Page 146 of A Little Broken

Stepping around him, I follow the girl to the front desk. As she rings me up, the paparazzi mutters something into his cell, but I don’t pay attention to him. Instead, I keep my head held high and hand the girl Paxton’s credit card.

“Would you like anything else?” she asks. The girl looks absolutely terrified. Hell, her hand’s shaking, and she can barely hold my gaze without it darting to the man on the floor behind me. It’d be comical if I didn’t feel so bad, considering this is kind of all my fault.

“Is this really your first day?” Rory whispers to her.

She nods, peeking at my best friend. “Uh, yeah. Great way to start, right?”

“Memorable,” I offer, my tone thick with sarcasm. “And yes. I would like something else. Do you have any of the red heels in a size seven? I think they’d look great with the dress, don’t you?”

As if seeing what we’re purchasing for the first time, her head bobs up and down. “Uh, yes. Yes, I think they’d go great. I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back with those shoes.”

“Thanks.”

As we wait, the bell on the front door chimes as someone else enters the building. Or maybe the sniveling paparazzi decided to leave. That would be a pleasant surprise. I don’t bother checking, determined not to give the asshole another second of my energy or attention, even if I’m more curious than I’d like to admit.

“You know, when Paxton told you to go wild, I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean kneeing anyone in the balls,” Rory quips beside me. She peeks over her shoulder and blanches. “Uh, hello, officer.”

“Miss?” a low voice interrupts.

Shit.

With a fake smile, I turn around, trying not to cower. “Uh, hello?”

“Hello,” the officer returns. “We received a complaint.”

“Yup, and he’s right there.” I point to the asshole at the back of the store.

Without following my finger, the officer places his hands on his hips. “Yes, well, I’m sure there are two sides to every story?—”

“Yeah, and I have the right one,” I interrupt. “I’m sure there’s a camera in here somewhere to prove it.”

“And we’ll be sure to look into that,” he placates, though he doesn’t back away or even give the asshole a second look.

Fighting my annoyance, I reply, “You do that.” I turn back to the front of the shop, preparing to pay for my things and get the hell out of Dodge as quickly as possible because a confrontation with the fuzz wasnoton my bingo card for today.

“Miss, are you the, uh, the owner of this card?” The officer reaches for the black card on the counter and lifts it into the air, reading the owner’s name out loud. “Paxton Turner?”

Well, shit.

Buzzing hits my ears while I stare at the officer’s mouth, trying to read the words coming out of his lips since my hearing has apparently decided to exit the building.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

“This card,” he repeats. “Does it belong to you?”

“It sure does,” I lie.

“Then, I assume you won’t mind showing me your ID with the same name on it.”

Well, double shit.

“I, uh, I don’t…”—I give Rory a panicked look, my calm facade cracking like an overcooked cookie—“have it with me at this time, but?—”

“Is it stolen?” he demands.

My eyes bulge. “No, of course not!”

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