I found something I'm not willing to walk away from and the only thing keeping my mouth shut so I don't unload 3 months of anger and frustration and fear on him is the tiny voice of my survival instinct warning me that this is not just another loser that doesn't want to take "no" for an answer-- this man is unhinged, dangerous, and completely unpredictable.
"I know if we could just talk about this, we could get through it," Donald tells me in a gentle voice as his fingers trace down my upper arm making me nauseous.
"I'd hate to lose you over a stupid misunderstanding, Babe," he tells me as he takes my hand and begins leading me across the lobby.
I want to puke.
I want to scream.
I want to punch him in the throat.
I want someone to see what's happening and get help.
"Donald," I find my voice, it's not strong but it's working, "Wha--, How--, I wasn't expecting you."
Where the hell is he trying to take me?
He's leading me back toward the elevators like we were any other guests at the lodge.
The only people on staff that know about Donald are the security guards, but Grant did put a note in the system that he's to be informed if Donald tries to check in.
"Well I remember how much you like surprises," he tells me, sounding like he actually thinks I should be excited that he found me.
"You got a room here?" He turns around to face me, "Cuz this place is real nice. Maybe we can stay a few days before we head back home, what'dya say?"
I say Are you fucking kidding me? is what runs through my head but I manage to bite my tongue.
He's wearing one of those long, trench coats. The kind that makes me think of those guys that get off flashing their dicks at random women on the street-- or that he's got a gun.
Whatever I do, I can't let him get me out into a secluded area.
Another scan of the lobby and I still don't see anyone around.
Now that the weather has cleared up, most of the guests that were stuck here have checked out, or are out sight seeing. The hotel staff is mostly enjoying the afternoon lull.
Jarrod's just behind the doorway inside the office behind the front desk, but I'd have to make a lot of noise to get his attention and I can't think of a way to do that without tipping off the crazy man talking to me like we're just a couple having a spat.
The sound of plates and pots rattling around in preparation of dinner echo from the kitchen in the cafeteria.
The security guard on duty is probably standing outside the main entrance, enjoying what's left of the sunlight.
The only person I can see is--
"Yeah," I suddenly answer, my mind going into overdrive, "Yeah, Don, I have a room upstairs. What do you say we grab a bottle of wine to chat over?"
I nod in the direction of the little general store where I can see Josey sitting at the register, her head down over her phone while she plays whatever her new favorite game is, completely oblivious to anything outside her empire of travel-sized toiletries, snack-cakes, and booze.
Relief washes over me as Donald's face lights up in a grin.
He finally lets go of my hand and I wipe it against my thigh about a thousand times as I head over to the store, doing my best not to break into a run.
Grant
"She's not answering her phone," I tell Pat as I end the second call I've made to Cass's cell. "She probably left it in the room," I say, "what do ya say we head inside and I'll see if I can figure out what distracted her?"
Patrick gives his nephew a questioning look, silently asking if he's got the time to make this social or if he needs to get back to the shop.
Keith shrugs back in a gesture that I read as meaning that a drink and maybe a ham and cheese on the house would make it worth waiting around a little longer.
I've known the kid since he was 5. He's been mooching food off the lodge for a long time.
"Why don't you kill the truck and head in with us?" I tell him, "I'm sure there's a sandwich or two in the kitchen with your name on it."
Keith grins at me and gives me a nod before heading back to his tow truck and shutting it down.
He's hardly a kid anymore, with his own garage in town, the only flat bed tow truck for 40 miles, and a wife and baby on the way-- but he'll always just be my buddy Pat's goofy nephew to me.
"So you're pretty serious, then?" Pat asks as we amble across the large parking lot toward the lodge's main entrance.
"Pretty damn," I tell him.
He got filled in on Cassidy last week when I asked him to look into her issues with this jackass back in her hometown. He knows how I feel about her, he's heard all my plans and, like a good buddy, he's been supportive even if he thinks I'm being a little over the top.
"Never thought I'd see the day," he jokes, "thought you were going to die a single man."
I laugh with him as we head through the doors with Keith hot on our heels, looking forward to food.
As soon as I step through the second set of doors that lead from the vestibule to the lobby's interior, I know something's off.
Patrick knows it too. His hand is immediately at his hip, unsnapping the safety strap on his holster.
"How long have you been seeing him? Is that why you ran off and wouldn't answer my emails?"
The guy yelling is in the general store.
Jarrod is standing behind the front desk, staring at the altercation with a look on his face that tells me it's a lot more serious than just a couple having a fight.
When he sees who it is that just walked in the door his eyes bug out in warning, but he's obviously pretty terrified because he doesn't budge.
"I hit the button," he mouths at me, indicating the silent alarm that sends a call into the local sheriff station.
Right on cue, Pat's squawk box chirps to life with the dispatch. He ducks back outside to answer it before the guy in the store catches on.
Keith keeps his distance, following his uncle back outside, but by the time Pat tries to pull me back too, I've already seen who the guy is yelling at.
