Page 12 of Forget Me Not

We’ve decided to settle into a small town near the mountains of Vermont. If it had been my choice, it would be far more secluded than what we’ve been given. Nonetheless, beggars can’t be choosers. While this stay will be longer than those in the past, it’s still only temporary. Once my wildcat returns the favor and gives me her heart, as I’ve done for her, I’ll take her away and she’ll never have to run again.

I’m still at a stalemate because my timing has to be impeccable. Everything up to this point has gone according to plan. I knew one day she’d get tired of giving up her body to men for money while conning her way into a bed so she could sleep.

Rhea is staying at a quaint bed-and-breakfast while working next door at some hole-in-the-wall tavern. It makes me sick to see the strain she’s putting on her body for such a small payout, but it beats what she’s had to do for less in the past. She’s doing well, and from what I’ve seen, she looks happy. Slightly lonely and maybe a little depressed, but that won’t last much longer. Soon, I’ll make my move. I just need to garner a little more patience because the next phase of my plan is the most important.

“Your car is ready, Mr. Banks,” the valet attendant says as I exit through the revolving doors of the hotel I’m staying at. It’s best to keep my distance as much as I can right now while slowly piquing the interest of Rhea. I’ve allowed her to see me, but only for a brief time. I need to play on her mind, leaving a question mark of who I am and where I go when I leave. She’s going to hate it—and me—but much like my stay at this hotel two towns over from Lockhaven, it’s only temporary.

Forgoing the option to have Leonard, my driver, accompany me on this venture in Vermont, I’ve given him some time off and driven my Aston Martin up the eastern part of the U.S.

It’s a twenty-minute drive to the ghost town where Rhea is staying. It’s not the worst place imaginable, but she deserves so much more than what Lockhaven has to offer. The main street runs straight through the town, lined with quaint storefronts, including the tavern where Rhea is working. There's an old four-way stop sign at the intersection, but there are no traffic lights in sight, which I’m not used to. Beyond the buildings, mountains peak up the horizon until they meet the sky.

When I come to the only stop sign in Lockhaven, I take a right instead of going straight, and make a quick left down the alleyway to park in the small lot behind the tavern. I pull up beside a rusted-out, single cab pickup with a deer carcass in the bed of the truck and a green pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. It says a lot about the folks in this town, and I’m not sure how I feel about Rhea getting acquainted with men who walk down the street barefoot, smoking cigarettes while sipping on a longneck bottle of beer.

My girl stands on a pedestal; I know the people in this town don’t hold a candle to her worth.

There’s no hesitation as I whip open my door and get out, my shoes stirring a cloud of dust from the dirt parking lot. Hurried steps lead me to the back entrance that takes me into a small gift shop. There's a wall of used books for sale on one side, while the other side holds an assortment of various objects from homemade candles and bar soaps to gift cards and wrapping paper.

Passing a rack of secondhand tee shirts, I go through the door with a printed sign taped to it that says,Taryn’s Tavern. Where Friends Meet.The hours are listed below, but I don’t give a damn about those. All I care about are the hours that Rhea will be inside this place. And if my schedule for her is correct, she’s here now.

It’s confirmed when I step through the door, and I see her beautiful face taking the order of a gingerly couple seated at a small two-person table. Even from here, you can see the adoration on their faces for each other, and I have every intention of having that same kind of relationship with my wildcat one day. I just have to earn it first.

Sticking to the wall, I make my way to an empty seat and I immediately pull out my paperback novel ofThe Outsiderby Stephen King.

With the book open in the palm of my hand, I read—or at least, pretend to. I’m not opposed to Rhea knowing I’m here. In fact, I want her to. But I don’t want her to notice I’m watching her. This time, I’d rather she watch me while building the intensity of what will soon be our first encounter.

I watch over the frame of the book as she slaps a hand over her mouth at something she must have said. Ithas her cheeks turning a pretty shade of dark pink. I find myself smiling along with her, wishing I could feel her degree of humiliation. I want to feel everything she feels—happiness, rawness, sadness. Only then will I be able to relate to her mental state. And let's be honest, her mental health is shit. If I’m going to spend forever with her, I want to know how to help her with that.

Every move she makes stirs a new emotion inside me. My eyes drag down to her tight, round ass as she leans over the table and picks up the menus. She shouldn't be wearing jeans that are so formfitting. I glance around the room, making sure no one else sees what I see. Scanning their faces, I can see them focused on their food or conversation, which means the men in this place quickly receive the all clear to live another day.

Rhea tucks the menus under her arm, holding them with pressure, then she turns to walk away. Taryn, the owner of this place, bumps her side into Rhea’s, and I straighten my back, still peering over my book.

“Rhea Brooks, is that a real smile on your face?” I hear Taryn say to her. I’m glad she opted to go with her mother’s maiden name. Had she used her given name of Thorn, she might actually be found, and I prefer she remain my secret for at least a while longer. It’s why I’m staying so close and monitoring everywhere she goes. Grayson Thorn may be dead, but he wasn’t the only threat to my girl. And if anyone else comes for her, we’re going to have to run.

A minute later, she’s behind the bar filling a glass of ice. Her gaze slides across mine and I casually lower my book, looking down at it as if I’m reading. As hard as I fight myself not to look, I can’t help it. My eyes lift, catching hers. In an instant, my soul is set on fire. It’s the first time we’ve made eye contact, and it’s everything I hoped it would be.

Like a moth to a flame, she’s drawn to me as much as I am to her. I can’t look away, nor can she. My limbs feel like lead, and I hold my breath, unwilling to make any sudden movement that will shift her attention elsewhere.

I slowly arch my eyebrow, mouth pinched into a thin line. There's no doubt she recognizes the meaning of my expression—do you need something from me, Wildcat?

Rhea is going to hate me at first, I’ve made sure of it. Enemies-to-lovers is a very popular trope, after all. Plus, I know her too well at this point. If I gave her everything she wanted right away, she would run, thinking it’s too good to be true. So I’ll play the long game. I’ve gotten this far on instinct alone, my plan for her is solid. Before she even realizes what’s happening, she’s going to trip that line and fall madly in love withme.

It’s nice to see you, my love. Hang tight. Soon enough, you’ll know all my intentions. Good and bad.

Her attention is snapped away by the water overflowing in her glass. It seems I’ve rattled my wildcat enough for today.

Baby steps. In due time, she will be mine.

Slowly getting to my feet, I slip out the front door when she’s not looking. There's no doubt I left an impression on her, just as I expected.

ChapterSix

RHEA

“Good evening, Rhea.”Gladys’s brittle, low voice hits my ears in a near-whisper as I pass by the kitchen. I’ve learned during my short time here that I have to lean in when she’s speaking because I can barely hear a word she says.

“Hi, Gladys.” I keep my words simple as I backstep to the doorway without entering. If I go in, she’ll likely spark up a conversation about the weather, or how I really should let her steam my tops because the wrinkles areunlovely. Her words, not mine. I’ve lived out of a suitcase my entire life; wrinkles don’t faze me in the least.

She’s whipping a wooden spoon around a large stainless-steel bowl and the smell of garlic floods my senses.

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