Chapter 5
Grace
I’ve been sitting atthis table with Ethan for thirty minutes and I’m ready to jam a knife into my ears just so I don’t have to listen to him talk anymore. He sure loves to talk about himself. I’d use that same knife to cut his arm off, too, so he’d stop touching me.
I grit my teeth, hating where my thoughts just went. I’m not a violent person. It takes someone very irritating to draw out that side of me.
My leg bounces under the table. Ethan’s flirting and forced proximity makes me uncomfortable. I’m wondering if there’s really an available job at his office or if he just said that to get me to go out with him.
I cut him off as he launches into another story about how he’s quickly rising to the top at the office. “So, is the receptionist job in your department? How big is this company, by the way?”
He frowns, as if annoyed that I interrupted his self-praising session. “No, that position isn’t really in my vicinity.”
Wonderful! So, if I were to get it, I wouldn’t have to see him.
“There’s more than one vacancy.”
Finally, we’re getting on track. “Oh? What are the others?”
“I know they’re looking for graphic designers.”
My interest piques. I don’t know why Ethan only mentioned the receptionist job. Then again, listening to him for the past half-hour, I can see him as one of those assholes who would stick a woman into a certain role.
“That sounds awesome. I’m worried about the hours with any job I get, though. I really don’t want to disrupt my last year of school too much.”
“Not to worry, Gracie,” he snags my chin between his fingers, “I can talk to my boss. We’re pretty tight.”
A fresh wave of irritation rolls through me. Gracie? I can’t take much more of this.
Ethan drapes one arm around my chair and leans close. He’s so full of himself he doesn’t realize I’m practically falling out of my chair trying to put distance between us. Any second now, I might snap and dump my peach schnapps on his lap.
“Stick with me. I can take you places,” he says.
I gawk at him. Where, exactly? His software development office, answering the phone?
That’s it. I jump to my feet. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Yeah, sure. When you get back, we can talk about date number two.” He winks.
I lift an eyebrow. When I get back, I’m sure I’ll be suffering from a migraine or cramps and just have to leave. “Uh-huh,” I grunt and take off, searching for the restroom sign.
Spotting it and the arrow pointing to a passageway at the back of the bar, I quicken my steps. When I near the back, my steps falter as my eyes make contact with a pair of blue ones.
Rowan.
I stupidly panic and scurry off as if I didn’t see him. I’m looking over my shoulder as I round the corner. When I see Rowan hurrying toward me, I turn back around so fast I lose my balance. A hand clamps around my arm to keep me from toppling over.
Pulling in a breath, I turn to face him.
“Did you really just try to run from me?” he asks incredulously.
My face is scorching. Gazing up at him, I shake my head in denial. “Of course, I wasn’t running.” My lips instantly purse.
Rowan’s eyes drop to my mouth, and he raises an eyebrow. He’s already discovered my little tell when I’m lying my ass off. I still can’t believe he caught on to it so fast.
“Okay, fine, I did,” I admit. It’s just my luck to run into him here.
“You’re dating now?” His tone reminds me of an animalistic snarl.
“I’m not on a date.”
“Funny because from what I’ve seen, you two are very touchy-feely.”
“Correction, he’s touchy-feely. That’s why I came back here, to escape Ethan and his eager hands.” I shake my head. “That man knows no boundaries and has no respect for personal space.”
Rowan’s expression darkens to match the tone of his voice. “Want me to have a chat with him?”
I blink. The offer is both sweet and scary because I suspect the chat he’s talking about would be more physical than verbal. “Thanks, but no.”
After a beat of silence, he asks, “Has your phone stopped working?” His eyes are steady on my face, his fingers still wrapped around my upper arm in a gentle hold. I wonder if he even realizes he’s still holding onto me. I don’t hate it, and I’m irritated with myself for that. I shouldn’t let him touch me. He’s a liar.