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Devon craned her neck, looking around. She knew other people from work were supposed to be here. Most of them didn’t like her because she was the new girl, but it would be better to sit with them than to sit alone. She was pretty sure she recognized someone when she felt a hand grab her ass. She squeaked in surprise and whipped around faster than she probably should have in her heels.
“Whoa there, honey,” the man said, eyeing her like he wanted to find out how many licks it took to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.
Devon glared at the man, and he smirked.
“You lookin’ for a place to sit? I’ve got a place right here,” he said, patting his lap. His friends roared with laughter while the guy just continued to look her up and down.
“No, thanks,” she said and turned.
The man reached out and grabbed her arm, and Devon froze.
“Where you think you’re goin’, baby?”
This wasn’t good. Devon could tell what would happen next. This guy was already belligerently drunk even if it was early in the evening. The room was dark, and no one was going to interfere. It felt just like one of her dreams.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! she yelled in her head.
But she wasn’t waking up, and usually by this point, she was in that stupid bedroom with that stupid white bed, face-planting into the stupid soft comforter.
The guy was just holding her arm. However sinister he appeared, this was not like her dream. This was reality, and she had to face it.
Devon tried breathing in and out to keep from hyperventilating as she turned back toward the guy. “Let me go,” she said softer than she would have liked.
“Oh, come on,” he said, tugging her closer to him.
“Is there a problem?” Bre
Devon released her breath as the guy loosened his grip on her arm.
“No concern of yours,” the guy said.
“Mind letting my friend go, so we can get to our seats?” Bre
The guy carelessly flung her arm back at her, and Devon immediately took a step away from him. She massaged her arm where he had gripped her. Her mind was racing.
That terrible voice from her dream spoke into her mind then. “You thought you were safe, but you’ll never be safe.”
“Come on, Devon.” Bre
She could tell Bre
Devon had been approached by these kinds of guys before, and they were all the same. She tried to push the incident aside, but it kept creeping up on her. Was she a walking target for these idiots? Did people just find it fu
“Hey, are you alright?” he asked.
She wondered how many times he had asked her that question and how many times she had denied anything was wrong. It had been at least a dozen times a week since they had started working together.
This time, she didn’t have to pretend. She wasn’t okay. The guy who had grabbed her was two or three times her size. He could have easily overpowered her, and he knew it. She had seen the flash in eyes that said he had all the power. He was reveling in her helplessness, and that was scariest of all.
“No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I don’t particularly like being manhandled.”
“I don’t think many people do,” he said.
When a group walked past them, Bre
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” she said softly.
“Thanks for answering my question,” he replied with a smile unlike any she had ever seen from him.
Her cheeks heated, and she looked away.
“And for coming to my gig.”
She cleared her throat. “You’ve been telling me about it for weeks. How could I miss it?”
“You’re sneaky. I thought you would find a way.”
“I’m not sneaky,” she said defensively.
“You’re proving me wrong,” he said, nudging her forward. “Amy and Ha
“Sounds good.”
“Do you know if Hadley and Garrett are going to show?” he asked, glancing at her apprehensively.
“I think so. Garrett told me they pla
“Still not really talking to Hadley?” he asked intuitively.
Yep, she had said too much.
“Oh look, I see Amy,” Devon said, ducking out from under his arm.
“About you answering questions,” Bre
Amy and Ha
When she realized Amy and Ha
“I’ve opted for originals.”
“You write your own lyrics?” she asked, surprised.
He hadn’t mentioned that part. It made her want to pull out her notebook. With how busy she had been, she hadn’t had a chance to open it recently. It made her heart hurt to think about the last time she had written anything. Lyrics had always come so naturally to her. It was likely due to her parents’ profession even if she didn’t like to admit it. She still carried the notebook everywhere with her, but writing had fallen to the wayside since she had taken the job at Je
Bre
“That’s good,” she said, finding she actually wanted to contribute to this conversation. “I like when I feel like that…most of the time.”
“Me, too,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.
“Sometimes, it’s like ripping my heart out and writing with the blood.” She clutched her chest.
“Sometimes, it’s like that,” he agreed. “And other times, it’s like the sun only shines for you, every breath of oxygen was designed for you to breathe, and life has a new purpose.”
Devon swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Sometimes, it’s like that, too.”
“But I like either as long as someone feels the music.”
A pause followed in the conversation. Devon didn’t know exactly what to say. When her phone vibrated in her purse, it kept her from saying anything. She pulled it out and stared down at the message. Reid. He had only sent a message to her once since she had supposedly left for Paris. Her heart sped up. What if she got caught? How would she respond?
Taking a deep breath, she pulled up the text.
I know you won’t get this message for another month, but I’ve been missing you here. I wish I could get in contact with you because I have free time. Paris for a week sounds like a dream. Paris with you sounds even better. Call me as soon as you land, so I know you’re safe.
As Devon finished reading the message, her hands continued to shake even though she knew she hadn’t been caught. She closed her eyes and then opened them slowly. In a split-second decision, she deleted the text from her phone. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she couldn’t have his words staring at her, making her feel guilty, for another second.
Since she had left, she had received three or four emails a week from him. She hadn’t answered any of them. He was probably starting to wonder why she wouldn’t even answer emails, but she didn’t care. What could she say anyway?