Kidnapped.
Me?
This can’t be happening to me.
“Help.” I choke out the word.
“I told you to keep your goddamn mouth shut.” The deep voice is angered, the hands more insistent as I’m dragged back to the car.
The trunk is open.
I dig my heels into the icy sidewalk. Strong hands clamp around me, hauling me into a wall of muscle.
Don’t get taken to a second location, I chant to myself.
I don’t even like true crime.
I like rom-coms. With snacks.
I always assumed I was too heavy to kidnap, that my pasta addiction had a purpose.
My knees buckle. I crash toward the sidewalk.
See, Mom? You wanted me to eat more salad. The carbs were strategic.
He grunts as I slip from his arms.
“Yes!” I gasp—until—
“No you don’t,” he growls. “You’re mine.” His hand fists the back of my coat. Fabric rips as I curl in on myself.
Think heavy thoughts. Think lasagna. Think baked ziti.
“You’re coming with me,” he demands. “You’re going to be my girlfriend.”
“Oh my god—help—Someone help me!”
Lulu is barking at the man. Why couldn’t the VP who dumped her on me have gotten a German shepherd instead?
I slide off the curb, scrape my palm, and land in a freezing puddle beside the car’s hot engine.
“Screw this.” His arms lock around me again and suddenly I’m airborne—bags, snack, all of it.
I scream bloody murder as he strides around the car like I weigh nothing.
He’s huge.
Ridiculously strong.
Three steps, then—
I’m dumped into the trunk.
I kick wildly as he tries to shove my legs in. His expensive wool scarf slips.
For one awful second, I see his face.
Handsome.
