Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series)

by J. A. Wynters

  What the fuck was that?

  I let out a sharp breath allowing my heart rate to settle. It seems like she’s the only woman that keeps wanting to get away from me. Luckily, I don’t care. What I do care about is my morning coffee and getting this day over and done with. I pour myself a cup, pull out my phone and scroll through my emails, finding the one from Emily.

  It's a reservation for 9 pm to one of London’s best and most exclusive restaurants. The email is meticulous. She’s included every detail I need to get this done. She makes it easy, easier than most other people I’ve had to work with. I haven't had a client's P.A this efficient since Mr. Legend. I flick it over to Rob as a top priority, and I'm about to call him when Daryl storms into the kitchen with Emily like a shadow hanging behind him. He looks like he’s just rolled out of his bed, dishevelled and pissed.

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  “Yeah, it’s not. I want to go eat tonight, I have an important meeting. I hear that’s an unreasonable request, and you can't get it fucking done?”

  I shot Emily a hard look, did she just grass on me to her boss? I tuck my shaking hands behind my back and steady my breath before I answer.

  “No sir, there appears to have been a miscommunication. I’ve already passed the information on to my local team who will start canvassing the place and get what needs to be done, to ensure you can enjoy your night out safely.”

  I can feel Emily’s eyes burning into me, but I ignore her. This will not be the victory she thought she was going to have.

  “Right,” Daryl spins back, “why the fuck did you wake me then, love? I’ll deal with you later.” He throws at her before storming off.

  We stand facing one another for a minute, her eyes burning with hatred while I pull out my best ‘fuck you’ smirk. Something about the way she is looking at me tugs at my body, it remembers the dream much too vividly. I wonder if I can fuck all that anger out of her. The thought makes my dick come to life and it pushes uncomfortably against my jeans.

  Somewhere in the house a door slams. The noise is enough to pull us out of the moment, and Emily turns away and disappears into the house.

  Fuck this job.

  Daryl isn’t ready on time and I can’t say that I'm surprised. I stand outside with Tom leaning against the car. He’s talking about his daughter’s birthday party. His face lights up when he talks about his family. It's sweet. He's renting a pony for her and her friends and for a moment I think about all of Red’s birthday parties. Me and her huddled on the couch eating a cupcake and watching an action movie till late. Until her sixteenth birthday, I couldn’t give her more. She’d never asked for more before - and never after.

  The door swings open and Daryl steps outside. His long hair is brushed haphazardly and he’s wearing his trademark jeans and a worn metal T-shirt, he gives zero fucks that he’s about to walk into an establishment that charges £1000 just to breathe the air. But something else catches my eye. I don’t recognise her at first and when I do something yanks at the inside of my stomach and I can’t help but stare.

  Her hair is longer than I thought and it’s the first time she’s worn it down since I’ve seen her. It’s brown with natural highlights and flows well beyond her shoulders in beautiful waves. Her face is naturally made up and highlights her eyes and full lips. Her lipstick glints in the lights and she licks her lips like she’s nervous. My whole body tightens at the slight action. She’s wearing a black shirt that falls over a black mini skirt and long black boots that show just enough of her thigh to have my imagination trying to fill in gaps it shouldn’t.

  A slew of images smash through me, a naked Emily bent over and all the sounds I can force out of her pouty little lips. I tear my gaze away from her and wait for them to get into the car before I can adjust, then take my seat upfront with Tom.

  We get to the restaurant forty minutes late and we get ushered inside as if we’re royalty and time doesn’t apply to us. Daryl gets seated at a table where a tall leathery man awaits. He looks like a snake, all sharp angles and narrow eyes. Something about him makes all the hair on my body stand to attention and my muscles clump together ready to pounce. Emily and I get ushered to a secondary table.

  “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your boss?” I turn to her as she sits down and crosses her long legs over.

  She shakes her head, “No thanks. It's not my kind of meeting.”

