“I have to work a late shift,” she said, her own breathing ragged. “In about an hour.”
“Cancel.” His voice was gravelly, and she shivered with need.
“Can’t,” she said, with real regret.
They stepped out of the elevator, and he grabbed her, kissing her hard, his hand holding her jaw as his mouth worked miracles. By the time he was done, she was trembling, her knees turning to water.
“Cancel,” he repeated, fiercely.
“I need the money . . .”
“I’ll cover whatever you’re going to lose,” he said.
That sobered her. “It’s not like that,” she said. “Not between us.”
He let out a sharp breath. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “What’s happening between us isn’t a transaction. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s not that.”
She felt a sugary warmth in the pit of her stomach. Whatever weird thing was happening to her, he felt it, too. She wasn’t alone in this insanity.
“Take me to your room.”
“An hour’s not long enough for what I want to do with you.” He nipped her neck, her shoulder, his hands smoothing over her sides, down to her hips. She moaned softly.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “But I don’t want to waste whatever time we have together.”
That sounded more dramatic than she’d intended, but she couldn’t help it. She was on fire. Even if she only got fifteen minutes . . .
She’d beg. And she never begged.
He kissed her again, against his door, trying blindly to get the key card to work. She heard the beep as the lock unlatched, and he opened the door, stumbling the two of them in.
His hands were all over her before the door even closed. She wrapped her legs around him, as she’d wanted to, her fingers in his hair, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Jake,” she breathed.
He was kissing her like she was his lifeline—like he would literally die if he stopped. The light was on, and they made it to the bed, landing on it. He pressed kisses down her collarbone, toward her cleavage. She arched her back, looking up.
Then she froze, baffled. Frightened.
“What the hell?”
He growled, then looked up, and froze, as well.
Abruptly, they rolled off the bed, looking around.
The room was a disaster. The bed had been slashed to ribbons, probably with a big-ass knife. A big fruit basket had been delivered at some point, and fruit was smashed into the floor, smeared onto walls. The large mirror on the wall was shattered by a champagne bottle. Jake’s bags had been rifled through, clothes thrown everywhere.
“Jesus,” Jake breathed, getting to his feet and moving her behind him as he looked around.
On the wall, above the headboard, somebody had spray-painted the words: YOU BELONG TO ME, RICK. DON’T FORGET IT.
“This happen to you before?” she asked, numb, on alert. She grabbed what was left of the champagne bottle by the neck, searching for anybody that might be lying in wait. Jake grabbed part of a broken lamp.
“Not like this,” he said, searching the bathroom, the closet, under the desk. “When I was dating Chelsea Midas, somebody sent letters saying she was all wrong for me. Then somebody filled my trailer with flowers and balloons when we started filming the season after Rick’s love interest died. But nothing quite this intense.”
Hailey nodded, taking it all in. Whoever it was, he or she was obviously pretty pissed. And crazy. She clenched her teeth together. That was worse. Everybody who’d ever spent some time on the street knew that crazy trumped mean, because mean still had logic and a sense of self-preservation.
A crazy person would set herself on fire just to burn you.
Jake called hotel management. They came, as did the cops. After talking to the manager, Jake sighed as the man finally made his last apologies and left, intent on “getting to the bottom of this.”
“Shit. This is because of the pictures. Of you and me,” Jake said, his face as stern and stoic as any of his father’s action movie characters. “This is bad.”
“Yeah, that’d be my guess,” she said, more glibly than she felt.
“That clinches it,” he said. “You’re staying with me. From now on. Until we get this sorted out.”
“Wait. What?” Hailey spun to face him, blocking out the angry graffiti. “Why would I do that?”
“You might be in danger, too,” he said, his voice grim.
“I’ll be fine,” she said sharply, feeling resentment. He gets his room trashed by a stalker, and now he was going to assert his masculinity by ordering her around? Seriously? “Sure, Ms. Looney Tunes Stalker trashed your room. But there have to be security cameras all over the hotel. She couldn’t have blended in that well. And it’s not like she couldn’t have confronted you in the crowd if she’d wanted to hurt you. This is deliberate. She wanted to warn you—us.”
