Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(19)

“If you don’t want Jen to leave, then you need to find those balls you’re so afraid I’m going to demolish, man up, and tell her. Don’t let her go. Tell her how you feel.”

Ah, she makes it sound so easy when it’s so . . . not. “She’s already looking for another job,” I protest weakly. “She wants to go apartment hunting this week. Roommate hunting.”

“Excuses.” She waves a hand, dismissing my words. “But hey, if you’re willing to let her go that easily, then by all means, go for it. Encourage her, then. Help her out—make it easier for her and get her out of your life once and for all.” Fable rolls her eyes and laughs, though there’s no humor behind it. “Don’t you ever wonder why you can’t let her go? Don’t you realize how you eventually chase after her no matter what she does or where she goes? Always trying to snare her into your net? If you want to give her all that freedom she’s so desperate to find, escort her right the hell on out of here.”

Before I can finally come up with something to say to defend myself she walks away from me, opening the door and slamming it behind her with such force, the sound rattles both the building and my bones.

Leaving me alone with my thoughts, my feelings. They swarm me, overwhelm me, and I know there’s no way I can stand out here dealing with all this shit.

So I follow her inside and hide away in my office.

Hide away from Jen.

Chapter 7

Jen

“Don’t I know you?”

Glancing up, I find a man probably in his mid-forties standing before me on the other side of the hostess counter, staring at me.

Hard.

The restaurant is packed. The staff has been scrambling all evening. I should be on my break but instead I’m helping out at the front desk, handling payments, greeting customers in between checking up on my tables when the hostess is off seating others. I do this sort of thing whenever it gets a little crazy, and no one protests. Tonight, though, is extra busy, proof Colin needs to hire more people, and that makes me feel guilty for leaving.

Seeing this man is reminding me why I need to go. I don’t want to know him but I do. He’s a bad memory I don’t want to deal with, especially here.

I smile faintly through my sudden nerves, wishing I could tell him to screw off. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. He hands over his credit card and his dinner bill, and I automatically take it. “Are you a regular customer at The District?” We have lots of them, though they’re usually younger than this guy. I know he’s not a regular. Not here.

“Not at this place. My wife convinced me to take her here tonight for our wedding anniversary.” He sounds irritated, and I wonder how in the world I got stuck taking his credit card and running it. Wasn’t he Fable’s customer?

“Congratulations,” I offer weakly, guilt assuaging me. Of course he’s married. Weren’t they all? “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“A little overpriced,” he huffs out, sounding irritated.

I ignore him, tapping my fingers on the screen, waiting for the credit card approval. It doesn’t come fast enough and when the receipt finally prints out, I tear it off and hand it to him, practically shoving a pen into his hand.

“I know I’ve seen you before,” he says, signing his receipt and pushing it and the pen back across the counter toward me. I don’t dare look at him, and he seems to know I’m hiding from him.

“Thanks for coming. Hope you have a good evening,” I say as I give him his copy of the receipt. Chancing a glance at him, I see the way his gaze drops to my chest, raking over my body in an overtly intimate way.

A shiver runs down my spine. Yeah, this is definitely one of the guys who I . . .

“Did you ever work at Gold Diggers?” He’s lowered his voice, leaning toward me over the counter, and I step back, furiously shaking my head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I start, but I clamp my lips shut when he smiles lecherously, pointing his finger at me.

“You did. I remember you.” The smile grows, and my heart sinks to my toes. “I think you might’ve helped me out after hours one night, too.” He pauses, his eyes lingering on my lips. “No man forgets a mouth like yours.”

Holy. Shit. I can’t believe he just said that. Panic races through my veins and I glance around, looking for an out.

“Ready to go?” A woman approaches, going right to the man’s side, curling her arm around his. Clearly she’s his wife, and I wonder what she might do if she knew I’d taken money from this man in exchange for a blow job.

Because that’s how he knows me and the shame that threatens is so overwhelming, I’m tempted to run. I blanked most of the men out, never paying too much attention to their faces or bodies. Not wanting to know any details, trying to make them seem inhuman. It’s easier that way to pretend they’re not real.

But this guy is real—and so is his wife.

“Yeah, honey.” He sends me a pointed stare, as if I’d blab where I knew him from or something crazy. He shouldn’t worry. I don’t want any trouble. “Thanks,” he says to me gruffly and I nod in answer, surprised by the way the woman glares at me over her shoulder before they leave the restaurant.

Exhaling loudly, I sag against the counter, rubbing my forehead with the tips of my fingers. If what just happened isn’t an indication I need to get out of here and quick, I don’t know what else is. This is the second time in as many weeks that an encounter like this has happened.