  I have no idea what that means and I don’t really care. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that my body keeps wanting to get closer to hers. I ignore the feeling and wave away the hovering waiter before I grab the water jug from his hand and pour us both a glass of water, then turn my attention back to Daryl. He’s leaning back without a care in the world, a smile plastered across his face as his companion speaks.

  We sit in silence—for some it might be uncomfortable, but it suits me just fine. Not having to engage in small talk while I watch a client, works for me. Not to mention, it’s likely anything she says is going to piss me off. Most other women like to talk your ear off and discuss mundane, uninteresting subjects. Emily doesn’t seem to want to tell me anything. I ignore her, though every now and then I can’t help but steal a glance at her.

  She’s flicked her long hair over her shoulders and it accentuates her long neck. For a second I find myself wondering what it might feel like to kiss it. Women are like ice cream, each with their own unique flavour and I bet she would taste so fucking sweet. I try to shake the thought away but she looks fucking delectable. I shift in my seat as I take in her features and remind myself that the last thing I need is some smitten colleague that will cling on to me till my last day of work. Fraternising with the other staff is a no-no. I've learned my lesson plenty of times with sulking bar managers and waitresses. I smirk. After all, I'm a glutton for punishment and they were gluttons for my dick. I shrug all the thoughts away and divert my attention back to Daryl.

  This place offers a set menu of twelve dishes. They come accompanied by the perfect wine. We had a look at the menus before we left the house and she already knows exactly what we are going to be served. She’s not the kind of person that leaves things to chance, so I have no idea why she needs to read over it again. I watch her study the menu and her lips pout ever so slightly as if she’s imagining what the food might taste like. I find myself wondering what she might taste like. I clear my throat and drink my water, washing the thought away and stare at Daryl. He’s on his second beer and we’ve been here less than fifteen minutes.

  They bring out the first dish and Emily can’t hide behind the menu anymore. Instead, she stared animatedly into her plate as if it’s the most riveting thing she’s ever seen. I take a bite of the entrée. It’s delicious. This is one of those places where the food looks better than you but only takes up an 1/8th of the plate. After a few bites, you’re done but the flavour is so intense, it's like you can only handle one mouthful at a time.

  They clear the plates from our first dishes. Daryl seems relaxed. No one seems to be paying him any attention apart from his dinner guest.

  “Were you a soldier?” I startle at the sound of her voice and my gaze flickers over to her.

  “No, why?”

  She shrugs, “The way you move maybe, it’s a little…rigid.”

  “Rigid?” I ask in a stiff voice and immediately regret it.

  She shrugs.

  “I’m not rigid. I have good posture.” I groan inwardly. Did I really just say that?

  A ghost of a smile touches her lips and she wipes it away with a swipe of her tongue. My cock twitches and I don’t know if I’m annoyed or turned on. “If you say so.”

  Irritation prickles my skin, and I run my hand on my thighs trying to dispel some of it. I still have to sit here with her for the next three hours.

  “If not the military, then how did you get into this line of work?”

  I try not to sigh, maybe she is just like the rest of them after all. “My partner and I have a knack for this. Guess in some way we
’ve always been protecting people.”

  She studies my face and her eyes widen just a fraction, leaning in, her eyes study my face full of questions she’s not asking.

  For some reason, I start talking. “My parents abandoned my sister and I when we were very young. My grandmother came to look after us but got sick, so it kind of fell on me to look after her. I guess protecting people was just second nature after that.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “I did what I needed to do.” I shrug off her comment.

  “Not everyone would.” She counters and I know she’s right.

  “It didn't feel like a chore if that’s what you mean. Sure, there were lots of other things I wanted to do. But Red was the easy decision every time. She’s my sister—my family. It wasn’t even a choice.”

  She nods taking in my words and her eyes still search my face like she’s trying to find something that’s not there. “Doing what you know you’re supposed to do regardless of what you want, that takes conviction.”

