“Take whatever you want. Here’s a box. It’s on me.”
A man replies, “You mean as many donuts as I want?”
“Affirmative.”
The pink swinging doors push open and my mysterious rescuer is back, carrying himself like he owns the place. Or the whole world for that matter.
There is no way my eyes can get any larger. “You can’t just give away product, my boss will kill me.”
He pulls out his wallet, holds up a sleek black credit card between two fingers. “If you sell out, there’s no reason to stay open.”
Without looking away from me, he uses his other arm to sweep the donuts from the counters into the trash can. “Oops. Production accident.”
A laugh escapes, surprising me. “You’re completely crazy.”
“I’m strategic.” He flips the card over between his fingers. “Now, how much do I ring up so I can get you out of here?”
Ryker doesn’t walk to a different drum, he’s not even on the same field.
I take the card, fully intending NOT to charge him.
I’ll just pretend and he won’t know until he looks at his credit card statement.
Given that my life hasn’t allowed me much control, this decision feels powerful.
I’ll repay my boss, somehow. She was kind enough to pay me under the table, I’ll find a way to make up for this.
From the front, the man calls, “Thank you! This made my day.”
Ryker flashes a grin that knocks me backward.
“See? Not hard.”
Holy sheesh. This man’s confidence is lethal.
“I can’t leave.” I slide off the counter, stepping out of his gravitational field, still in shock I let him so close.
He catches my arm gently and my first reaction is to flinch.
This freezes him, gaze falling down to where his much larger hand has captured me.
Awareness dawns followed by a gentling of his eyes.
“I don’t hurt women.”
I want to believe him.
But life has taught me otherwise. I nod back, but it feels jerky and he probably sees me shut down. A man like him reads between every eyelash flicker.
“Hang out back here,” he says. “I’ll deal with the front if there’s any product left, then I need to have a conversation with a few people outside.”
My stomach does a loop.
“Ryker,” I call, trying to stop him, but he’s already moving. His combat boots strike the tile. There’s a stretch of silence where I picture him throwing away donuts or dropping them on the floor or something equally as nuts.
Finally the bell above the door chimes again and I know he’s left the building because the air seems to snap back into place.
Oh my god.What am I going to do?
