Buttons and Shame (Buttons 4)

She glanced down then quickly looked away like she hadn’t moved her eyes in the first place. She didn’t say anything to me, brushing me off coldly.

I’d been rejected a few times in my life—but not like that. “Nice to meet you too.”

Her eyes turned to the bathroom, where the man had just entered a moment ago.

That was my cue to get up and walk away, but I remained glued to the seat. I didn’t know what I expected to happen. I took my shot and missed. Now it was time to return to the other side of the room and look at my phone again.

But I didn’t move. “You got a name?”

Nothing. Now that I was this close to her, I noticed the small cut in the corner of her eye. It looked like the mark from a fingernail. She either scratched herself, or someone took a swipe at her.

That’s when I realized she didn’t have a bag. No purse. Nothing. Not even a pair of sunglasses. “Everything alright?”

Her throat moved when she swallowed, her eyes still on the bathroom door. “My boyfriend will be back soon. I suggest you leave.”

The guy had to be at least fifty, and she looked like she was in her twenties. He looked more like her father than her lover. “Are you sure? Because you’re way out of his league.” Maybe a compliment would loosen her up.

Her fuse was lit, and she lost her patience. “Would you just go? I’m not interested. How do I make myself more clear?”

“Maybe by talking?” I jabbed.

She finally focused her gaze on my face, looking me in the eye for the first time. When she was angry, she was still just as beautiful. Not too many women could accomplish that. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but he’s gonna be back, and I can’t be seen talking to you. So, please, just go.”

“Can’t be seen talking to me?” I was hitting on her, but I wasn’t being a creep about it. “Are you sure everything is okay?” Nothing about this situation felt normal. She looked like she’d had the worst day of her life, not just been on an Italian vacation for the summer. “Because it seems like—”

“Walk away, or I’ll scream.”

When I saw the stern look on her face, I knew she wasn’t bluffing. I’d been rejected enough times to know I didn’t have a chance. I was a good-looking guy with a thick wallet, but that didn’t seem to have any effect on her. “You can hold your tantrum. I just thought you were pretty.” I left the chairs and didn’t look back. I headed to my terminal just when they called the first-class passengers. I handed over my ticket and got on the plane.

I spent the evening in France, meeting up with a few friends who lived in Marseille. I wasn’t meeting Tristan until tomorrow night, so I had some time to kill. I hit a few bars and a club with my crew, but my mind kept drifting back to the woman I saw in the airport.

She didn’t even tell me her name.

She wasn’t even that pretty. With her wrinkled clothes and messy hair, she wasn’t remarkable. Her sense of style was nonexistent. Maybe I made a move because I thought she would be an easy target.

Something told me that wasn’t the reason.

She was just some stranger I had a short encounter with. She’d forgotten about me by now, only thinking of me as some annoying pervert who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. She hardly even looked at me, so she probably didn’t even know what I looked like.

Forget her.

I got back to the room late that night—alone. I had many rounds of scotch sitting in my belly, so I passed out on the comforter without even taking my shoes off. The next morning, I woke up to a migraine and a phone call from Crow.

“How’d it go?”

“I’m meeting him tonight.” I dragged my hand down my face, sleep crust thick in the crevices of my eyes. “Change of plans.”

“I took a look at the shipment. Everything looks good.”

I knew he’d say that. “Yeah. I’ll see if Tristan is interested.”

“I’m sure he will be. He’d be a fool not to.”

“Yeah.” I was still in bed, half asleep.

“Long night?”

“I went out with Ramon and a few other guys.”

“I’m guessing you woke up next to someone you don’t know, then.”

I wish. “No, unfortunately.”

Crow didn’t make a jab. “I’ll talk to you later. Give me the info when you have it. I want to talk numbers.”

Always to the point, like usual. “Bye.”

After a swift pat-down and extra security measures, I was finally allowed to enter the French estate located right next to the harbor. It was protected from unwanted eyes by the curve of the peninsula. All the resorts and ships were on the other side, where the tourists and fishermen remained.