Page 22 of His Good Girl
“But?” Tiff presses.
“He’s my boss. I literally started yesterday.”
“Ah, okay, I hear you. That doesn’t look good. But still, don’t count it out for later down the line.”
“And he’s a bit of an asshole,” I blurt out.
Rue snickers into her hand. “That’s putting it mildly. But like I said, grumpy and sunshine are hot.” She leans closer, apparently now into this, after assessing the situation. Smart. “I bet if he were yours, no one would be able to come near you. Jealous and possessive.”
“Fuck me,” Macy moans, throwing her head back. “He can be possessive over me any day.”
The thought makes my blood tingle slightly, but I need to back out of this conversation. “I’m going to the ladies.”
Rue grins, knowing she’s pushed my buttons, and I smile back, so she knows I’m not pissed off with her.
As I make my way through the crowded bar to the door that leads down the long corridor to the ladies’ room, I shove it open and feel the cooler air hit my arms and face. Realizing how warm it is in the bar, I lift my hair off the back of my neck, wishing I could tie it up out of my way. Ambling down the dimly lit, dark green wallpapered corridor, my heels clacking on the tile, I ignore the door opening and the sounds of the bar filtering through before it closes again.
“Serena.”
Biting my lip at the familiar voice, I turn. “Paul.”
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says with a nervous laugh that does nothing to set me at ease. If anything, it alights my anxiety, and I fold my arms, wishing he’d collared me out there.
“What do you want?” I ask, needing to get this over with so I can pee and get back to the safety of my friends and the crowded space. The irony of that is not lost on me.
“I want to try again,” he says, his tone much more cajoling than it was on the phone yesterday. “What do you say we give it another shot?” He moves in a bit closer. He’s not sober, but I don’t think he’s drunk, either.
“No, I told you I don’t want to. Please just leave me alone.”
He reaches out and grabs my upper arm, hurting me with his tight grip.
“Oww,” I murmur. “Get off me.”
“Look, I know I was a dick, but we had something good. Why can’t you just forget about it, and we can move forward?” He shuffles in even closer to me.
I have nowhere to go. My back is to the wall, and he is blocking my way out with his firm grip. Dropping my arms in the hope he will step back, he doesn’t, his hold tightens.
“Paul, please. I don’t want to do this. Please just get off me.”
The noise from the bar grows louder for a moment before being cut off again. Someone else has entered the corridor.
“Come on, Serena,” Paul says. “We had a good thing. Let’s try again.”
“I said no!” I exclaim loudly, trying to drag my arm out of his grip. “Get off me!”
“You’re such a bitch,” he hisses, turning on me suddenly. “Fucking frigid bitch.”
“She said to get off her.”
The new voice is gruff, hoarse from alcohol but so recognizable, I nearly faint.
“Mind your own damn business,” Paul snaps.
Turning my head, I see Logan standing a few feet away. He is dressed all in black, his hands in his coat pockets as he glares at Paul with that same expression he had for a fleeting moment yesterday.
“She is my business, so get your hands off her.”
“Fuck off.”
