.
Lamb to the slaughter, Ashlyn.