Page 41 of Golden Touch
As soon as the lock is depressed, I stand stock still, my back against the door. And I listen for any footsteps.
It’s quiet, except for the thudding of my heart. How can I go on like this? If I stay, I’ll be running around like a little mouse, afraid to poke my head out of my hole.
But if I leave, I’ll suddenly have a host of new problems. Razor’s private investigator will track me down via my social security number if I can’t find another all-cash job. When my driver’s license expires, I’ll need to give the DMV a legit address. Yet another way to track me down. I need an ID to buy a plane ticket, rent a car, apply for a lease…
My best bet would be to go so far away that Razor wouldn’t bother to fetch me if he found me. Except bikers move around a lot. Road trips are kind of their thing. And Razor has a network of biker friends that extends hundreds of miles in every direction.
So I’d need to go to Alaska to escape his grasp. Or Hawaii.
Or Mars.
My thoughts heavy, I get to work making this place a little safer for the night. Those tatty curtains I’d removed from the windows when I moved in? I find them where I left them upstairs in a closet folded into stacks.
They’ve been stored a few months, so naturally I have to wash and dry them again. And iron them. Because even a desperate girl likes a job done right.
Once they’re ready, I choose the least ratty pair, and I thread them onto the rod in my bedroom. Then I peer outside to make sure nobody is watching me work.
For now, at least, the coast is clear. And by hanging the rod back up, I’ve made it harder for a violent, nosy biker to see inside my bedroom.
The light is starting to fade by the time I tackle the kitchen window. I’m standing on a kitchen chair, adjusting another curtain when I hear the sound of a key in the lock. My heart leaps into my throat as Nash steps inside.
He clocks me immediately, pale-faced and clinging to the refrigerator with one hand and a curtain rod with the other. “Hey there,” he says. “Doing a little redecorating?”
“You could say that.” I turn away from him and hastily place the rod back onto its brackets.
“Interesting taste you have in curtains,” he rumbles. “What is that style called—shabby chic?”
We both know it’s just shabby. Nothing chic about it. So I don’t bother to answer.
“Want to go out and grab a burger at the diner?” he says.
“No, thank you,” I say quickly. As if showing my face in a diner is even a possibility for me.
“Thought you’d say that,” he says. “So I got us both one for take-out.” And sure enough, he’s pulling a paper bag out of his rucksack and placing it on the kitchen table.
“Then why did you ask?” I demand, even as the deliciousscent of cheeseburgers and fries hits my nose. My stomach rumbles.
“Curious what you’d say.” He pulls out a chair at the table. “You told me once that you don’t work in the tasting room because it’s too people-y. But I’m thinkin’ you don’t mean it like an introvert does. You’re not trying to avoid all people. Just a few people in particular.”
“So?” I grab the last curtain and circle the table, heading for the living room window. “That’s my business.”
“You say that. But we’re working together for a while here. It’s pretty obvious that I can’t do my job without your help. So I better figure out what we’re up against. If Mr. Ugly Beard gets his mitts on you, the whole brewery will grind to a halt.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Not really.”
“You’re just trying to bribe me with a cheeseburger, so I’ll tell you all my dirty secrets.”
“No way, lady,” he purrs. “I’ll knowallyour dirty secrets when I finally get you under me in bed. This is different. This is survival. Now sit down at this table and eat your food.”
Have I mentioned that anxiety is exhausting? That must be why I actually do what he says. I drop the last set of curtains on the sofa and return to the table, where I plunk down in a chair.
He pushes a wrapped burger toward me, and I can tell without asking that it’s an Everything Burger from the Colebury Diner.
Maybe I’m just weak. But I start to salivate before I even take the first bite.
We eat in silence for a couple of minutes, and I can almost feel my soul rebuilding itself bite by cheesy bite.