Jake got a stubborn look on his face. “The hotel manager said he’d look into it, but they hadn’t seen anything yet. And there’s nothing that says she won’t escalate.”
That clicked a new thought in her head—and a wave of concern. “She’s more pissed at you than at me,” Hailey said. “Are you getting any sort of protection? Bodyguards, something like that?”
Jake shook his head. “She hasn’t gone directly for me before, like I said,” he replied. “If it’s who I think it is, she’s sent messages, but I doubt she’d actually hurt me.”
“That’s completely stupid,” she said. “Get a bodyguard, for God’s sake.”
“Only if you stay with me,” he counter-argued. “If she hurts me, she won’t have me. If she hurts you, she clears the way.”
I’d like to see her fucking try.
“Damn it, Hailey,” Jake said, his voice low and urgent. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I seriously doubt I’ll get hurt,” Hailey countered, even as a small voice in her head pointed out that odds were good that if this stalker came after her, there was a chance.
Nothing I can’t handle, Hailey thought, feeling the familiar cold calm envelop her. That feeling of being cornered—of adrenaline, fear, and undiluted rage. Been a while, but nothing I can’t take.
“There is another option,” Jake said thoughtfully. “We can break up. Now, publicly. Say you were scared off. That takes you off her radar. Then you won’t be a target.”
Fear took on a new dimension. “We’re not calling anything off,” she shot back reflexively. She needed this too badly. The bookstore—her sisters—needed this too badly. She wasn’t going to let some crazycakes fangirl screw with it. “I can deal with it, okay? I’ve got this.”
“Oh, really?” Jake glared at her, doing that male “why won’t you see reason?” scowl. “Ever had somebody in front of you with a weapon? Ever have somebody threaten your life?”
“Actually, yes, I have,” she said. “And I’m still here, and he’s in jail. So give me a little credit.”
That seemed to throw him. “Who . . . ?”
She slammed down on the memory that crept up. Stefano in his wife-beater T-shirt, broken bottle in hand. Blood on the edge.
“Legacy of a misspent childhood,” she muttered. He had a good point. This was stupid. She was falling back into old patterns. She knew better. “Okay. We’re reacting. We’re just . . . being reactionary, and making snap decisions. That’s not the way to go about this.”
“I agree.” He crossed his arms. “That means you’re coming with me. We stay together. And I’ll hire a bodyguard. Okay?”
“I have to work,” she said resolutely. “They’re not going to find a replacement for a late shift, not this close.”
“Fine.” He took his phone out of his pocket, dialing blindly. “Susie? Remember when you wanted me to get a bodyguard?”
“What?” Hailey heard a woman yell on the line. Jake winced, holding the phone away from his ear for a second. “What the hell happened?”
“That stalker, the one that
left all the gifts? She tore up my hotel room. I think it’s because of the photos. I’ll be sending pictures of the room, and I’ve talked to the police, but I need you to send one of those bodyguards you recommended. Okay?” He paused. Susie was obviously talking, quickly, and though Hailey couldn’t make out the words, she could make out the panic and concern in the woman’s voice. “No, I’m all right. The room’s destroyed, though.”
More worried chatter on the line. Jake sighed.
“Can’t stay here, and they’re full up . . . yeah. I could go somewhere else. I’ll figure out something, let you know.” He hung up. “So. We need to find a new place to sleep, you and I.”
Was it her imagination, or was he looking a bit happier?
“How far is it to Seattle?” he asked. “Like twenty minutes, right? I’m sure we can get a place there.”
She groaned. “It’s maybe twenty-five minutes, without traffic. With traffic, it’s closer to an hour, sometimes an hour and a half . . . and there’s usually traffic,” she said. “It’s in the opposite direction of the casino, and besides, you don’t want to get caught in traffic tomorrow morning trying to get here.”