  Conviction? “Like I said, it wasn’t a choice.”

  Our second course arrives interrupting our conversation, I polish it off in two mouthfuls. Emily takes her time studying the artwork on her plate. It's a waste of time, in about three seconds it will all be gone, but still, she takes it all in, the carefully constructed tiny mountain on her plate. She scoops a minute portion onto her fork and it vanishes between her plump lips. Her eyes shut and I think I hear her purr a little. My stomach clenches at how irritatingly fucking sexy that is, I shuffle in my seat, tear my eyes away and stare at her boss who instantly cools my insides.

  “So,” she starts and I groan inwardly not wanting to give her more than I already let slip, “how long have you and your partner been together?”

  “Since we were at school together.”

  “So, first love?”

  “Love? Wait, what? No, we’re not that kind of partners.”

  “It’s ok, I don't judge.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “It’s important to build your relationship on friendship, makes the relationship more than just superficial.”

  “Emily.” I warn her, but she smirks at me and reaches for her wine.

  I could ask her about her life or her family, and try to get to know her, but after that, I think it’s pointless, she’s clearly only interested in getting under my skin, and like an idiot, I walked right into it. In four and a half weeks she’ll be the annoying PA that gave me shit and I can move on. So I keep glaring at Daryl who is perfectly safe in his seat and avoid any further conversation.

  We’re on the seventh course and I notice Emily’s eyes start to glaze over slightly, the volume of alcohol served with each meal far greater than the foods we’ve actually been ingesting. She’s clearly a lightweight. She hasn’t been as chatty as I thought she was going to be and I’m grateful. She keeps surprising me. It’s rare and also a little frustrating.

  Most people are predictable; they have behaviours that repeat, patterns, habits, regimented conversations they have with people they meet and others they avoid altogether. Yet she’s been a little bit of everything. Hot, cold, interested, disinterested, funny, serious. She’s giving me whiplash.

  “I need the little girl’s room,” she announces a little more to the room than to me. A few heads turn and she giggles then stands up. A little unsteady on her feet.

  “Maybe I should help you,” I say and stand up.

  “I’ve been going to the toilet all by myself for the last twenty-five years, I think I can manage.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I say but I don’t sit down. I flash another look at Daryl. Still fine.

  I escort Emily to the bathroom, a narrow dim corridor tucked in at the back of the restaurant. It feels like a back alley in a posh neighbourhood. It’s clean but you know dodgy shit still happens here. I lean against the wall and wait for her, questioning why I’m out here when I should be keeping an eye on my client, the one I’m actually being paid to watch.

  I find myself not really wanting to answer my own question, so I push the thought away just as she comes sauntering out of the bathroom. She sees me and her face stretches into a sweet smile. I frown. I think I need to get her home. She walks toward me, and her shoe gets caught on the carpet. I could let her fall, punish her for trying to make me look like a fool this morning, but I don’t. Instead, I rush in and, with a sweep of my arm, grab her and pull her into me.

  Our bodies are flush, and my heart trips as her eyes land on mine. They’re wide and round and the caramel swirls inside them as they slowly lower to my mouth. She drags her teeth over her lower lip and her eyes snap back to mine. I have a sudden craving for ice cream. An unfamiliar wave of desire—like lightning—strikes my insides and charges me with wild electricity that needs an outlet. I grab her chin and before I know what I’m doing I kiss her, hard.

  I hate the way I love how she tastes. She’s so fucking sweet, like honey and caramel. Her hands thread around my neck then rake into my hair as she opens up for me and allows me to deepen our kiss. She kisses me back, delicate and hungry all at the same time, and I feel the need to consume her—all of her. I want more. So much more, which is why I break our kiss and step away. We can’t do this. I can’t do this. Not with her.

  I hold her an arm’s length and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What the hell are you doing?”

  For a second she looks confused. “What?”

  “Why the hell are you kissing me?”

