The man she was talking to slinks around the hood of the car, far from inconspicuous, but shady nonetheless. “Everyone knows not to get in the cabs here if they’re not —”
“I wasn’t getting in the damn cab! I didn’t come in here blind and wet behind the ears, so back the fuck off. You got me pissed off enough that I wasn’t thinking, and I ran outside without my hijab,” she says referring to the head scarf most women wear here. Her voice is a mixture of contrition and anger because I caught her making a mistake after I got her so flustered that she fucked up.
“Without thinking. Hmm. Guess that’s something a rookie does. Oh wait, you’re not a rookie, though, are you?” I hold her stare as I goad her, while the sun’s heat feels as if it’s burning through my clothes and straight into my skin.
She lifts her chin in defiance, a nonverbal fuck you that makes me respect her and dislike her all at the same time. The tough-girl routine is fine and dandy stateside, but out in this crude Wild West of a place, it can end up getting you killed.
“So where were you going in this cab that isn’t really a cab, rook?” I ask the question to get a reaction, see if she’s lying to me, and her quick intake of air and widening of the eyes is the one I was hoping she wasn’t going to give me. She was really going to get in the damn car with this guy. Unfuckingbelievable.
I’m a reporter, not a goddamn nanny.
She huffs out a breath. “I’m a big girl. I was asking the guy a question. Is there a crime in doing that, Pulitzer?” Beaux takes a step toward me, irritation in her voice and defiance in her stance as the car idling beside us takes off.
“Nope,” I say with a shrug, already pissed at myself for caring. “Go ahead and get yourself killed. No skin off my back. In fact, it’s the quickest way for you to get out of my hair.” I regret the words the minute they are out of my mouth. I feel like I’m bad-mouthing Stella, but fuck if I’m going to take them back.
I turn to walk away – from her, from this partnership, from everything – when her voice stops me.
“Nah. The quickest way for you to get someone to leave you alone is to fuck them.”
Is she serious? It’s the second time she’s insulted my bedroom ability, and I’m not letting it go this time. I’m back in her face in the blink of an eye, hands on her shoulders so that I can give her a little shake. Even though right now I detest this woman, it’s taking everything I have not to drag her up against me and kiss her senseless to show her just how wrong she is.
And what exactly she’ll never get a chance at again.
“I must have mistaken your crying out loud when you came last night, then… because last time I checked, a man’s gotta have some skill and a large dick to make a woman come without any foreplay. And I know for a fact that you came,” I say in an implacable tone.
The sounds of a flailing city erupt all around us, and yet all I can hear is that damn hitch in her breath. The one that tells me I’ve called her bluff and for now, that’s enough to pacify my ego she tried to bruise, because I’m beginning to learn that touching her in any capacity gets my blood humming.
And I don’t want it to hum when she’s near.
“Rest assured, I don’t need a man in order to come.” She quirks her eyebrows up and purses her lips. “Now that we’ve got that out in the open, get your hands off me.”
“Gladly. I assure you I won’t touch you again,” I mutter as I glare at her, the tension in my muscles from touching her relaxing fiber by fiber as we exchange silent fuck yous.
“I’ve got shit to do. I’m assuming you ran after me because you realized I’m right about the boss man.” Her slight smirk and the gloating expression in her eyes are the only physical signs that she knows she’s won this one. All I can do is stand and grit my teeth as I bite back how I really feel about it. I’m most definitely not admitting to her that she’s right in any capacity. That would give her an advantage in a situation where she already seems to own the upper hand. She stares a beat longer before reaching in her pocket to pull out a small piece of paper with a number written in perfect penmanship. “Here’s my number. Call me when you get a lead. Otherwise stay the hell away from me.”
I take the paper as she walks past me. Out of habit, I turn to watch her and curse myself when I want to tell her she can’t go that way. That there’s nothing but a maze of alleys and a few unsavory characters I’ve been warned about by my own sources. I squeeze my eyes shut momentarily with my hands fisted at my side, telling myself it’s none of my business where she goes or what she does.
So why in the flying fuck am I walking back toward her? I guess babysitting mode is in full effect, and I hate that I’m playing the part of nanny and putting the baby gate around her.
“Beaux!” Even when I say her name, I’m cursing myself for it. “Beaux!” She just keeps walking, causing my better judgment to win out over my obstinacy.
“I said stay away… and it’s BJ to you.” She stops and turns around, but a passerby on the sidewalk bumps harshly against her shoulder. Her small frame sways from the contact, and I’m beside her in two strides.
“You can’t go that way unless you’re looking for trouble.” I decide to ignore her comment.
She just shakes her head and starts walking away from me, but at least she’s moving in the direction of the hotel. I swear I hear her mutter something about always looking for trouble, but I miss the rest of it when a car passes in between us, the sound drowning out her voice.
My feet kick up the dirt on the street as I try to catch up to her. I lie to myself that I want to talk to her to establish some kind of ground rules about how we’ll work together, try to restore a professional level, but I know I’m just making sure she gets back into the confines of the hotel safely.
The barely chilled air-conditioned lobby of the hotel meets us as we enter, but it feels like heaven in contrast to the stifling heat outside. If she knows I’m beside her, she doesn’t acknowledge it, and that’s fine with me. I just want to make sure she’s nice and tucked away in her room where I don’t have to worry about her for a bit while I try to drum up some leads.
The elevator doors open on cue as we approach. I step in right behind her, lean against the rear wall, and fold my arms across my chest to mimic her posture. The doors close, but neither of us moves in a game of chicken. Just when the doors start to open up again without the car ascending, Beaux steps forward and presses the button for the twelfth floor. She looks over to me and raises her eyebrows in question.
“My room, please. You remember where that is, right?” I angle my head, stare at her, and enjoy watching her cheeks flush with anger.
I wait for the snide comment to come, but she just turns and faces the doors of the elevator without pushing the button for the eighth floor. Tension is so thick in the car, you can all but see it.