Page 17 of Love Me Stalk Me
I tilt my head. "Why?"
She hesitates. "Because I—" She stops, shakes her head. "Never mind."
I watch her, noticing the way she bites her lower lip. "Eat it."
She huffs a breath, but she's smiling now. "You're a menace."
"I know."
She takes the dessert, lifting the lid to reveal a slice of cheesecake. Her eyes light up despite her hesitation.
We eat, the moment stretching longer than I expected. She relaxes, even if she doesn't realize it. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, her posture softening as she leans forward.
After a while, I set my fork down, watching her. "About earlier."
She glances up, a strand of hair falling across her face.
"The VIP."
Izzy straightens slightly, shoulders stiffening. "What about him?"
I don't hesitate. "You shouldn't put up with that harassment."
She exhales, reaching for her napkin, twisting it between her fingers. "It's part of the job."
"No." My voice comes out harder than I intended, but I don't walk it back. "It's not."
She looks at me, surprise flashing in her eyes. Maybe even uncertainty. The fluorescent light above us casts shadows across her face, emphasizing the tiredness around her eyes.
She swallows, lips parting like she wants to argue, like she's going to tell me she can handle herself, that she's been doing it for years.
I know she can.
But that doesn't mean she should haveto.
So I don't let her say it.
Instead, I push just a little more. "That guy wasn't just being friendly, Izzy. He was testing you. Seeing how far he could go. And you let him think it was okay."
"I didn'tlethim?—"
"You didn't shut him down when he made those comments about feeling 'satisfied.'"
Her mouth snaps shut. She looks down at her hands, her fingers still wrapped around the napkin.
I lower my voice just enough to take the edges off of it. "Look, I get it. You're good at your job. You keep the store running. You de-escalate situations instead of making them worse. But that doesn't mean you have to let these men treat you like that just because they spend money here."
She’s still looking down at her hands, twisting the napkin. It’s a tell. When she speaks, her voice is softer. "You think I don't know that?"
I study her. The small crease between her brows deepens as she frowns.
Shedoesknow it.
She's just been convincing herself for so long thatthis is how retail works,that she's stopped questioning whether or not it should be.
She finally looks up, and I meet her eyes—steady, certain. "You don't owe them your dignity, Izzy."
She blinks, and I wonder if anyone's ever told her that before. The light catches in her eyes, making them shine.
