Jason stood up, releasing the blonde’s hand. “Morgan, don’t make a sc—”
“A scene?” She laughed, and the sound was brittle even to her own ears. “Save it, Jason. How long has this been going on?” She flung up a hand to stop him from replying, “Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care. Apparently I’m your ex-girlfriend. Too bad you forgot to mention that fact until right now, or have the past 9 months been a complete lie too?”
“Morgan, please,” he lowered his voice, glancing nervously at nearby tables where diners were now openly watching the scene unfold. “Let’s talk about this somewhere private.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Morgan turned to leave, then paused. The blonde was staring at her, shock giving way to confusion. “By the way, if he tells you he’s going out of town for work? He’s not.”
She turned sharply, fury stiffening her spine, holding her composure together with sheer will as she marched back through the restaurant. The maître d’ stepped aside, shooting her a look that might have been sympathy.
Outside, the cool night air hit her like a slap—sharp and sobering.
She kept walking, not really seeing the sidewalk beneath her heels, just trying to outrun the sound of Jason’s voice echoing in her head.My ex-girlfriend.
Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from sheer disbelief. Nine months. Nine months of careful compromise, of trying to believe that stability was the same as love. And for what?
Breadsticks and betrayal.
A shaky breath escaped her lips as she pressed a hand to her stomach as she slowed her pace. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream, cry, or throw something.
Instead, she just walked. One foot in front of the other, jaw tight, eyes forward.
She made it halfway down the block before she heard Jason calling after her.
“Morgan! Stop! This was just a business dinner.”
She kept walking, quickening her pace.
“Morgan!” His voice was closer now, sounding annoyed rather than apologetic. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing! Would you just listen to me for a second?”
His hand clamped around her wrist, spinning her toward him. It didn’t hurt, but the presumption—that he had any right to touch her after what she’d just witnessed—ignited something primal in her chest.
“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Each word was a carefully controlled missile.
“You’re acting crazy. That was a client in there. An important client who happens to be into me, and I was closing a deal.”
“By holding her hand? By feeding her dessert? By lying to her that I was your ex?” Morgan tried to pull away, but Jason’s grip tightened. Not enough to bruise—yet—but enough to make her blood boil.
“It’s business. Sometimes you have to play a part.”
“Is that what I was too? Just playing a part while you were busy with other women? Was I just the stand-in to keep your parents happy?” She jerked her arm free. “Don’t contact me again. We’re done.”
“Don’t be like this. You’re overreacting.” He reached for her again, but she backed away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Come on, baby. I’ve got that promotion in the bag after I’m done with this client. We can move in together and start actually going for what we want in life. We had plans.”
“Youhad plans. Apparently to use me as a backup while you did whatever you wanted.” Morgan hefted her oversized purse higher on her shoulder, putting it between them like a shield. “Touch me again, and I swear to God, Jason, Iwill—”
“You’ll what?” He stepped closer, looming over her with his hand clenched on her shoulder, his earlier charm replaced by something uglier. “That was just a client meeting. You’re being dramatic.” He gave her shoulder a little shake, “Stop blowing things out of proportion. This isn’t a big deal. Nothing happened.”
She couldn’t believe his nerve!
Morgan became vaguely aware of movement across the street. Through the haze of her anger, she registered the rumble of motorcycle engines going silent. A group of men had parked down from the restaurant. One figure—a dark silhouette against the evening street lights—had paused while dismounting, helmet turned in their direction. She couldn't make out details at this distance, only the unmistakable stillness of someone paying attention.
Morgan jerked out of Jason’s grip and pushed him away, ice in her voice, “I said, don’t touch me.”
As she turned to leave, Jason caught her wrist once more, jerking her to a halt and causing her to catch sight of the four bikers making their way across the street towards her and Jason. The one at the front, indistinguishable beneath his black motorcycle helmet, three others flanking him—a tall, lean man with sharp features; a broader, muscular one with a beard; and a third with close-cropped dark hair and watchful eyes.
