by Sybil Bartel
When Sawyer didn’t make eye contact with her and only nodded, she spun on her heels and walked off.
Wishing I had paid more attention to all the reasons why I shouldn’t have come to eat with him in the first place, I started to slide into the booth.
Sawyer caught my arm, stopping me. “Other side.”
“Oh, okay.” I moved to the other side of the booth.
He slid in across from me after I was seated and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
“This side wasn’t good enough?” I joked.
He didn’t smile. “No view of the front.”
Feeling stupid, I picked the menu up. “That’s important?”
“Yes.” His eyes on me, he didn’t even glance at his menu.
The hostess walked by again, leading the group of rowdy guys past our table. One of the guys checked out my cleavage as he passed and winked at me.
Sawyer scowled.
Not a date, I reminded myself, turning my attention to the menu. “So, do you come here a lot?” I couldn’t see a man like him eating in a diner like this, even as an after-clubbing stop. The booths were bright red, the tables were retro Formica, and everything else was chrome. He looked like a Michelin-star restaurant regular, not a burger joint connoisseur.
“No,” he clipped as a waitress approached.
Older, a little frazzled, she smiled wearily at us. “Hi, what can I get y’all?”
Glancing at me, Sawyer took my menu. “Two deluxe cheeseburgers and two lemonades.” He raised his eyebrow at me. “Is that good?”
Warmth hit my chest, my stomach fluttered, and I blushed hard. That’s why he’d brought me here, for lemonade. “That’s perfect,” I managed, choking on the lump in my throat.
He nodded and handed the menus to the waitress.
“Be right back with your drinks.” The waitress left.
Suddenly feeling naked, not knowing what to do with my idle hands, I dropped them to my lap. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“The lemonade. You remembered.” Oh my God, idle hands. No wonder I felt naked, I’d left my purse in his car. I was never without my cell phone and tablet. I even slept with them right next to me on my nightstand. Shit, how could I have forgotten them in the car? I moved to the edge of the seat.
Sawyer studied my face, then tracked my movement. “What’s wrong?”
The waitress came back with our lemonades. “Your burgers will be up soon.” She set the drinks down and retreated.
“I forgot my purse in the car.” I grasped the edge of the table and slid one leg out of the booth as I started to push up. “If I could just borrow your keys for a second?”
His hand landed on my wrist. “You don’t need your purse. I’m buying.” Warm and firm, his fingers felt like they could caress my skin as easily as they could crush my bones.
“It’ll just take me a minute.” I pulled out of his grasp, wondering if there were two distinct sides of him, a refined billionaire and a lethal Marine, or if he managed to meld the two very different lives together and be one person all the time. I shook my head and pushed the thought away. “I don’t want to leave my purse in the SUV. It could get stolen, you know, if someone broke into the car while we were sitting here, and that would be bad. I have my cell phone and my tab—”
“Sit,” he commanded sternly.
Taken aback by the stern tone to his voice, a tone exactly like what I imagined a Marine would sound like, I sat.
His chest rose with an inhale. Then he exhaled slowly, and his voice came out quieter. “You don’t need your devices right now.”
“My life is on those devices.” I couldn’t lose them.
“The car is locked. No one’s going to steal them. They’ll be there when we’re done eating.”
Torn between the rationality of what he was saying and the inexplicable feeling of being naked in front of him without my phone and tablet as a buffer, I stared at him.
His eyes weren’t bright blue, but they weren’t pale blue either. They were just… blue. Like the sky on a winter day. And his hair wasn’t white blond, but it wasn’t dirty blond either. It was wheat blond, like pictures of golden fields I’d seen in magazines, but never in real life. I hadn’t noticed the true color of his eyes or hair until just now. When I’d first met him, he’d had a baseball cap with the logo of the company he worked for pulled low over his face. But now that I was truly looking at him in the bright florescent lights of the diner, there wasn’t a single thing out of place about him. Not a speck of lint on his jacket, not a single strand of his close-cropped hair was out of place, even his stubble was symmetrical on both sides of his face.
Everything about him was perfect.
Right down to the fact that he could leave valuables in a car and not panic about it. He could eat a meal without checking social media or emails or a messenger app. He could sit still and not fidget, and he could get out of a car without tripping.
I took a steadying breath.
Then I did something I hadn’t done since I’d first started working for myself.
I acquiesced.
“Okay, fine.” I threw my empty hands up in surrender and smiled sheepishly. “I’ll leave my purse in the car.”
He didn’t smile, but he leaned back in the booth. It seemed like his version of relaxed, or as relaxed as he could get.
My smile turned to a grin, and I pointed a finger at him. “You know, even though you don’t walk around with your phone glued to your hand, I bet you have as hard a time relaxing as I do.”
He didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even glance at my finger pointing at him. He simply held my gaze.
I took his lack of a frown as an opening. “What do you do when you want to unplug or relax? Or have fun,” I boldly added.
He laced his fingers together, rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. His eyes intently focused on mine, he asked the last thing I expected him to ask. “Have you ever dated?”
Thrown off guard, a half snort, half laugh escaped. “Is that a trick question?” Was he making fun of me?