The woman that was initially hidden behind the partial wall taken up by the fireplace moves just slightly, taking a step back from the hysterical man so I can see her face.
Cass.
Patrick's hand grabs empty air. I'm already headed toward the store.
I hear my buddy curse behind me and I know he's gonna be pissed at me for not leaving this to the professionals-- but that's my woman and I'll be damned if I'm going to let some low-life scumbag cause her any more grief.
Inside the store, the man's voice gets louder, taking on a dangerous quality that tells me Cass is in real trouble-- and that I can't just go barging in there, giving up my advantage of surprise.
Thinking faster than I have ever had to in my life, I circle around the fireplace to the other arch that opens from the lobby right next to the cafeteria into the store on the other side.
Joseys standing stock still at her register, staring in silent horror at the scene right in front of her. I don't think I've ever seen Josey that alert.
That can't be a good sign.
"I should have known I couldn't trust you, you were always sneaking around and avoiding me and keeping secrets. That's why I had to follow you, Cassidy."
This guy is completely delusional. He's even worse than Cassy let on.
While I quietly make my way around the other side of the wall, I wonder if she knew he was this off center? I wonder how the fuck he found her.
Just a few days ago, Pat told me his background check came back clean-- other than Cass's restraining order that apparently triggered him from merely obsessed to obsessively malicious, the guy's a total Boyscout.
I wish I'd been more proactive. We shouldn't have let our guard down. I should never have left her alone.
"I had to. I had to make sure you were OK. Because you ghosted me like a fucking child instead of just talking to me and now I know it's because you were lying to me when you said you weren't
seeing anybody else!
"It's a good thing you're friend here told me about your boyfriend, before I let you lure me up to your room, thinking you were ready to act like a reasonable adult and work out your anger issues so we could put this behind us."
I hear something slam down hard, probably on Josey's counter, and both women gasp.
"Goddammit!" Donald yells, "It wasn't enough that you and your little boyfriend up here were laughing at me behind my back this whole time? You had to fuck up my whole life too?!"
Another harsh knock against the wood and I wonder what's in his hand, it's too hard to just be his knuckles.
"I lost my license, Cassidy! I lost my business. I never even had a fucking speeding ticket till you started playing your little games-- all because you think you're too good for me. Is that it?
"If you wanted a guy with money, I could've taken care of you! I could've afforded a place like this if you'd just told me it was money you wanted!"
Two hard knocks on the counter this time, and I think I hear Josey crying.
"Don," Cassidy's voice is shaky, but tight. At first I think it's fear that has her on edge, and it probably is, but as soon as she keeps talking, I know she's pissed as hell.
"You were stalking me. You were parking outside my work and following me everywhere I went. You were sending me creepy emails and calling me all the time and leaving shit on my doorstep..."
With every sentence, I Cassidy's voice gets louder and less shaky, "I didn't know the restraining order was going mean you lost your job, but if you'd just left me alone when I told you I wasn't interested it wouldn't have happened!"
Pat pokes his head back through the lobby door and mouths to me that the hotel security has sealed off the floor and backup is on the way.
At least I don't have to worry about guests now.
"You make it sound like I did something wrong."
This guy can't be serious?
He's really trying to put this back on Cass.
"Uh, yuh think?"
It sounds like Cassidy's bullshit meter has reached its limit.
"Donald, you need to back the fuck off and leave me alone. We were never going to get together, it has nothing to do with Grant--"
"Yeah, where is this Grant guy, anyway? I think I'd like to talk to him and see if he knows he's being used. Maybe somebody oughta warn him that you're gonna ruin his life as soon as you get tired of him."
"I'm not real worried about that, actually," I announce as I come up behind him.
From my vantage point before I made the move, he looked like just some loser that needed a shave and probably a bath. He's a good 4 inches shorter than me and while I probably don't have too many pounds on him, his looks like it's mostly beer and take out.
Cass was standing more than an arm's length from the guy, and I felt confident I wouldn't have any problem taking him.
As soon as he spins around to face me, I realize I underestimated him.
Fortunately I read the look on both women's faces and grab him before he gets his hand out of his pocket.
Josey screams just as Patrick rushes into the store from the other side of the wall, yelling at Donald to get down.
And down he goes.
It's over in seconds.
Donald lies unconscious on the floor in front of the register counter, covered in dark red liquid. Josey's body shakes uncontrollably in a fit of sobs that are more relief than tears.
Patrick secures the scene, making sure Donald stays down.
And we all stare at Cassidy standing there with half a wine bottle still gripped tightly in her hand and a look of pure disgust on her face as she looks at the man on the floor.
Cassidy
"I can't believe you didn't give him brain damage," Grant tells me, laughing again like he always does when he talks about the day Donald showed up at the lodge.
"Pat says real wine bottles don't usually break like movie win bottles when you nail someone in the head like that with one."
It's been a couple of weeks now and things are starting to settle back down around the resort.
"Well it was all I could think of," I say, "and I just didn't have any more patience for his shit. I'm done running away in fear."
