“Yours?” He held up my cell phone.
I nodded and he brought it to me, also handing over a pen and paper.
“Write down your name and number and I’ll have the cops contact you about a statement. You don’t have to stay since I was a witness. Unless you think you need to go to the hospital, I mean.”
I shook my head. “No, I just want to go home.”
“Can I offer you a ride?”
My mouth hung open as I tried to think of a response. Kane had saved me, and I was beyond grateful, but right now I didn’t want a strange man driving me anywhere. I still felt overly exposed.
“That’s . . . no, you don’t have to . . . I can just catch a cab. You’ve done more than enough already. Thank you again.”
I wrote my contact information on the pad of paper, and when I looked up, Kane was giving me me a wry look that bordered on a smile.
“I didn’t mean me. Our driver will take you home.” He walked over to the door and opened it.
I followed him out a side door to a black SUV. He opened a passenger door and nodded toward the vehicle, encouraging me to get in.
“Lex, take her home, please,” he said, his clipped tone all business.
“Yes sir, Mr. Kane,” a voice called from the driver’s seat.
I climbed in and met his eyes again. “Thanks again, Kane. I mean, Mr. Kane.” I gripped my phone tightly, his unwavering gaze unnerving me. “Thank you.”
He just nodded and closed the door.
“Where to, ma’am?” a friendly man’s voice called from the front seat.
I gave him my address and he headed down the darkened alley. The alley that was now burned into my mind as the place I’d almost lost a piece of myself. And also the place where a strong, compassionate stranger had kept me intact.
Vivian
I STARED OUT THE SMALL window in my office, wishing I had a view of more than a brick wall. Someday I would.
“Where’d you meet this psycho blind date?” my friend and co-worker Cara demanded.
I turned toward her. “Donelle’s husband is in the same fantasy football league as Eric.”
“Nice.” She made no effort to hide her disdain. “Donelle was your college roommate, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, are you gonna call her ass up and tell her what that asshole did? Maybe send some pics of the marks on your throat?” She motioned for me to hand over my cell phone. “I’ll take some for you.”
I fiddled with the gauzy scarf around my neck, trying to cover the marks Eric’s hands had left. My boss had told me to stay home for as long as I needed to recover when I told her about what happened. I’d taken one day–yesterday. But this morning I’d decided I needed to get my mind off things and I’d come in. My client meetings had all been rearranged for next week and I was catching up on paperwork.
“Telling her won’t change anything,” I said. “And I’m tired of talking about it. I had to tell my parents, Susan and you.”
Cara sighed and sat down in the leather chair in front of my desk. “I know. I’m sorry, Viv. I’m just so pissed at that bastard. If I could get my hands on him—”
“Kane gave him a dose of his own medicine,” I said softly, smiling.
“The bouncer from the club, you mean?”
“I think he’s the head bouncer.”
“Was he wearing a nametag or something? How do you know his name?” Cara was giving me the sharp cross-examination that had gotten her hired and then promoted at Glen, Travor and Hobbs, our firm.
“I asked him.”
She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them. “Uh-huh. And . . . ?”
“And nothing,” I said, a little too sharply.
“Looks like something.”
“Don’t you have any work to do?”
She scoffed. “When my best friend was just assaulted in an alley? Hells no, girl.”
“I just want to forget about it, okay?”
I rubbed my forehead, wishing it was possible to forget. That night ran through my head morning, noon and night. It wasn’t just Eric I was thinking about, either. I was increasingly finding my thoughts wandering to the man whose cedar-scented flannel shirt was sitting on a chair in my bedroom.
It had to be because he’d saved me. This was just some sort of knight-in-shining armor complex I was experiencing. Why else would I be fantasizing about Kane? He’d shown no interest in me and more importantly, seemed to be the polar opposite of the men I usually chose.
“It’s screwed up to be thinking about a guy after the other night,” I said, my voice nearly a whisper as I stared into space.
“Honey, the only thing that’s screwed up is what that asshole did to you. Don’t you dare make yourself feel like anything you’ve thought or felt since then is wrong.”
And that was why I loved Cara. She knew when to push and when to reassure.
“You have time for a Starbucks run?” I asked, standing up and reaching for my purse.
“Always.”
“How’s my scarf?”
I walked around to the front of my desk and Cara rearranged it a little. She fluffed up my long, dark hair a little, too.
“Perfect,” she said. “Let’s just drop by my office so I can grab a scarf.”
“You don’t need one. It’s not cold or anything.”
She arched her brows at me. “It’s badass bitches wear a scarf day, Viv. Now let’s go find me one.”
“Not the one you used to tie up your personal trainer in bed.”
She threw her pretty blond head back and laughed. “No, that one’s at the dry cleaners.”
“Good call.”
I made not one, but two Starbucks runs during my work day, and also walked down to my favorite café for a long, quiet lunch with a book. By the end of the day, I knew coming back to work had been good for me. The police had come by yesterday to interview me about what happened with Eric and take photos of my neck. I’d follow his court case, but for now I had a sense of closure. It was time to move forward.