He kept staring at me, but he didn’t answer. He waited.
I’d dealt with a lot of clients over the few years I’d been working for myself. As an event planner, it was usually women clients I dealt with, and they were almost always particular. I’d learned to navigate minefields of emotions. I’d figured out ways to work around unattainable requests and temper tantrums, and I’d dealt with a whole host of different personalities.
But I’d never dealt with someone like Sawyer Savatier.
Everything about him intimidated me and excited me in a way I wasn’t sure I could put into words. Not that I wanted to, because then it would make the feelings real, and nothing about this was real life. Men like him didn’t ask women like me to dinner.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t hold my own.
Squaring my shoulders, I gave him more than he deserved. “I’m not sure you weren’t trying to insult me with that question, but I’ll answer you anyway. I don’t have time to date.”
“I would never insult you.”
He already had, several times. “Right.”
The waitress showed up with our food and set our plates down. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked in a rush.
“No,” Sawyer answered without taking his eyes off me.
She retreated, and I picked up the ketchup as the heavenly smell of grease and carbs wafted up from my plate.
The ketchup was plucked out of my hand as I fumbled with the sticky flip top. “Explain,” Sawyer demanded.
“Explain what?” I knew what.
In direct contrast to the stern, almost angry look on his face, he shook the ketchup bottle once, flipped the top open without a problem, then squirted a liberal amount on my plate as if being conciliatory. Setting the bottle down, he picked up the wrapped straw next to my lemonade, unwrapped it and shoved it into my drink. “Why do you assume I’m lying?”
He was m
ercurial and brooding, and I was beginning to grasp just how alpha Sawyer was, more so than any man I’d ever met.
“I didn’t say you were lying to me. You said you would never insult me, and I said right, sarcastically.” I picked up a fry, suddenly not sure my stomach could handle it.
“Because?”
“Because,” I sighed, “you already insulted me.” I forced myself to eat the fry.
His eyebrows drew together. “How?”
Okay, I lied. I could eat. I dunked another fry in too much ketchup and ate it before picking up my burger. Barely swallowing the fry, practically salivating at the delicious smell, I brought the burger to my mouth.
“Genevieve,” Sawyer reprimanded. “I asked you a question.”
I took a bite.
Oh.
My God.
Hamburger, melty, drippy cheese, crisp lettuce, firm tomato—flavors exploded in my mouth, and I closed my eyes as I chewed. It was official. Burgers at three a.m. tasted better than at any other time of day.
Opening my eyes just so I could look at the burger with lust, I took another bite… and studiously ignored the angry ex-Marine slash billionaire bodyguard across from me.
I may drop my tablet on occasion, or talk a mile a minute, or be going in five different directions at any given moment. And I may not have any experience with being one of those pretty girls who knows how to flirt with a man, but I did have another skill. I was excellent at ignoring things.
I ignored clients’ temper tantrums. I ignored my mess of curls that ruled over every attempt to tame them, mocking me for the effort, and I ignored the funny noises my car had been making for six months. I even ignored the fact that I still hadn’t changed my locks since….
I shook my head, ignoring the thought.
And I ignored Sawyer.
I took another bite.
Hard blue eyes stared me down, then he exhaled. “Impressive shutout.” He finally picked up his hamburger.
Maintaining my ignoring streak, I dunked a fry and brought the ketchup bite to my mouth as a model-thin blonde in a barely there silver dress stopped at our table.
“As I live and breathe.” Her sultry bedroom voice dripped disdain. “Sawyer Savatier.”
I BARELY GLANCED UP BEFORE focusing back on the much more enticing woman in front of me. “What do you want, Talia?”
“I didn’t know you were home.” Her hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed. “You didn’t tell me.”
Genevieve choked on the bite she was chewing.
Picking up her lemonade, bringing the straw toward her mouth, I didn’t make eye contact with Talia. She didn’t warrant the courtesy. “I don’t know why you think I’d tell you anything, Talia.” I dropped my voice for Genevieve. “Drink.”
Genevieve’s eyes watered as her full lips wrapped around the straw. Her hand covered mine, and she did exactly as I told her.
“How charming.” Talia smirked. “Fattening burgers and a child’s beverage.”
Three carbon-copy, too-thin blondes walked up behind Talia. One of them opened her idiotic mouth. “Oh my God, Talia! Isn’t this your ex?”
Talia ignored her as she glanced at Genevieve with a sneer. “Apparently he likes them thick and unrefined now.”
My nostrils flared. “Apparently you’re still ignorant and classless.” I forced myself to look at her. “Leave. Before I have you removed.”
Talia laughed. “I see you’re still throwing your weight around. I guess running around with play guns in the desert did nothing except encourage your savage ways.” Her lips pursed in fake sympathy. “How sad.”
Genevieve turned bright red. “Play guns?”
I put my hand over hers because I didn’t need a woman to defend me, but before I could stop her, she did what Genevieve does best. She started talking.