Now it was her turn. She pulled out her phone, calling up the casino.
“Just give me a second,” she said to him, and he grinned.
“Snoqualmie Casino and Resort, this is Amber, how can I help you?”
“Amber? It’s Hailey,” she said, thankful her friend was working the desk. “We got anything available? I want a room, in my name.”
“Really?” Amber’s voice held a smile. “Got a live one, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Hailey said, rolling her eyes. “Got something for me?”
“As it happens, yeah. Small room, but the bed’s big.”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks, sweetie. We’ll use it after my shift.”
“Bet you will.” Hailey hung up on Amber’s laugh.
“Okay. You’ll get the room at the casino.”
“Perfect. You can stay with me,” he said. “I’ll make sure the bodyguard gets sent there.”
She sighed. What was she getting herself into?
Chapter 7
It was midnight. Jake sat at a slot machine, absently plunking in quarters, watching Hailey at work at a nearby blackjack table. She was wearing black pants, a white shirt, a black vest, and a bow tie . . . which was a little odd when paired with her gothabilly makeup sensibilities, but he noticed that no one at the casino itself seemed to bat an eye. If anything, she was one of the more popular dealers.
“My shift’s over at four,” she’d said, then left him to his own devices. He hung out, playing some slot machines or drinking ginger ale at the nearby bar. Although a cold beer—or Scotch on the rocks—would have gone a long way toward taking the edge off his tension, he wanted to keep his head clear.
He didn’t want her to be alone, unprotected, while she was working. She was doing her best to ignore him. She’d already talked to the pit boss. Jake wasn’t allowed to play at her table, but they were doing her a huge favor, letting him loiter nearby. He knew it made security nervous, for a dealer to have “friends” anywhere near the gambling.
The bodyguard Susie was sending was supposed to meet them there, and talk to the casino’s and hotel’s security, to make sure they knew what was going on. Jake doubted that the stalker, whoever she was, was going to come all the way out here to start trouble, although what she’d done to the hotel room worried him. Up to this point, she’d been annoying with her love notes, sometimes infuriating in the way she’d infiltrate his house or hotel rooms to leave balloons or flowers. But he’d never felt anxious before.
That said, he didn’t want to change his life for it, either. That would mean that the crazies of the world won, and he wasn’t going to live like Howard Frickin’ Hughes, just because a woman thought he was his character, and that his character was somehow her personal sex slave or something. He wasn’t going to cower and hide.
“Winner! To the man in the blue polo,” Hailey said.
“Woo! You’re good luck for me, baby,” the guy in the blue shirt said, winking at her and leaning forward. Even from this distance, Jake could smell the booze wafting off the guy. “Maybe you and I could get lucky later, huh?”
She ignored him. “Place your bets, please.”
He wondered how often she had to put up with this. He knew that she was financially tight. He’d thought about how he’d felt, being essentially characterized as a cute ass and a pretty face, especially after that damned underwear ad. He thought he’d feel more like a stud, and instead felt more like . . .
Well, a girl, if he thought about it. If this was any indication of what women had to go through on a daily basis. Jesus.
“That’s quite the vest you’ve got going on,” the man kept pushing, starting to reach out for the vest.
“No touching,” she said sharply. Jake stood up, angered.
The pit boss noticed what was going on, as well, and hurried over. “You’re on break in ten minutes,” the pit boss said. “Is there any problem here?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, although Jake could tell her expression was tight. “No problems.” She kept dealing. The pit boss wandered away.
Jake found himself sitting at the table, next to Blue Shirt. She frowned at Jake, shaking her head subtly. He ignored it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed at him.
“Why not?”
“Because I know you,” she said pointedly.
“I’m not playing,” he said. “I’m just sitting here, hanging out.”
“Hang out somewhere else,” she said. “You can’t be here.”
Blue Shirt looked first at her, then at Jake, then back at her, his expression sour. “Figures. You like pretty douchebags, huh?”
Hailey ignored his question, dealing the cards.
