Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maxim
I saw her the moment she came out of the bar.
Which was a bit surprising as there was twenty minutes left on the clock before her shift was over, so it made me wonder what was wrong. Was she ill, hurt? Had something happened. I hated knowing there was very little I could do about anything that affected her. So I just watched her. I expected her to go down towards the subway, or hail a taxi home, but she just kept walking away from the subway, her head bowed.
I felt anger stir inside me. Did she not know how dangerous that kind of behavior was, especially now, to be so damn inattentive? Hell, for a smart girl she was acting like a kid. Look at her. She was not alert at all. Not an ounce of caution toward her surroundings. To the point where she could be shot dead at any moment and not even see it coming.
And this after she had been stabbed. Un-fucking-believable!
I was so furious I wanted to get out of the car, and grab her by the shoulders and shake her. But that was not an option. Gripping the steering wheel, I watched her for a few minutes more. When I could bear it no more I drove away. I pressed down on the gas pedal. Thank God I had put Roman on her. He was my best man. What Roman didn’t know about surveillance and protection could be written on a stamp.
I got to the next traffic lights. I glanced up into the rear mirror. There was only one car behind me. When the lights changed I made a screeching U-turn. The driver blared his horn angrily, but minutes later I pulled up next to Freya. She was so deep in thought I actually startled her. At first she just looked at my car blankly, then bent down to look at me through the window.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied frostily. “I’m starving.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Freya
He took me to a place called Sylvia’s on Malcolm X Boulevard. It had just what I needed. I ordered chicken and waffles and threw in some shrimp salad and buttered corn. I didn’t bother explaining myself to Maxim. A man like him wouldn’t have a clue about the concept of comfort eating. As I suspected, he ordered a salmon sandwich and we sat down by the window to wait.
Today, he was dressed as though he had been on his way from work in an impeccable charcoal striped waist coat, the white dress shirt folded up the sleeves, and a dark intricately patterned tie in place.
His hair was low, as usual, skin supple and golden from the reflection of the light in the room, but his eyes were brimming with annoyance. As if he didn’t want me to see his true state of his mind, he turned towards the view of the vibrant street, but his fist clenched and unclenched on the table. That was the most restless I’d ever seen him.
“Is everything okay?”
He turned his head toward me and stared into my eyes. I felt my belly start to quake. God, how could this man have such an effect on me? Just one look and I felt like jelly. I swear, I just couldn’t move, and certainly couldn’t look away. Thank God, our food arrived. I tore my gaze away from him and immediately dove right in, but my appetite was gone.
He spoke then. “I don’t want you to work at that bar anymore.”
I stopped. If he had worded that in any other way I would have responded politely and told him I had been fired but something in his authoritative tone provoked me.
“Um... okay,” I said, the same way an irritating teenager would say to its parent.
“I’m serious,” he said, through gritted teeth. “You cannot remain there. There is absolutely no way to guarantee your security. You are way too exposed when you’re in the bar, you come out at ungodly hours, and then you proceed to roam the streets aimlessly.”
I knew he was right, but I couldn’t stop myself from acting like a brat. “I said okay.”
He frowned. “I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.”
“I hope so too,” I snapped. “I, decide where I work, but thank you for your concern.”
“I’ll give you a job,” he said. “You studied fashion merchandising did you not? I’ll refer you to a design firm in my building. They should be able to find you a position there that you-“
“I don’t need your help, Maxim,” I cut him off, and rose from my seat. Then, I felt bad. He had just fed me and was just looking out for my safety. I begrudgingly corrected myself. “Look, I don’t need your help in figuring out my livelihood, but thanks for dinner and thanks for… caring.”