Page 15 of The Hitch
"Valencia," I respond, irritation seeping through my voice. "Get. The fuck. Out."
Her eyes snap open wide. Her mouth falls open, stammering. I can almost see the thoughts racing in her mind, and the panic rising in her chest.
"I'm so—I didn't—shit, I'm so sorry," Valencia babbles as I stand up and open my office door.
"Get out. Consider this yourlastwarning. If you behave in such a way again, you will be terminated. Get. Out!" I roar. She scurries away with tears running down her face.
I plop back down at my desk, waiting for Roman to inevitably make an appearance. Three, two, one.
"Sir?" Roman pokes his head in, hesitating, waiting for me to allow entry. I wave him in. "Is there anything you need?"
I sigh and shake my head. "No. Valencia thought that the position of Goetic Wife was still open. I educated her."
Roman flops down in the visitor's chair across from me. "All this attention will surely go to your head, sir. Though I can't imagine she—or any of the other women here—will make that particular mistake again."
"I imagine not." I drop my head into my hands and huff out a sigh. Roman hums thoughtfully, tapping his knee with a pen. I hope I don't have to fire Valencia. She's excellent at her actual job, and the sight of Roman—big, bulky, practically made of muscle and scars—doesn't send her screaming.
"So, your decision has been made?" Roman pipes up. I smile.
"Oh, yes. Melody's the one."
"Good for you, sir. Though, if I may, I still think she has issues."
I laugh, and Roman joins me with a faint smirk. "She absolutely does."
Unable to keep myself away for long, I wait until Melody leaves in a flurry to go to her job. The Shindig Diner, all the way out in the northwest part of the city, could be called a historic institution.
I call it a shithole.
And yet, in the fluorescent lights, Melody smiles at an elderly man who lists out his order. She doesn't look up from her notepad when the door swings open. Another server smiles at me and gestures around the dining room.
"Sit anywhere you want, hon. We'll be with you in a second." The woman's voice is scratchy, a bit ragged, like she's been smoking a pack a day for the past thirty years. She probably has. I force a tight smile and slide into a booth.
I track Melody as she flits about, ping-ponging between the occupied tables and the register. Finally, after about five minutes—but who's counting—she smiles in my direction.
I grin back, showing my teeth. Her eyes flit down to the fabric sticking out of my suit pocket—black cotton with white skulls—and her smile falters as she gets closer. Fuck, she's close enough to touch. I can smell the cherry vanilla body wash. I can almost feel her hair in my grip.
"You're a hard woman to find," I murmur.
Panic overtakes her. Those honey-brown eyes blow wide in fear, and I can see her pulse feather in her throat. I gesture to the other side of the booth. Silently, she sits. Her gaze doesn't leave my face for a second.
"Who are you?" Her voice is just above a whisper. This is unexpected. She doesn't remember me? How strange. But I can roll with that.
"No one important," I say, matching her tone with a smile.
"Please. Not here," Melody pleads with tears in her eyes. "I can have a break in five—we can walk the cemetery. Just… not here."
Veryinteresting. But I can be flexible, if I want to. I nod, and she stands. She stares at me, hard, like she's trying to figure out who I am. Her eyes are bloodshot from holding back the tears and her lower lip quivers. My vicious little thing inhales a wavering breath and turns on her heel, heading back to her other tables.
I watch her glide from the kitchen window to the dining floor, delivering greasy plates of food with ease. Every time she glances in my direction, she falters in her steps. I grin. I'm not a modest man, and I know I have an effect on women. A thin sheen of sweat coats her brow, just like when we met.
"Sharon, I'm going on break!" Melody finally calls from the register and takes one last fearful look in my direction.
I rise with a charming smile and exit the diner, following the sidewalk around to the wrought-iron gate of the centuries-old cemetery. She appears—without her server apron—with a red flush down her cheeks and neck.
"Listen, I don't know what you think I did. I don't know how you found me—I didn't—" Melody babbles on, but I raise a hand, and she quiets.
"It wasn't easy, but I'm not a man who gives up at the first obstacle." I grin and she swallows a whimper.Lies. I found you within moments."Tell me this, Melody. Do you like roses?"