Blue Shirt gave him a derisive look. “Because I bet I’ve got way more money that this guy.”
Jake looked at the guy with amusement and disbelief. The guy had to be pushing fifty, maybe a bit older. The booze had obviously given him a puffed-up sense of importance. Jake bet that he probably had more than the guy’s net worth in one single vehicle in his garage.
“No accounting for taste,” Jake said mildly. Still, he felt like pushing buttons. He couldn’t necessarily protect Hailey from the stalker, but he could shut this guy up. “Although I think that she’s not going to get a whole lot of fun from a balding guy who probably drives, what, a Beemer and thinks he’s Bill Gates.”
“Shut up, asshole,” the guy said darkly.
“Take it away from the table, gentlemen,” Hailey warned, as the few other people playing nervously gathered their chips, looking for a quieter table.
“She’s a whore,” the guy said. “Everybody knows it . . .”
Jake was already angry, furious at the guy’s attitude, frustrated at his inability to stop the stalker. That was the only way he could account for what happened next.
Jake popped up like a jack-in-the-box and decked the guy right across the jaw, dropping him like a lead balloon. Blue Shirt yelped in pain, then roared, coming up.
Unfortunately, two beefy guys with UW sweatshirts came up behind Blue Shirt, backing him up. They were friends of his, apparently, who had been drinking and looked eager to fight. Fortunately, several large casino security guards hurried over, as well.
“All right, you’ll have to leave. All of you,” the pit boss said, glaring at them both—and at Hailey. “Hailey, you’re off shift now.”
“This wasn’t my fault!” she protested.
“Now,” the pit boss said, but not without sympathy. “Talk to security on your way out. And next time, don’t bring your friend, okay?”
She went to change out of her uniform, and Jake waited by the doors, pacing. He shouldn’t have hit the guy, but he was asking for it, being such a dick. Hailey came out, her mouth in a thin line.
“They don’t want you staying in the hotel,�
�� she said sharply. “They told me you’re banned.”
“Are you in trouble?” he asked.
“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” she snapped back. “You might’ve thought of that before you pulled your little he-man routine!”
He winced. “Sorry. That was on me.” He frowned. “They didn’t fire you, did they?”
“No. They’re decent people, and they know I’m clean—no record, no problems there. But they’re looking at me in a way they didn’t before.” She sighed heavily. “I can’t lose two jobs in one day.”
He hadn’t realized she’d lost the coffee shop job, and felt guilt hit him like an uppercut. “I’ll find us another room, someplace else,” he said, typing into his phone.
“Everything’s booked, remember?” she said, looking tired. He felt impotent rage and guilt bubble in him in a toxic cocktail.
They walked out into the cold night air, only to find Blue Shirt and his drunk, belligerent, douchebag friends with him.
“Knew you’d be here, pretty boy,” Blue Shirt said, trying to look menacing and just looking doughy and constipated.
“Ah, fuck,” Jake said, stepping in front of Hailey.
“Looks like you’ll get to find out who’s the better man. Maybe you should’ve chosen your fuck buddies better, sweetie,” Blue Shirt said to Hailey, as one of his friends brayed with laughter.
“Looks like we’ll get to see what happens when you get your ass kicked by Dr. Martens,” she said instead, starting to try to push around Jake, who stopped her.
“Don’t!” He bunched his hands into fists, eager to pummel the guy more. “I’ve got this.”
“No, you don’t, sir,” another quiet voice said. A man stepped out of the shadows of the parking lot. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black slacks. He looked . . . well, nondescript. He had brown hair, wide cheekbones, and a boxer’s nose. His build wasn’t that tall, but was definitely stocky. He looked like the human equivalent of a pit bull. He stepped up beside Jake.
“My name is Vic Walsh. I’m working with you for the rest of your stay. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”
“You’re . . .” He nodded. “Oh. Right. You’re Susie’s . . . friend?”
One True Pairing: A Geek Girl Rom Com (Fandom Hearts) Page 14