When I got back to my tiny downtown apartment and pushed open the steel front door, the lingering smell of brownies greeted me. I’d forgotten about making them yesterday.
It was a silly idea. Homemade brownies for the bouncer who’d pulled Eric off of me? It was all I could think of to thank him, because I was pretty sure Hallmark didn’t have a ‘thanks for saving me from sexual assault’ section of greeting cards. But maybe my thanks to him that night was enough.
I changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt and grabbed the dish of frosted, chocolately goodness from the kitchen counter, flopping into my favorite old living room recliner with it. I could have some of these brownies for dinner and then go to the gym.
Pulling off the lid, I considered it. But then I decided I should skip the brownies and just go to the gym. I could pick up dinner on the way home. I’d just drop these brownies off at Six on my way.
Decision made, I laced up my tennis shoes, grabbed my gym bag, purse and the brownies and went downstairs to hail a cab.
When I walked into the front door of Six after the ten minute cab ride, the after-work crowd was just starting to fill it up. I scanned the room and spotted Kane standing near the bar talking to a group of employees. He still wore the scowl I’d seen the other night.
My stomach did a flip of uncertainty as I walked toward him. The closer I got, the slower I moved. I was out of place in this hip club, wearing yoga pants and carrying a tray of neatly cut baked goods.
One of the women in the group of employees clustering around Kane glanced at me as I stopped and waited off to the side. Her expression was confused and I realized I couldn’t do this. Not here, in front of all these people. I could stand in front of the meanest judge in the state and argue beneath his aggravated stare, but not this. Offering brownies baked in my own kitchen made me feel unexpectedly vulnerable.
I turned toward the door, planning to sneak out undetected by Kane. But I’d h
ardly even moved when a deep voice called out to me.
“Vivian?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Kane dismissing the group of servers. He walked over to me, brows arched expectantly.
“What’s up? Do the cops need something else from me?”
If only. I considered hiding the brownies behind my back.
“No, it’s, uh . . . no.” I smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I . . . made you these.”
I thrust the container toward him. He looked down at it and then up and me, his hazel eyes narrowed in confusion.
“What’s that?”
“It’s brownies. You know, the frosted kind. The ones that fulfill every chocolate fantasy. Unless you don’t like chocolate. But of course you do. Everyone likes chocolate. Wait, do you like chocolate? Oh, and nuts? Do you like nuts?”
His scowl deepened as he glanced from side to side to see if anyone was within earshot. “I like nuts. Unless they’re attached to a dude.”
I let out a single note of nervous laughter, my face warming. “Uh, no. These are just . . . walnuts.”
He just stared at me.
“So anyway . . . here. And thanks again for the other night.”
He ran a hand over his bald scalp. “Yeah, you don’t have to thank me, Vivian.”
“Viv. My friends call me Viv.”
A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke.
“You don’t need to make me brownies.”
A passing server glanced at us with an amused expression. I sighed deeply, still clutching the container.
“I already did. So, if you can just take them, I’ll be going.”
He looked at me like the Tupperware container was on fire. Jesus. I was going to have to walk back out of here with it. I’d be scarfing these brownies in horrified embarrassment later tonight.
“Alright,” I said, an edge in my tone. “I’ll just go.”
Kane suppressed an eye roll and glared at me. “No, I’ll take ‘em. I just . . .” He reached for the container. “Okay.”
“If you’re just going to throw them out—”
“I’m not throwin’ ‘em out. I’m gonna eat these things like a motherfucker.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay. Well, then. Have a good night.”
“How’s your neck?” He eyed my collarbone and I suddenly felt self-conscious about the bruises that had darkened and become more prominent there. But it wasn’t like I could wear a scarf to the gym.
I reached up and brushed my hand over my neck. “Oh, it’s . . . fine. I’m fine.”
“Cops call you?”
I nodded. “I have a friend who works for the prosecutor’s office who will let me know when the charges are filed. I’m an attorney.”
Kane nodded back. Damn, there was an intensity to his eyes. They were framed by dark lashes but still had a calculating edge to them. I felt like he was trying to decide how long he had to be nice to me before he could escape this uncomfortable conversation.
“So . . . I’m off to the gym,” I said, gesturing at the door.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Okay.”
“Bye.”
He nodded silently. I turned to leave, grateful to be making my exit. It wasn’t tension that existed between us, but awkwardness.
When I reached the front door, I pushed it open, looking back at Kane over my shoulder one last time. He was still standing in the same spot, staring down at the brownies with an expression of confusion.
Most people probably bought bouncers a drink to say thanks rather than dropping of a nine by thirteen of brownies. I smiled, deciding that if nothing else, I’d left an impression. And leaving an impression on dark, hulking, scowling Kane gave me a measure of pride.
It wasn’t like I’d ever see him again, anyway. I jogged over to a waiting cab and slid in, looking forward to the night ahead. A workout, solo dinner and some trash TV were just what I needed.
Kane
I was headed to my office with the dish of brownies when I caught sight of Lex heading across the room toward me, a giant white bag in his hand.
“Got what you needed, boss,” he said, grinning proudly.
