Page 4 of Cursed Love
***
Things were getting weird.
It’d been a few days since the blowout with Greg, and true to his word, he hadn’t returned. While the things in her apartment had stayed in their place, at work, things hadn’t. She also sensed eyes on her at all times as she moved about in the city.
Brandy was on a whole new level of spooked. She seriously considered taking a martial arts class. At the moment, she had no self-defense experience, and she wanted to know something other than the skill of flight.
“What’s your name?” she asked the perky blonde who’d clearly had enough caffeine for the day.
“Candy.”
Brandy stopped short and stared at the cup she held. Forcing her hand to move, she wrote down the name and handed it to the barista. “It’ll be out shortly.”
The door opened for the umpteenth time that morning, but a prickle of unease had her looking up to see who the newcomer was. The man wore a great-looking gray suit, and his dark hair was slicked back. Most of the women in the café stopped and checked out the handsome man. Brandy, on the other hand, breathed deeply at the power radiating off him.
He was dangerous.
She didn’t know how she knew, but her mind screamed for her to be careful and to get the hell out of there. Too bad the line was nearly to the door and her employees were already busting their asses to get through the long list of orders. She needed to help them through the rush.
As Brandy took orders, she kept tabs on the man. She also noticed a few people in the café she hadn’t paid attention to before. Their reactions to the man were… different.
She became more nervous and agitated the longer he was in the café. The tingling in her hands, which had been at a dull hum, was back with full force. Between orders, she ran her hands down her apron, hoping to rub the feeling away.
She was ready to serve him and get him out of there. His gaze was trained on her all the while, and she couldn’t take much more. When he was two customers away, the pen between her and the register rattled against the counter. Covering it with a hand, she hoped no one had noticed it move. With a quick glance around, she found a strange expression on the well-dressed man’s face.
Glancing to the side, she snuck a quick peek at her workers. They were bustling around in a flurry of activity. She wrapped her fist around the pen and mentally hurried the customer between her and the man to make up his mind.
She hated it when customers reached the counter without a clue, even though they’d been in line for ten minutes already. Finally, the man made his choice, so she wrote down his name and handed over the cup.
The dark stranger stepped forward, only the countertop separating them. Brandy was pretty sure if anyone touched her skin, they’d find it on fire and suffer some form of shock.
“How can I help you?” she forced out, hoping she sounded calm—the opposite of how he made her feel.
He only stared back. His dark eyes, like pits to nowhere, were unblinking.
Brandy pushed back her shoulders and tipped her chin up defiantly. This stranger had her internal alarms blaring at maximum, and there was no way she could let him see it. She grew up with six older brothers, and they had pushed her around plenty.
“Sir?” she asked, becoming annoyed as the seconds ticked by.
His eyes flicked between her name plate and her eyes. “An espresso.”
Her fingers went on autopilot at the register. “Would you like any—”
“I saidan espresso.”
The noise around them lowered as curious onlookers watched the exchange.
She raised her head and studied his hard jaw and pitch-black eyes. “Name?” she asked as anger began to bubble up. This man was a grade-A asshole. She knew deep in her heart he was someone to be worried about, but she couldn’t show him that.
The man dropped a five-dollar bill on the counter and walked away from her. Her hand itched to give him an appropriate name, but she stopped at “gray suit.”
“What a dick,” the next customer told her, and Brandy forced a polite smile in return of their accurate assessment.
Working in customer service meant she bit her tongue quite a bit. As the manager, she had to lead by example. Moments like these sucked monkey balls for Brandy. She wished she could slap the man upside the head for his bad manners.
After greeting the next guest, Brandy heard a commotion and excused herself. The man in the suit ran his hand along his hair, pushing the strands back in place in agitation.
“Are you okay?” Erika, one of her baristas, asked him.
