My whole body exhales when he releases the man and lets him scurry out the door. I hear the truck start up in the back alley and say a silent prayer that he made it out alive.
Cash turns to me, looking like a lion who just finished his kill, I can almost picture the blood dripping from his mouth. “You didn’t have to do that. He’s not the first man to speak out of his ass. Ask any woman.”
“But you’re not any woman, are you?” He stalks toward me, and I’m not sure what he means. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and my breath stilts. “And I always protect what’smine.”
My mind sputters at his words. “Yours? Like your employee?”
My body doesn’t know how to respond when he drags the same hand from behind my ear along my jaw with a featherlight, almost hesitant, touch. “Sure,a chuisle,” he chuckles. “You could say that.”
He pushes past me and toward the direction of his office, calling over his shoulder, “I assume you know the way out.”
What thefuckjust happened?
Chapter eight
Cry Uncle
BethandIareseven or eight. Her silky, blonde hair that I was always so jealous of is in pigtails with red, white, and blue bows. The stars are a sparkly silver. The park's freshly mowed grass makes the air smell like wet earth and gasoline. There’s a dock in the middle of the pond that usually isn’t there. A crew of men are on it, setting up the fireworks for tonight’s show.
I go to retrieve our ball, but stall to watch the firework men. I return to see Beth talking to the neighborhood boys. They look angry. And she looks sad. Beth is the smallest one in our class. It makes her the best at gymnastics, but it also means she topples over when one of the boys shoves her.
That spurs me into action, my protectiveness for my best friend flaring red. “Leave her alone, Jack!” I race up and shove him right back.
Jack and I snarl at each other. I’m tall for my age, and he has to look up at me slightly. I love how powerful it makes me feel. I’m good at soccer too. I know if I kick him in the balls, I can make it hurt.
“You’re not even from here,” I hear hissed behind me, and Beth screams while the other boy rips at her patriotic bows. Beth’s family is from Russia. Her parents have thick accents that make them stand out, but she doesn't. She came to America when she was just a baby. They even changed their last name.
“She’s just as American as you and me.” I rip him off her by his shoulder and don’t hesitate this time to kick him in the balls.
The memory slams into me with nostalgia and sadness. And something else I can’t quite name because I realize that no one has stood up for me like that.
Until Cash Fox.
My chest hammers as I stock the walk-in, knowing that just on the other side of that door, I thought Cash was going to kill a man. For me.
No. Not for me,I remind myself. For himself. Because he’s a fucking psychopath.
As if my thoughts summon him, the thick door opens and clicks shut as he steps in.
“Hi, Cash.” I speak first, feeling this need to take control of our interactions. At the core of it, he’s no different from the bullies we grew up with. Push back a little, and the grip they think they have on you loosens.
“Hi, Amanda.” The corner of his mouth curls. “I wanted to make sure you were okay after that little scuffle last night.” The words sound like a threat, gauging whether or not I’m going to tell. The weird thing is he doesn’tsayit like a threat. He says it like he genuinely wants to make sure I’m okay.
This sly fox, he really is convincing.
“Yeah, no problem.” I go back to stocking, hoping if I ignore him, he’ll leave. Instead, he pulls a milk crate from the corner to the middle of the fridge and sits.
“What are you doing?” This is definitely not how I saw this morning going.
“I like to get to know the people working for me.” His eyes blaze down my exposed legs, and I’m regretting wearing a skirt today. Not only is the walk-in freezing, but now I’m worried he can see right up it.
I huff and turn to him. “I’m not going to say anything. You don’t have to hover.”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. Even feet below me, it’s a powerful stance. And as he wets his bottom lip while staring up at me, my goosebumps melt under the heat of his gaze.
“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can leave.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. A test to see how much he unsettles me.
“I don’t care. If you want to spend your morning freezing in here, you may as well make yourself useful.” I toss him a bag of romaine. He catches it with an amused smirk.