Dirty Bad Boys Box Set: Forbidden Romance Collection

Maybe, just maybe, this will work out after all.

Chapter Five

Public transportation in Los Angeles is a joke.

Without my own car, I have no other means of getting around. Back home, I’m spoiled. Not only do I have my own car, but a boyfriend who makes sure it turns on and gets me from A to B.

The bus ride is uneventful, folks keeping to themselves and staring out the window in a dull state of mind. I plan to stop off at a coffee shop near a place called The Grove. According to an old newspaper that I found on our doorstep, it’s a popular place to shop and eat with many celebrities frequenting the joint. Not that I care. I just want to get my hands on this ridiculously expensive cake to say thank you for employing me even though I’m a rambling mess.

The coffee shop is busy, many people occupying the small tables which are scattered around. The glass display is full of delicious desserts. Rows and rows of mouth-watering sweets, making my stomach growl loudly enough that the lady carrying a tiny rat-looking dog in her purse, takes notice.

“The caramel baked cheesecake with crushed Oreos and peanut butter cups, please.”

The cashier, Sarah, packs the cake into a silver box, sliding it over the counter as I hand her some cash. Politely saying, “Thank you,” I turn around deciding to open the carton to catch another glimpse of this oh-so-perfect cake.

The side of the lid gets caught in the corner. I nudge it slightly to close it shut again when all of a sudden, my body slams into another person causing me to gasp loudly.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

Frazzled, I look up to see an annoyed guy wearing a thick leather jacket, standing in front of me, arm draped around a pretty girl and carrying a helmet in his spare hand. She appears to be amused by something, and following her eyes, I stare down at my white dress now covered in Oreos.

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

“Might want to do something about that dress of yours,” he snorts, arrogantly, twitching his hazel eyes with a fiendish grin.

“Excuse me?” Perhaps I’m overreacting, but this moron just cost me thirty dollars. Who does this asswipe think he is? “How about you learn some manners!”

I’m not the type of person to raise my voice at a stranger, usually controlled and able to walk away from such nonsense. Yet something about the way he makes me feel like a pathetic nobody just rubs me the wrong way.

He—and his Hollywood bimbo—don’t deserve any more of my time. The damage is done, I have a ruined cake and an equally ruined dress. Of course, I had to wear white today.

I turn back around with a red face, greeting Sarah at the counter. I could see the sympathy in her eyes together with a disappointed smile.

“You know what?” Sarah is examining the damage. “I’m sure Mona can quickly fix the top. Saves you having to buy another.”

Sarah disappears into the kitchen only to return with a smile, asking me to wait for a few minutes while Mona fixes the icing. She hands me a small cloth which I use to carefully wipe the excess cake off my dress.

Mr. Dick, as I like to call him starting from this moment, moves closer to the counter, ordering a triple-shot coffee as if he didn’t do anything. I stand, waiting, impatiently tapping my feet with my arms crossed to cover the hideous stain. I have no time to get changed let alone spend money on another dress.

He hands over a credit card, trying to eye-flirt with Sarah.

“You know, you might want to watch where you’re walking. Head buried in a cake box is probably not the smartest thing to do.”

“Neither is being a dick,” I mumble under my breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that. It’s bad manners not to make eye contact with someone when you speak.”

My head moves swiftly, eyes wide open, staring at this arrogant ass. He isn’t the first arrogant asshole I’ve encountered in the four days I have been here. Los Angeles is full of them.

“You want to talk to me about making eye contact? I think you just told me to watch where I was walking, but at the same time, you’re flirting with Sarah.”

Sarah almost drops the coffee in her hand, embarrassed that she enjoyed his attention.

He takes the cup and turns to face me, giving me a better chance to get a glimpse of the face attached to the asshole personality.

The first thing I notice is how light his eyes are—hazel colored—light in comparison to the dark beard sitting across the bottom half of his face. His olive complexion makes them stand out, but beneath them are dark bags. Tired, worn out—something about him looks aged.

Without trying to make it look obvious, a scar on the side of his jawline catches my attention. It has a pinkish tinge, looking fresh from some accident and buried in his overgrown beard.