I glared at him and spoke through gritted teeth. “Get that into my office, you stupid shit. What are you doing parading around here with it?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not parading. I just got back with it.”
“Look at the side of the bag, dumbass.”
He looked down at the large bag and read the wording on it. “Oh.”
“Yeah. To my office. Now.”
I followed him through the light crowd, my gaze working from side to side. Anyone who made a comment about the bag or the brownies would feel my wrath.
Once in my office, I closed the door behind us and lit into Lex.
“Jesus Christ, man, be more discreet next time.”
“Sorry. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is to me.” I snatched the bag from his hands and peered inside it.
“I asked the saleslady what’s the best way to burn five hundred bucks on American Girl shit and she helped me find all this.” Lex was beaming with pride over this accomplishment. “The receipt and change are in there.”
I grunted my approval and took the bag over to the closet, setting it on the floor and closing the door. Then I pulled out my wallet, peeled off two twenties and passed them to him.
He put his hands up in refusal. “No need, boss.”
“Take it.”
He accepted the money and slid it into his pocket. “Thanks, boss.”
“Good work. Get your ass back to the car.”
He grinned and bowed before heading out of my office. Crazy Chinese motherfucker was always bowing. I liked him, though. There were few people I’d trust with the errand he’d just done for me.
I sat down behind my desk and pulled off the lid of the brownies. The sweet smell of chocolate filled my nostrils. I grabbed a brownie and took a bite.
It was fucking good. I polished it off in less than a minute. Vivian was gonna make some suit a very lucky man one day. She was gorgeous, could cook and was an attorney.
But not Eric. That motherfucker could rot. I shook my head as I remembered the way he’d treated Vivian, and also her refusal to play his game. Hell of a woman.
I got up to get back to the floor, but turned back to my desk before making it to the door. There was an unused filing cabinet behind my desk, and I put the container of brownies in the top drawer. If I brought an employee in here for a talk about how they’d fucked up, the last thing I wanted was them seeing brownies on my desk.
Also, I didn’t want to share them. Those fuckers were all mine.
Vivian
CARA LOOKED ME OVER AS I checked my makeup in a travel sized mirror, nodding with appreciation.
“On the prowl, I see?” she quipped.
“No.” I glared at her. “What, just because I look nice, I must be trying to hook up with a man? How very caveman of you.”
She rolled her eyes as she applied pale pink lipstick. “I know you, V. You only dress this way and curl your hair when you’re hoping to meet someone.”
“I’m wearing jeans. And I just have some waves in my hair that are almost gone already. Stop being so suspicious.”
“Yeah, but you’re wearing heels with the jeans. And I know it actually takes effort to do the whole effortlessly wavy thing with your hair.”
The cab we were riding in pulled up in front of Six and I handed the driver some money, thanked him and followed Cara onto the sidewalk.
“The glove does not fit, my friend¸” I said to her. “I’m just here to have some drinks with my best, most paranoid friend. And also return this shirt.”
I clutched Kane’s flannel shirt in one hand and my bag in the other. Since I was in public, I resisted my urge to press it against my nose and inhale its cedar scent yet again.
I’d been single for so long that I was extra susceptible to excitement over manly
things. Muscles, flannel and stubble actually made me tingly these days. Ten months without sex was a long time for a 28-year-old woman. Especially since that sex hadn’t even been good.
And in my most honest moments, I admitted to myself that much more than sex was missing from my life. I envied couples I saw holding hands at the farmer’s market. I wanted someone to share life’s ups and downs with, and my efforts to find that someone had only turned up one lousy guy after another.
Cara poked my shoulder, bringing my attention back into the moment. “I don’t think we’re getting into Six tonight,” she said, sounding defeated.
I followed her gaze to a line that stretched down the sidewalk. The bouncer at the front door was explaining to someone that they couldn’t get in without a reservation.
Things didn’t look promising.
“Let’s go to that new place I was telling you about,” Cara suggested. “The sushi bar. It’s only a couple blocks from here. We can walk.”
She turned to walk away from the club, but I stopped her. “Wait. Just give me a second.”
The bouncer at the door was almost as wide and muscled as Kane. He held a hand up as soon as I approached.
“Sorry, we’re full unless you’ve got a res—”
“This is Kane’s.” I held the shirt up halfheartedly. “I was hoping to return it. If we can’t get in, can I just—”
The bouncer’s brows shot up. “Oh. Come on in,” he said, lifting up the hook on the rope that cordoned off the entrance. He called to a woman in a black dress. “Elyse, she’s here to see Kane. You have a table open upstairs?”
The pretty redhead smiled and extended her arm. “Of course. Right this way.”
I waved to Cara, who dashed through the opening in the rope and grabbed my arm.
“Who is this guy, anyway, Viv?” she whispered. “You dropped his name and we not only got in, she’s taking us upstairs.”
“It’s probably just overflow seating,” I said absently, scanning the room for the burly, tattooed man whose shirt I held.
“Are you kidding? All the good stuff is upstairs in clubs like this.”
Barely Breathing Page 2
