Page 16 of Ruined
“Were you here yesterday too?” She put up a hand, then turned her entire body away, focusing on her train of thought. “Wait. Don’t answer that. This should have never happened. Dahlia will have to fire all of the assholes working the parking lot—”
I interrupted her: “I was hoping I could take you to breakfast.”
Her mouth fell open. Any sort of attraction from the night before was gone, dissolved underneath the sunlight. I knew it was a long shot. From what I knew, Haley would never agree to what was essentially a date with a member outside of the club.
“Breakfast?” she asked. “You want to take me to breakfast?”
“Breakfast is simple,” I reasoned. “There’s a whole day ahead of us, one where you obviously have a list of tasks to complete. Our time would be limited. There would be little pressure to do anything beyond sharing a meal.” I took my time before adding, “It’s like getting ice cream with a friend.”
She gawked at me. “You were listening to me too?”
“You weren’t exactly whispering.”
She crossed her arms. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to ask someone out.”
“Why not?”
“Because stalking isn’t sexy.”
I had never assumed otherwise. I knew she would be irritated. I would too, if the circumstances were reversed. But her reaction was part of my plan. Overstep, then slowly retreat, repeat, then go at an easier pace, until she believed that she was leading the way.
A smile crept onto my lips. “Tell me, then,” I said. “What would be the correct way to ask someone as bright, and as beautiful, as Ms. Haley Ramsey, out on a date?”
It was a personal jab. Even in an outfit meant to hide her features, there was no denying that she was gorgeous. Many women were. And she was absolutely bright. She had a mind of her own that refused to go soft on.
But the comment was meant to dig at her obvious insecurities of being tied to the Dahlia District. It was clear that she thought herself as better than the club, when she was inextricably tied to it.
“You don’t stalk them,” her voice was harsh, “You act like a gentleman, for starters.” Her rigid gaze narrowed in on me. “Look. I want you to be comfortable enough coming back to the Dahlia District.” We both knew that she didn’t care if I came back to the club or not. All that she cared about was that someone would be willing to pay for her time. But I admired the way she pretended otherwise. The false courtesies. It almost seemed real. “ I know you didn’t mean to upset me. And I didn’t mind—” she paused, “—entertaining you.”
Was that all it was? Entertaining me? She seemed to like it more than that. The flush on her skin. Her parted lips. The way she sucked in a breath when I held the small of her back. Actions that couldn’t be faked. Not even by someone in her position.
“But this isn’t the Dahlia District,” she said. “I’m meant to exist only inside of there. Like a private, nighttime fantasy. This is my personal time.”
“Your private life.”
“Exactly.”
There was something about Haley that I couldn’t pin down.I’m meant to exist only inside of there.She didn’t give herself enough credit. You couldn’t corner a fantasy into a contained realm. That was the point of fantasies.
And yet her need for privacy seemed extreme. I had expected a rejection, perhaps even playful banter that she had scripted for situations like this. A gentle way to remind me of her position. But Haley was more staunchly opposed than I had predicted, and there was more to it than a simple rejection.
Perhaps she was more guarded than I thought. But why hide like that? What was she keeping tucked away, out of sight? What secrets did she keep?
A small part of me regretted following her. But not enough to change my course of action.
She held her arms around herself, her lips opened as she looked at me. We stood in the middle of a sea of cars, the metal reflecting the rising sun. My smile never faded. Each word that she said gave me another clue inside of her mind. The boundaries were there, and I knew I had overstepped by following her.
But now I had another clue: she wanted a gentleman.
Like she could play the role of a fantasy, I could play the role of a gentleman. I got off of the car.
“I should have known better,” I said, tipping my head. “I apologize. I know better than to follow a woman,” I motioned around us, “out.”
Her shoulders loosened in acceptance of my apology. But then she narrowed her eyes. “Has this ever worked out for you before?”
This, meaning following her? I shook my head. “First time trying.”
She rolled her eyes and made her way towards the car. She muttered under her breath: “It’s cliché, you know. Trying to woo a woman by stalking her. Watching me in a white van, and then showing up here. Out of the blue. Really?”
White van? “I don’t know anything about any white vans.”
“Stop trying to fool me, Lucas. You know what I’m talking about.”
The grin spread wider on my face. Lucas. Not Mr. Conway. She thought of me in familiar terms. She had slipped. There was something more between us than she was willing to admit.
She noticed my smile and scowled in return. Before she slammed the car door shut, she corrected herself, “Mr. Conway.”