"I'm glad," Grant says, smiling at me with that wicked smile that always makes me feel special, "Because you don't deserve to live in fear, Cass, but mostly because I don't want you running anywhere."
He kisses me and I know I'm blushing.
We're sitting at a table in the cafeteria on a Sunday morning after shutting down the brunch. Everyone's going on about their work day, but they can still see us.
Of course, the whole staff knows I'm with Grant, and they know things are getting pretty serious between us, but my new co-workers in the kitchen still give me a ration of shit for making out with the boss in plain view.
"Eventually he's going to get out though, Grant, what if he comes looking for me again?"
As safe as I feel here with Grant, it's still something I worry about.
Sheriff Andrews says Donald is looking a list of charges that are likely to keep him in jail for a long time.
Assault with a deadly weapon is just the biggest one.
"Pat says his sister-in-law is denying any knowledge that he took her gun. She's pressing charges. Stealing a gun from a law enforcement officer is a big fucking deal, the fact that he took it across state lines and used it in a crime is going to keep him locked up for a long time, Sweetheart."
Grant reaches for my hand across the table where we're sitting.
I can't help but smile at him.
Grant's the reason I was ready to stand my ground when Donald showed up.
Although, if I'd known he had the gun in his coat pocket, I don't know if I would have been so brave. The only thing I saw was the stainless steel camping wine glass that he had picked up and kept banging against Josey's counter. I wasn't too scared of that.
Grant came to rescue me. He risked his life for me, and I know he'd do it again.
I don't want to go anywhere without Grant now that I've found him.
"Yeah, but how long?" I ask, because it's hard not to worry, "How long do you really think he's going to be locked up?"
"Long enough for you to change your name."
Grant's voice is decisive. Like he's thought this through and he's telling me what I need to do. But I'm a step ahead of him.
I shake my head sadly.
"Already looked into that, you have to do a background check and go to a court hearing to prove that you're not trying to hide from creditors. It leaves a paper trail and--"
Oh.
Grant's grinning at me, waiting for me to catch on.
The box looks so small in his hands.
My eyes rise to his.
He tilts his head just slightly and raises an eyebrow.
In his hand, the tiny, engraved silver box opens.
"I was thinking there might be an easier way to change your name-- but we'll still need to get the court involved, I'm afraid," Grant says with a smirk.
"I think 'Lawson' would go well with Cassidy, don't you?" He adds as he holds the box up for me.
Inside the box, a delicate tangle of multicolored gold bands form an intricate pattern of leaves that wrap around a perfect princess cut solitaire in a vintage setting.
"Black hills gold," I remark, pointing out the obvious tie in with the area, "I love it."
"And I love you, Cassidy," Grant says, taking the ring from the box and holding it between his thumb and forefinger, "Will you marry me?"
I'm so excited, I forget to give him my hand so he can put the ring on my finger.
"Of course I'll marry you!" I pretty much scream, as I jump up, knocking over my chair in my rush to throw my arms around him.
It sounds like the entire hotel bursts into applause around us and I realize the whole staff has been watching us.
"Hang on," Grant laughs, trying to line up the ring with my trembling finger.
"There. Good fit."
It is.
He is.
We are.
I can't stop kissing him.
"Maybe we should head upstairs," Grant whispers against my cheek.
I'm sitting in his lap and I can feel the bulge growing beneath the zipper of his slacks.
"Definitely," I agree, my pussy already wet in anticipation.
It's not easy for us to get out off the main floor without embarrassing ourselves while hotel staff and a few guests try to drag us into handshakes and hugs but we manage to finally make it into the elevator alone.
"I never thought I'd live in a hotel for the rest of my life." I giggle while we head back toward Penthouse 2, "I feel like Zsa Zsa Gabor."
Grant breaks our next kiss and looks at me curiously, "How the hell would you know who Zsa Zsa Gabor is?"
"I'm younger than you," I remind him, "I'm not clueless."
"We don't have to live in the hotel," he says seriously as we step out onto the penthouse floor, "I'll build you your dream house, anyway you want it."
At the threshold of my suite-- at the threshold of my whole future-- I look up at the man I love and then I look up and down the hallway at the doors to the other 3 suites on the top floor.
"I'm not saying living in a hotel is a bad thing," I tell him in my best spoiled brat voice, "but it would be nice if we didn't have to worry about the neighbors complaining if we get too noisy. Hint hint. Don't most nice hotels only have one penthouse suite?"
Grant follows my eyes up and down the hallway and grins at me.
"We are going to need more rooms for the kids," he says.
"How many rooms are we going to need?" I laugh, each suite is already bigger than most peoples' houses, and there are 4 total.
"Let's start with 3 and build on from there," Grant whispers deliciously into my ear as we make our way to the bedroom.
"How soon were you planning on starting this remodel?" I ask.
"The sooner the better," Grant promises.
"Good," I say, "because you remember that first night when you said you hoped I was on the pill?"
Grant gives me a questioning look.
"I'm not," I say with a not exactly apologetic shrug.
Knee Deep in Sugar Page 8