  She blinks a few times as if she doesn’t understand what I said, before her brow creases “You kissed me.” She spits back, her voice full of venom and confusion.

  “I don’t fraternise with employees; whatever you think this is, it’s not. You’ve obviously had too much to drink.” The words taste like shit in my mouth as I say them, but I know it's the right thing to do.

  Her face turns a shade of pink and melts from happiness to confusion to embarrassment to anger. It’s like watching an ice sculpture melt under a blow torch. She shakes her head and says nothing else as she storms out of the dim corridor.

  I run my hands over my face. “Fuck.” I can be something to other people, but not her. She’s the hired help, like me, and we’re both disposable. I have a reputation to keep, a business to run—this can’t happen.

  When I come out of the corridor and towards our table, I find it empty. I shoot a look towards Daryl’s table. Empty.

  Fuck

  Where the hell is he? I scan the room and see him standing at another table signing an autograph for some girl. She rolls her tongue over her lips and he bends over to whisper in her ear. She giggles, and I roll my eyes.

  I find Emily by the coat check, heading towards the door. I march over and grab her elbow, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Leaving,” She hisses at me and tries to pry her elbow out. When I release her, she stumbles from the shifting balance and I catch her for a second time, pulling her into me and getting a whiff of her shampoo.

  I grit my teeth as she swings at my chest, “Let me go.”

  Holding onto her, I lead her outside and find Tom waiting by the car. I instruct him to take her back to the house and then return for me and Daryl. He nods and I slide Emily into the back seat. Her long legs are smooth, and soft and I have a sudden need to run my hands all over them. But she slaps me away before the thought can take hold.

  “I don't need any help,” she grinds out through a gritted jaw and shuffles to the other end of the car.

  I close the car door and Tom takes off. When I get back inside, Daryl and the woman are missing.

  I scan the restaurant and when I can’t find him I make my way to the bathrooms. Inside, I hear all the confirmation I need that I’ve found my client. I lean against the door and stop anyone who tries to get inside, earning me dirty looks and a visit from the manager.

  I shrug him off and keep the toilet door closed. When they emerge, the woman’s hair i
s a mess and she is wiping at her mouth. Daryl is smiling like he’s just won some kind of blow job lottery, and all my nerves are crackling with agitation under my skin.

  When she tries to hang onto him, I secure Daryl, placing myself between the two of them before I escort him outside and to the car. He tries to protest, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m done with tonight and all I can think about is caramel ice cream.

  Emily

  My head feels fuzzy. I groan and turn onto my back, feeling a wet patch on my cheek. I swipe away the drool and open a single eye, reaching for my phone. 9.13 a.m. Shit. I bolt up. I overslept. I never oversleep. But then I take another look at the date. It's Saturday.

  I let the phone drop from my hand and stretch my arms over my head, arching my back. I close my eyes and think about all the work I still have to do. Daryl’s upcoming tour ‘Drowning in Darkness’ has me drowning in contracts for venues, insurance, merchandise and security details.

  Fucking security. I flashback to last night. Hunter’s lips on mine, the way he tasted and felt against me. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ The question punches me in the gut just as it did last night.

  But I know he wanted it too. Didn’t he?

  He kissed me!

  Or maybe I imagined it all? The way his eyes dipped to my lips and how his hands cupped my chin, and how he leaned in closing the distance till our lips collided. I shake the thought away. He’s right. Of course, we shouldn’t have kissed. We work together and that shit never ends well. I have a plan. I have a path and he’s just a pretty boy that will finish this job and move on elsewhere with more half-naked women to keep him occupied.

  Except that he isn’t really. Not when you talk to him. Not when he lets you glimpse a little bit of what goes on inside his head. It’s almost like behind his robotic stance, an actual human exists. He mentioned that he’s an orphan, that he has a sister. He’s had battles and demons, and he's come from nothing to build a hugely successful company. That takes a lot of tenacity, determination and hard work.