HUNTER
“Do you not like Charlie or something?”
Her question takes me by surprise. We’ve been driving in relative silence for the last fifteen minutes, so I assumed she didn’t really want to talk. It was difficult not to notice how much her mood shifted after Annabeth showed up for her audition.
I didn’t even know Eden’s mother was on our list of auditioning talent, but I was pleasantly surprised by her performance. She played the role to perfection. Actively listening to the reader, connecting with her words, giving a fresh take. I would have hired her on the spot.
But I saw Eden sitting beside me, curled in on herself with a stone-cold expression on her lovely face. Her discomfort was palpable. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn she was two seconds away from crying, but that isn’t like her at all. She’s a tough girl, smart and strong.
So what the hell did Annabeth do to the poor girl?
“He’s a brilliant DOP. Oscar-nominated, too.”
“Really? Because that wasn’t the vibe I was getting.”
“Vibe,” I echo, half-scoffing. “I like Porter just fine. He just doesn’t know where to draw the line between personal and professional sometimes.”
“Oh, you mean—”
“He’ll fuck anything that moves.”
Eden presses her knees together, picking at the hem of her skirt while chewing contemplatively on her bottom lip. The fabric slides up her thighs an inch or two —nothing immodest— but it’s still enough to make my core burn. I force myself to concentrate on the road ahead and not the thought of those pretty legs wrapped around my hips.
I grind my teeth.
These thoughts are getting out of hand. I’m not in control of them by any sense of the imagination. They pop into my brain and imprint themselves there. What first started as a minor trickle is now a brewing storm.
“I see,” she mumbles softly. “I thought he was nice.” And then, a moment later, “Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”
I hit the brakes a little harder than intended just as we pull up to a red light. My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t care. Charlie may be a dumbass himbo, but he’s a good guy. It shouldn’t bother me if Eden’s interested because it’s not like she’s mine.
Nothing can ever happen between us. She’s off-limits for more reasons than one. Yet that doesn’t stop this strange feeling from flooding my veins.
“I don’t make it my business to know his relationship status,” I tell her.
There’s that mischievous glint again, the corner of her lip tugging up into a tiny grin. “Maybe I’ll ask him for his number.”
I realize she’s teasing me.Testingme. I almost give her the satisfaction of losing my cool. “You don’t need my permission.”
This clearly isn’t the reaction she’s looking for. Her pout and little huff of indignation is adorable.
We finally pull up to her apartment building and —Jesus— it’s a dump. Uncollected garbage lines the curb, windows on the first floor are either boarded up or have bars across the front to keep vandals at bay. There isn’t a single surface that isn’t covered in graffiti, gang tags brightly displayed in whites, reds, blues, and hard blacks. A questionable group of young men are hanging out only five feet away from her building’s entrance.
The way they eye her through the passenger-side window sets off the alarm bells in my head.
“I’m walking you in,” I tell her.
“It’s really alright. I don’t want to inconvenience you further.”
I’m already getting out of the car and circling around front to help her out. I stand at her side, blocking her from the group’s view. They’re covered in tattoos and wearing their jeans down low over their boxers, unnecessary bling and an excess of chains decorating their necks. I know it’s not right to judge a book by its cover, but I’m not willing to take any chances when it comes to Eden and her safety.
“This is really unnecessary, Mr. Stride. I can handle getting to my apartment, trust me.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust.”
“You can’t leave your car here,” she insists. “It might get jacked.”
“Then I’ll buy a new one. Come on.”