Page 13 of Vigilante
“Tasha!” Julia squawks.
I don’t give either of them an answer. I yank open the driver’s side door and jump into the car, slamming it closed. The engine roars to life as I put it in drive and pull out of the parking space.
Maximo Rossi, you’re in big fucking trouble.
CHAPTER 7
Julia
“Oh my God!He’shot,hot.” Tasha exclaims once we’re back inside. My face is tomato red from blushing so hard.
“Shut up!” I throw a pillow at her, and it smacks her right in the stomach.
“Julia and Mask Guy, sitting in a tree?—”
A loud knock comes from the wall. “Shut up in there! I’m trying to sleep!”
I glare at Tasha, and she puts her hands up in surrender.
Love Actuallycontinues to play on the TV. “Oh no, we missed the good part. Rewind it.” I say, not wanting to miss Hugh Grant dancing around like an idiot.
My phone lights up with an incoming text, and I can’t help but smile. Despite being angry at him and having been plagued with self-doubt, I can’t resist giving him another chance.
You looked beautiful tonight, Bella.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach as I read those words. I’m not wearing anything special—flannel pajamas, and my hair is thrown up in a bun. If he had come thirty minutes earlier, hewould have been greeted by me in a green-colored face mask, though. I cringe at the thought.
Biting my bottom lip, I type out a reply. Erasing it and retyping several times before I settle on what to say back.
And you looked like someone I haven’t seen in a week.
“Tell him you’ve been dreaming about his dick every night,” Tasha says, grabbing a fistful of white cheddar popcorn.
I roll my eyes and hit send.
Have you been counting the days? I know I have.
Tasha crams her face next to mine and reads the message he’s sent back.
“Oh, girl. You’re in big trouble.” She cackles. I push her off me and put my phone away.
In the morning, my phone is filled with news of a missing CEO for some company as I scroll past stupid ads for several workout machines. Apparently, my algorithm is trying to tell me something. Scowling, I toss my phone onto the bed and brush my teeth. I have a shift at a bar in Midtown in a half-hour that I can’t be late for. They asked me to fill in for the lunch rush and the tips I get are too good to pass up.
Max and I have been texting most of the night and into the morning. It’s mostly nonsense stuff, but there’s an undercurrent and a promise of somethingmore.
As the day passes, the missing CEO is all anyone can talk about. Wild theories fly, getting crazier by the second. They release grainy footage of the incident from a nearby building that only spurs on the speculation. It’s funny to me that with all the advances in technology, we still have shitty footage like this when they want to catch someone.
I’ve been too busy taking orders and fighting the ache in my feet to pay too much attention, but what I do catch of the conversations is entertaining. There’s no love lost between me and this CEO, especially after I found out what he was CEO of. Personal experience with being denied claims is why I’m in this mess in the first place—working as hard as I do at multiple jobs just to make ends meet, all because of my late mom’s medical debt.
Thankfully, Max hasn’t pressed me anymore about calling off this weekend. As much as I want to, there’s no way I can make rent if I do. He might be hot, but he’s not ‘lose my apartment’ hot. Though, I do want to see him again. It’s tempting. I’ll give him that.
I’d love just to say fuck it and see where he’d take me.
He seems like the type of guy who would plan things out meticulously.
At the end of my shift, I realize I have only fifteen minutes to dash across town to make it in time for my shift at Deja Brew.
Fuck.
