Page 9 of Ruined By Protection
"Let me guess," she says, eyes dancing with amusement. "You asked for something that screams 'American South' and they gave you this monster?"
"Pretty much." I run my hand over the leather seat. "Guy at the rental place looked at me like I was insane when I said I wanted something practical. Told me, and I quote, 'Sir, this is Texas. We don't do practical, we do statement.'"
She laughs again and I find myself cataloging the sound, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, how her entire face lights up.
Her laugh fades too quickly, like someone cut the music. I watch her face change—the light in her eyes dims, and her smile drops away. She sways slightly on her feet, one hand reaching out to steady herself against a nearby car.
"Whoa, you okay?" I move toward her, ready to catch her if she falls.
"I'm fine." She waves me off but her voice lacks conviction. Her face has gone pale under the harsh parking lot lights.
"You don't look fine." I keep my voice gentle but firm. "What's going on?"
She presses her lips together, clearly debating whether to tell me the truth. I wait her out. I'm good at waiting when it matters.
"It's nothing serious," she finally admits. "I just... I haven't eaten since breakfast. Got busy and skipped lunch, then straight to work." She gives me a weak smile. "Low blood sugar makes me a little dizzy sometimes."
I check my watch—almost one in the morning. No wonder she's unsteady.
"That's an easy fix," I say. "I could eat something too. Let's get you some food."
Relief washes over her face, quickly followed by hesitation. "There's a taco place about five blocks from here. They're open late."
I shake my head. "The hotel restaurant has better food. They'll still be serving."
Hazel's eyes widen as she checks her phone. "The kitchen at the hotel closes in less than five minutes. We'd never make it."
"Wanna bet?" I flash her a grin that makes her blink. "I don't lose, especially when food is involved."
Before she can protest, I reach for her hand. Her fingers are cool against my palm, delicate but not fragile. The contact sends a jolt through me that I wasn't expecting—like touching a live wire.
"Come on," I say, tugging her gently toward the hotel. "We're going to make it."
She hesitates for just a second, then her fingers curl around mine. "This is crazy," she says, but she's already moving with me.
"Sometimes crazy is exactly what you need." I pick up the pace, pulling her along. "Especially after the night you've had."
We break into a jog and her laugh bubbles up—bright and genuine.
The kitchen's fluorescent lights hit us like a spotlight after the dim parking lot.
"Sir! Miss! You can't be in here!" A young waiter in a crisp white uniform blocks our path, panic flashing across his face. "The kitchen is closed for the night."
"We just need something quick," I say, keeping my voice casual while letting my eyes harden. "Nothing complicated."
"I'm sorry but it's against policy. I could lose my?—"
I step forward, still holding Hazel's hand. "What's your name?"
The waiter swallows hard. "Peter, sir."
I feel Hazel's palm flinch in mine as I stare Peter down. Her fingers tense against my skin and I can sense her discomfort without even looking at her. But I don't release her hand—not yet.
"Look, Peter," I say, keeping my voice low but insistent. "I understand the restaurant is closed and you've got rules to follow. But here's what's going to happen. The lady and I are going to eat in the kitchen. And in about an hour you're going to come back and clean up, just like you were already planning to do."
Peter's eyes dart between my face and the exit, weighing his options. I can read the calculation in his expression—the risk of saying no to someone like me versus the risk of breaking hotel protocol.
"No one else is going to come in while we're eating," I continue. "You understand what I'm saying?"
