Page 47 of Never Date A Player
Drake lifts his head. He doesn’t look back. He releases the girl and she slips past him, glancing apprehensively my way as she passes.
“Did you miss me, Genevieve?” Drake turns slowly.
“Not particularly. Do you like touching women who don’t want you?”
His face reddens, lips compressing. “Funny, I see you’ve returned for more.” He doesn’t move, and I make sure to stay away from his hidey nook. There’s a black orb nearby, but it’s blocked by a palm.
“I’m going to tell management.” Am I trying to get him to attack me? Obviously, I haven’t thought this rescue thing through.
I take a step back, but my stupid words trigger Drake into action. He stalks me and I take another step and another. My shoulder bumps the palm in front of the surveillance camera. Drake grabs the side of my neck painfully, dragging me into the shadowed corner I avoided.
“Let go of me.” I’m scared, but not mentally frozen for once. I can’t say I’m making intelligent decisions though. Friggin’ mouth! Why didn’t I leave with the girl?
I don’t know what sparked my sudden bravery. Maybe a buildup of humiliating encounters since I arrived in this town, my frustrating feelings for Lewis, all of which may have pushed me from passive to not-taking-it-anymore.
Drake’s fingers dig into my flesh, a reminder of how much physically stronger he is. A whimper escapes my mouth at the pain, not the threat.
“I saw you one night after work.” His eyes travel my body. “At the club.” He gives me a shove and I trip a few steps until I’m as isolated as the other girl was. “I meant to find you, but—I got distracted.”
He’s talking about the night he tried to force himself on Cali? He was looking for me?
My heart races. I glance over his shoulder, but the elevators are empty. Where the hell is everyone? My bravery has its limits. I’d like to remain alive, and the waves of hostility rolling off Drake are not good.
“I enjoy watching you move around the casino, talking to your short little friend, Nessa. She’s not my type. The tall ones put up a better fight. Not you, though, you frighten easily. But now…” He breathes in, his nostrils flaring, before his gaze steadies. “I like the new spunk.” He strokes my arm with the hand that isn’t holding me in place, grazing the side of my breast. I barely feel his touch through the wired bustier, but the insinuation has my throat burning with revulsion.
I straighten. When I’m not cowering, I’m as tall as Drake in heels, though he’s much wider, stronger—I’m not going to think about that. “Let go of me before…”
His eyes widen and he licks his lips. “Before?” He places his hand on my hip, and that’s it.
I lean in, smelling his expensive cologne and sour breath. “Before I knee your balls into your throat.”
Drake smiles, but he releases me and steps back. I’m breathing heavily, panting really. He walks away and points two fingers at his eyes, then the black surveillance orb. “I’ll be watching. Looking forward to our next time alone.”
I threatened to tell management and he’s as concerned as a bear swatting a fly. Why does he believe he can get away with this?
Mason nods as I pass the East Bar to Maryanne’s pit, a concerned look on his face. I ignore him and touch Maryanne’s shoulder to get her attention.
She spins around, her overprocessed dark hair not moving with the motion. “What’s up?”
I swallow, but no words come out.
“Yes?” she says, annoyed.
“Will you watch my station?” I finally manage. “I—I have to file a sexual harassment claim.”
Maryanne didn’t bat an eye when I told her where I was going. She nodded once and said, “You got it.”
Mr. Breadon, the director of human resources, also didn’t bat an eye, which worries me. He handed me a sheet to fill out, then filed it away and told me to take the evening off. He said he’d contact me after he looked into the matter.
There was something so casual about Mr. Breadon’s attitude. I have this awful sense he only said he’d investigate to put my mind at ease. And if management really doesn’t care what Drake does, then Lewis was right: It’s not safe to work at Blue.
I park my car and walk up the drive to the chalet—and spot an enormous tent the length of our patio peeking above the fence around our backyard.
What the hell? I walk inside and set my purse on the couch, then cross the room to the open backyard door. “Cali?”
“Over here.” Her head emerges from the tent.
“What’s going on?” I lean against the doorframe, studying her.
