I’mnotsurehow,but I survived the night and actually fell into an exhausted sleep for most of it. Jagger didn’t come back and try to drag me to the airport, and Cruz didn’t bother me again with his games. I also assume that Asher left in the night because he was nowhere to be seen when I snuck out quickly this morning. The apartment was deadly silent, but I wasn’t sticking around for one of them to wake up and bother me again. I got dressed and practically ran down the hallway and out of there.
On my way to the bus stop, I ducked into a little coffee shop around the corner from Sloane’s apartment and ordereda coffee and a blueberry muffin for breakfast. While I wait for my order to be ready, I check my phone, scrolling through my Instagram. My account is new, as Valentine would never allow me to have anything like social media, so I don’t have any followers or really much content, but I started up the account while I was sitting and waiting at the airport thinking maybe I could journal my stay in America so I have something to look back on when I eventually have to go home. I’m also acutely aware that making an account could lead my family to work out where I am, so the only photos I post are of things I find charming or food. Never my face. I take a quick snap of the blueberry muffin I’m holding and tag it as breakfast, thinking why not get a start on documenting my new life. Now is as good a time as any. Morning one of avoiding the Stryker brothers going to perfection so far, now I just have to avoid Asher at work and I’m all good. Maybe I can talk to Paige and get her help. She seemed pretty cool yesterday, so I’m sure she would help me if I asked.
“Daisy.” The barista announces my name, the sound ringing through the busy coffee shop.
Stuffing my phone back into my workout shorts, I move to the counter, thanking her with a bright smile as I take my coffee from her. As I go to walk away, I feel my phone vibrate with a notification and pull it back out, glancing down to find I have one new follower. Cruz Stryker has somehow found me and not only followed me but loved my picture, and he’s now leaving a comment as well.
CRUZ: Breakfast in bed with your new favorite Stryker brother would have been sweeter.
Oh my God, he has to be kidding me. I huff out a laugh as I move back through the café. What do I even comment back to that? Or do I just leave it alone? Nothing good can come from responding to him; his head is clearly big enough already. Also, how did he work out it wasme? My account name is @runawaybloom. I don’t see how he worked it out from that. Lost in my phone, I walk through the front door and run straight into a muscular, tanned, and gorgeous body that smells of expensive cologne. The impact causing me to stumble backward. He catches me before I go over, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. He pulls me close to his body, coffee spilling all over his black button-up shirt. Damn. “I’m so sorry.” I start apologizing before I realize who it is. “Asher,” I squeak, so surprised to see him and more than a little flustered at our proximity.
“Don’t worry about it, little princess.” He takes a couple of serviettes and pats the wet splotch on his shirt.
Little princess? There is that damn name again. I stare back up at him, grab a handful of serviettes, and dab at the spill on his chest to help with the mess, until the warmth beneath my fingers makes me realize what I’m doing—touching his solid, very hard chest. I involuntarily take a shaky step back. “Why were you standing so close to me? You know this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t,” I complain, now kind of annoyed with him for causing this scene, even if it was me lost in my phone.
“I was coming to help you with your hot drink. Sloane suggested since I stayed at the boys’ last night I could drive you in to work, but you took off so quickly, I couldn’t catch you before you left.”
I stare back at him, his kind eyes lighting me up in a way I don’t want them to right now. For a reason, buddy! I didn’t want to see any of you. “Asher, I don’t need a lift. I’m happy catching the bus.” Sidestepping him, I head for the open door of the café, not wanting to be rude, but also knowing that spending more time with him than necessary is going to be a terrible idea. I can already feel it. He’s gorgeous and charming and, from what his sister implied, a man whore I can’t get involved with.
He catches up to me, falling into step, and I feel the warmth of his presence, the sunshine of his personality. He’s the guy loved by all and impossible to ignore, I can just tell. “Too late, I’m here now, so I’m driving you.”
“That’s really very kind of you to offer. But I’m okay,” I say through clenched teeth, even though my lips are smiling. So much for avoiding brother number three.
He gives me a more serious look that doesn’t suit him at all, but even then his dimples show, making him look hot as hell. “Don’t make this difficult, Daisy, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Fine,” I huff out, not in the mood for a fight. The faster I get to work, the quicker I can get away from him and on with my day of dancing.
Pleased I have agreed, he leads me to his car, a BMW M8, and even opens the door for me. Yeah, this brother is delightful. I even smile at him, not able to help it. Then, I sink into the plush leather seat of his car, inhaling. His car smells of his aftershave or cologne. I’m not sure which one it is, but it’s intoxicating, just like him. Sex on legs. That’s the only way I can describe it. The thing is, though, he knows it as well. I can tell by the playful way he grins at me. This is him getting his way with his pretty smile, good looks, and charisma.
“Shouldn’t you be riding your bike?” I ask to fill the air, thick with a fresh, heated tension between us.
He chuckles playfully. “Not in a suit worth a thousand dollars.”
I wince, knowing I just destroyed that suit with my coffee. Whoops. He takes off up the road, and I cling onto my now half-empty coffee, not wanting to make a mess in his expensive sports car as well.
“Ready for your second day of Paige’s awesome dance class?” he asks after some time, breaking the awkward silence between us.
“Sure, I’m excited to dance again. Do you know when I will be ready to get up on stage?” And actually make some money. I keep the last part to myself, but honestly, I’m dying to know. The money Cruz gave me isn’t going to last long. Admittedly, I should have given it back to him since I didn’t technically leave town, and I feel like that was part of the silent agreement we made. But it’s all I have.
“That’s up to Paige. She said you did well yesterday. So maybe by the end of the week. I normally like to preview our new girls on the busy nights, so Friday if you prove you’re ready.”
“Oh, okay.” I nibble my lip, wondering what that means for money. I heard one of the other girls say we get to keep all our tips, but what if I’m rubbish at this and don’t make any?
“What’s wrong, Daisy? You’re awful quiet all of a sudden.”
“Nothing.” I smile sweetly, trying to hide my inner turmoil. “How did you end up working for your sister?” I ask to change the topic so he doesn’t pry.
“Hang around long enough and they give you a job.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I guess I was wondering more why. “Tell me, Daisy, you’re clearly not a stripper, so why are you choosing to work for us?”
“Why is it so obvious?”
He glances my way, his eyes leisurely running over my body in a way that makes my cheeks heat. “You’re too pure, too classy. Most of the girls who work for us have had difficult upbringings. They lack education and the opportunity to go into the world and get a ‘normal job.’” He uses air quotes.
“I might have been brought up in a wealthy family, but I was given zero life skills and wasn’t allowed to further my education; my papa didn’t think it necessary for a girl. I didn’t understand why until I was married off the day I turned eighteen.”
“Shit.” The horror is written all over his face.
“Yeah, shit,” I mutter, still remembering my shock when I worked out what my parents did. My brother tried to stop them, tried everything to save me, but there was no use. I overheard Papa’s tense conversation with Emilio Morretti: either I marry his son, or my parents would meet a grim end. There wasn’t really a choice. It was all done in the name of strengthening their share in the media portfolio in Italy. I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to my parents. Even if the man I was being forced to marry was the heir to one of the largest underworld organizations in Italy, or so we all thought. Trying to shake off the pain of my past, I watch Asher as he drives, sipping what’s left of my coffee. He’s different from his brothers, not as intimidating and much more chill. He watches the road ahead, idly tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the music, happy and content and seriously sexy, even with his coffee-drenched shirt clinging to his abs. “Asher, have you ever had a fork-in-the-road moment, a choice you had to make that you knew would change the trajectory of your life completely?”
