I turn my head away before he can close the distance between us, and he quickly dips his head, finding my eyes. Our gazes lock, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my entire body. His eyes are almost black now, his brows drawn low, making him look almost troubled. He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever met.
“I have good word from asolidsource that you are likely to fulfil my wants and needs.” He pops a brow, and I drop my head back to the door, needing the distance it creates.
“Oh, really, and who is this solid source?” I mutter, lost in his eyes.
He smirks, and I curse myself for taking the bait. “My cock.”
Shaking my head, I smile sweetly up at him. “I’m afraid that’s a rather unimpressive source, Mr Lowell.”
Before he can see it coming, I duck under his arm, flinging my bag onto my back as I take off on a run, knowing he isn’t wearing the footwear to chase me.
I make it a couple hundred yards down the street before I see his Bentley out the corner of my eye.
“Get in the car,” he growls through the open window.
I look at him, frowning. What kind of fool thinks that attitude will work? I up my pace.
“You’re acting like a child. Let me drive you home, and I won’t bother you again.”
“You promise? Although, you aren’t all that good at keeping those,” I tease, continuing to make him mad.
Running was my escape growing up. I could keep this up all night.
“Last chance,” he warns, a white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.
“I like my chances Bossman, I wouldn’t be so sure of yours.” I sass before darting off down a side street. I hear his tyres screech to a halt, then his car door being thrown open. I sprint down the cobbled path as car horns blare from the road.
I turn my head back to look at him, but he isn’t chasing me. He’s at a standstill, staring after me with a perplexed look on his face and absolutely no regard for the traffic jam he is causing.
A laugh escapes me as I reach the end of the path, feeling like victory is mine. I give him a wink before turning to continue my commute home, only to crash into a solid body.
Strong hands land on my shoulders to steady me, and I look up promptly, ready to apologise. The man is in his late forties early fifties judging by his black hair that’s turning silver around the edges, and wearing a black suit and tie. He removes his hands from my shoulders as quickly as he put them there but doesn’t move to allow me to pass. I look back to Mason. He is smiling at us, and it’s knowing, cocky, victorious. My gaze swings back to the man blocking my exit, instantly narrowing when I catch him giving Mason a nod.
The man looks down at me with amusement in his eyes. “Hello, I’m Vinny.” He offers me his hand. “I’ll be driving you home today.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell him, annoyed at his statement. “I’m happy walking. Thank you.”
I try to remember my manners and reluctantly shake his hand whilst it’s still outstretched. This isn’t his fault, after all.
“Nina, please, it’s either I drive you home or him.” He raises a bushy brow, tipping his head over my shoulder, but I refuse to look back at him. “It really isn’t safe for you to be out on your own at night,” he says with genuine concern.
I huff as I feel my resolve starting to slip. “It’s not safe for me to be out alone this late, but it’s safe to get into a car with a man I’ve never met, who somehow knows my name?” I question, ever defensive.
“As I said, it’s either me or him,” he states, horns blaring in the distance. The sound vibrates off the alleyway’s walls. It’s like the angry motorists are screaming at me to get into the car. It makes it hard to think.
“Well, I’m definitely not going with that asshole.” I sulk, crossing my arms as I give in.
He turns and opens the door to the Audi that’s sat at the curb. “I wouldn’t either.” He winks, giving me a warm smile.
Okay, maybe I like this guy.
I slide into the car and fasten my belt, refusing to look to my right, knowing Mason will likely be watching me.
Thankfully, Vinny doesn’t say a word on the way home. We arrive at my building without me having to direct him, which only frustrates me more. Who is this man, and why does he know so much about me? Mason knew where I worked, too, although I think I mentioned it to Charlie and Elliot on Friday night. Maybe he asked them.
I lean over to open the door, but Vinny stops me, his voice commanding that I listen. “He means well, love. He’s not a bad bloke.”
Our eyes lock in the rearview mirror, my hand frozen on the handle. Maybe Mason isn’t a bad bloke. Perhaps it was an unfortunate choice of words on his part—that I can believe. But it doesn’t take back the hurt those words caused.