“Talia, is it? Well, I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that freedom isn’t free, but since you seem to not grasp that, standing here spouting ignorance, I’ll explain it to you. When you encounter someone who has served in our military, your appropriate greeting is, and always should be, thank you for your service. That way, you acknowledge that you both understand and appreciate that the ground you are standing on did not come without a price, and that price is the sacrifice of the service member standing, or sitting, right in front of you. So, as far as I’m concerned, the only unrefined person here is you.”
Talia opened her mouth to respond.
“Go ahead.” Genevieve marched on with her verbal lashing. “By all means, give us your best retort. I’m sure anything you say will only improve upon Mr. Savatier’s good opinion of you.”
Crossing my arms, I leaned back in the booth.
Genevieve glanced at me. “Do you have anything to add?”
“I think you covered it.” In spades.
Pasting on a demure smile, ignoring one of the blonde carbon copies who’d pulled her phone out and who was either recording or snapping pictures, Genevieve looked back at Talia. “You may leave now.”
Talia snorted. “How pathetic, Sawyer, letting this… woman speak for you.” Turning in her too-high heels, she strutted off with the carbon copies rushing to keep on her six.
I opened my mouth to tell Genevieve that while I appreciated her efforts, I didn’t need her to defend my honor, but she held her hand up.
“Keep it.” She dropped her gaze, but not before I saw her expression falter. “I’m ready to leave now.” She made to get up.
I grabbed her hand. “Don’t let someone else dictate whether or not you finish your food.” The Marines had taught me to appreciate every damn meal. You never knew when you might eat your last.
Her chest rose and fell with an inhale, and she practically snapped at me, “I’m not.”
“After that speech, you’re ready to leave?” I challenged. I was being an asshole. If she wanted to leave, I should’ve accommodated her. But I wasn’t about to let her tuck tail and duck out. “The woman who told Talia off isn’t a runner.”
Her head whipped up as anger contorted her features. “Is that what you think? That I was just telling off your ex?”
“She isn’t my ex.” Sex didn’t make a relationship.
Genevieve blinked. Then she pulled her hand away and averted her gaze. “Whatever. I want to leave.”
“Finish your burger.”
For three seconds, she didn’t respond. She didn’t even move. Then she looked at me and her face said it all. She was pissed. “Are you telling me what to do?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Staring at me, she picked her cheeseburger up and took a giant bite. Barely chewing it, she took another bite, then another. Grabbing her drink, sucking hard on the straw, she gulped, washing down her stubbornness. Sixty seconds later, the burger was gone.
“Done.” She wiped her hands, then in direct contrast to the way she’d eaten the burger, she dabbed the napkin to the corners of her mouth. “Let’s go.”
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I fought the urge to smile. Catching the waitress’s eye, I nodded at her as I pulled out my wallet.
The waitress came over. “Anything else?”
“Just the check.” I grabbed a few twenties.
The waitress fished the handwritten bill out of her apron. “Here you go.”
I handed over five twenties. “Keep the change.” Buttoning my jacket, I stood.
The waitress looked down at the money and blinked. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but—”
“We’re all set, thank you.” I held my hand out to Genevieve. “Shall we?”
Ignoring me, she got out of the booth and gave the waitress a small smile. “Thank you.”
Fighting a smirk, I angled Genevieve to my left side, then caught the small of her back.
She stiffened, but she didn’t push me away.
The scent of her hair filled my head as the errant curl fell over her eye again. Shoving down all thoughts of getting her naked
, I led her out of the diner.
Two strides into the parking lot, she let loose. “You tipped her more than the cost of the meal.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an accusation.
I palmed the key in my pocket and scanned the parking lot out of habit before unlocking the Escalade. “She needs the money more than I do.”
Genevieve stopped dead in her tracks and threw out a single word like a condemnation. “Needs?”
Something moved in my peripheral vision, and I frowned. “Excuse me?” I unbuttoned the jacket of my suit and scanned the parking lot again.
Genevieve tracked my movement. “You heard me. Why do you think the waitress needs the money more than you? Because she works in a diner?” Her voice took on an edge. “Because she isn’t rich like you, so that makes her inferior?”
Instinct, years of training, a sixth sense for trouble—I palmed the 9mm in my shoulder holster under my jacket. “We’ll discuss this in the car. Let’s go.” My left hand landed on her back again, and I cursed myself for parking at the back of the lot where the security lights didn’t reach.
“That’s an elitist attitude,” she protested, but her feet moved.
“It isn’t elitist to tip well, and I never implied she was inferior.” I opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
“No, what’s elitist is thinking you can order me to—oh!” Her high heel slipped on the running board and she started to fall.
The second I caught her in my arms, I felt the distinctive shape of cold metal hit the back of my skull.
“Arms up, motherfucker!”
“ARMS UP, MOTHERFUCKER!”
Every muscle in Sawyer’s body tensed as his grip around me tightened. His eyes on me, he spoke to the masked man behind him who was holding a gun to his head in a lethally quiet tone. “If I raise my arms, I drop her.”
Sheer panic stole my breath.
“I’ll drop both of you with a single bullet, asshole. Keys, now!” the masked man demanded.
Slow, like he had all the time in the world, Sawyer’s hold on me shifted as he pushed me upright and grasped my chin. “You’re okay,” he quietly enunciated.