Page 2 of Chased By the Mountain Man

“Why not?” he demands.

“I just don’t think we’re right for each other,” I say, my voice wobbling slightly.

Badass bitch. Channel your inner badass bitch.

“You don’t think we’re right for each other,” Danny echoes, looking at me incredulously. “Are you saying you think you’re better than me? Is that it?”

“No—”

He cuts me off, laughing harshly. “Because I’ve got news for you, Jasmine, you should be flattered as hell that I’m asking you out! You have any idea how many girls want a piece of this? I get asked out all the damn time by girls way hotter than you.”

“Well—”

“And for the record,” Danny continues, a vein in his forehead throbbing as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, “I was only asking you out because I felt sorry for you. Figured I’d take one for the team and ask the fat girl out. Save another guy the trouble.”

Okay, screw this.

There are a million things I want to say, but right now, the most important thing is that I get away from the asshole sitting across from me. Putting some distance between us seems way more appealing than sticking around to think up some witty comeback, so I get up from my chair and storm out of the office, heading for the employee bathroom.

Angry tears burn in my eyes.

The fat girl.

It’s not the first time I’ve been called that. High school was full of jerks like Danny trying to make me feel bad about my curves, and for a long time, it worked. I’ve come a long way toward loving my body since then, but still, Danny’s words struck a nerve.

Which is exactly what he wanted, I think to myself bitterly.

But I’m not going to let him get away with his behavior anymore. He’s been making me uncomfortable for long enough, and after his outburst, I know for sure that Danny is the problem. I’ve been racking my brains ever since that night at the bar, trying to think of anything I did that led him on or made him think I was interested, but I’m done blaming myself for his gross behavior. It’s not me. It’s him. And tomorrow, when Sharon is back, I’ll tell her everything. With her by my side, I’ll go and talk to our boss, and then hopefully I’ll be free of Danny once and for all.

Now that I’ve decided on a plan, I dry my eyes and point at myself in the mirror.

“You are a badass bitch,” I say firmly.

“Uh, thanks!” a woman’s voice echoes from inside a nearby stall. “So are you, girl!”

I press my lips together to stop myself from laughing. “Thanks!”

Feeling better, I head out of the bathroom, determined to grab my stuff and go home. It’s a little early, but I’m not spending another second with Danny.

I don’t look at him as I enter the office, but I can hear him breathing hard, almost like he’s been running. He doesn’t say a word as I turn off my computer and grab my things, reaching into my bag for my car keys. I panic a little when I can’t find them in their usual pocket, but after rifling around, my hand closes around the fob. Without a backward glance, I turn on my heel and head for the parking lot.

I get in my car and take a deep, relieved breath as I start the engine and drive away from the bank. My apartment is on the other side of town, and I make a right, beginning the familiar route back home when a siren starts to whir nearby. Suddenly, I’m bathed in the blue lights of a cop car behind me, and I pull over, expecting it to drive right on past. But to my surprise, the cop car pulls up too.

Dammit, did I run a red light or something?

“Like I need this day to get any worse,” I groan to myself, opening my window as two burly cops get out of their car and approach me.

“Hello, ma’am,” one of them says, his eyes sweeping the interior of my car. “I’ll need to see your vehicle documents, please.”

I hand him my license and registration, still trying to think what I could have done wrong. “Is there a problem, officer?”

The cop doesn’t answer, just peruses my documents. The second cop stands beside him, peering into my car. Then he nudges his colleague, muttering something I can’t hear. Both cops snap to attention, focusing intently on my passenger seat.

“Please step out of the car, ma’am,” the first cop says.

I shakily remove my seatbelt and get out, wondering what the heck is happening. The second cop pulls on a pair of latex gloves before circling my car and opening the passenger-side door, grabbing something I can’t see. Then he holds it up and my heart lurches.

It’s a bag of white powder.

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