Page 1 of Chased By the Mountain Man

1

Jasmine

I tap away on my keyboard, my wrists aching. It’s been another long day working at the bank. Usually, I can get through the hours of boring data entry by joking around with my colleague, Sharon. She’s hilarious and the only thing that keeps me awake at this job most days, but she got a call just after lunch that her son broke his wrist in PE, so now it’s just me and Danny in the office.

AKA my worst nightmare.

Danny started working at the bank a couple of months ago, and at first, he seemed like a nice guy. Sure, he was immature and came in with a hangover most days, but he was easygoing and friendly with a cheeky grin and shaggy blond hair that he was constantly shaking out of his eyes. I figured we’d get along fine as co-workers.

Then everything changed.

Two weeks ago, Sharon and I invited Danny along for a drink after work. We all had a great time together, and after Sharon left, I decided to stay at the bar with Danny for a little while longer. I thought it was totally innocent: just two co-workers bitching about our jobs. But then Danny’s rum and coke turned into a round of shots which he knocked back one by one, getting rowdier with every drop of alcohol. He suggested we head for a nightclub, even flashing me a small bag of white powder he’d been hiding in his pocket, winking at me suggestively like he thought I’d be impressed.

That’s when I decided it was time to go.

He begged me to stay, but I made some excuse and we went our separate ways. Even though he was drunk out of his mind by this point, I still gave him a friendly wave and said “See you tomorrow!”.

But ever since that night, Danny’s been acting…weird.

He stares at me all the time in the office, his eyes boring into me, making me cringe with discomfort. The job he found easy before is now the hardest thing in the world, and he’s constantly finding excuses to ask for my help. Nearly every day, he sidles up behind me and peers at my computer screen, asking questions about what he needs to do. He gets so close that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, my nose clogging with the industrial-strength aftershave he wears to hide the smell of alcohol. He also touches me at every opportunity, his hand resting on my shoulder or rubbing my back.

It’s so uncomfortable.

He always waits until Sharon is busy or out of the office before acting like a weirdo. When she’s here, he’s pretty normal, which always leaves me feeling like I’ve been exaggerating the problem to myself. But since Sharon has been gone all afternoon, Danny has been worse than ever. I’m surprised he hasn’t burned a hole in my tits with the way his eyes have been laser-focused on them for the past few hours.

With a sigh, I turn my chair slightly, trying to keep Danny out of my peripheral vision.

This sucks.

I wish I was the kind of badass bitch you see in the movies: the girl who always has some clever, devastating comeback every time a guy disrespects her—a mic-drop moment that leaves the creep looking like an idiot. But I’m not that girl. I’m way too shy and anxious to say anything to Danny, especially right now when we’re shut up in the office alone together. It’s easier just to turn my chair, ignore him, and pray that five o’clock comes sooner rather than later.

“Hey, Jasmine,” he calls, making my gut sink like a stone, “how about we grab a drink after work?”

“No, thank you, I’m busy tonight,” I say automatically.

“You say that every night.” Danny crosses his arms. “What are you so busy with, anyway?”

My mind goes blank. “I need to…uh…visit my grandpa. He’s sick.”

He’s so sick that he died about ten years ago, but Danny doesn’t need to know that.

“Well you can’t keep saying no forever,” he says with a smirk. “I bet you secretly know how to party.”

“It’s not really my thing.”

“Well, I’ll take you out to dinner instead then.” His voice is triumphant, like he’s found a loophole in my rejection. “We’ll get pizza.”

“I don’t like pizza,” I lie.

Danny gives me a look and opens his mouth again, no doubt to suggest some other type of food we can get, but I cut him off. This is getting way too painful, and I’ve finally hit breaking point.

“Danny, I don’t want to go out with you,” I say quickly. “I…I just want us to be friends, okay?”

It’s not exactly a badass bitch movie monologue, but it’s the best I can do right now. My heart pounds as Danny cocks his head at me, his expression darkening.

“You don’t want to go out with me?”

“No.”

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