“Coffee.”
“Jake has his new espresso machine in the break room. You’re more than welcome to make yourself some,” he said. “He could use a lesson or two in making coffee.”
I bit the inside of my bottom lip. “Yeah, Cardinal mentioned it was bad.”
“Carrie was being generous. It’s shit,” he deadpanned. “You ready?”
No. There was no universe or dimension in which I would ever be ready to do what I’m about to do.
“What floor is Red Snake on?” I asked, stalling.
“Twenty-third.”
“Oh.” I focused on my hands, lacing my fingers together in my lap as shards of glass poked holes in the lining of my esophagus.
“Hey, look at me,” he ordered, using the same voice from last night. It was like a warm, protective embrace that promised to never let me go, no matter how hard things got. That voice had the power to break down my walls, to convince my psyche to let him see all the broken parts of me—and I had. When I’d come out of my bedroom earlier, I found my blankets neatly folded and perched on the right side of the couch. My living room was spotless. It was like he hadn’t kicked in my door and invaded my life. My stomach had dropped at the sight, and suddenly, I yanked back in time—to the morning after. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the bathroom, and just as I was about to let the weight of him leaving me again crush me, my front door opened.
He’d gone down to the Buoy to have a chat with Joey about my windows.
He refused to tell me what was said during this chat, but he announced that someone would be here on Friday to install new windows in every room.
“Margo,” Hayes murmured, “look at me.”
I lifted my head but stopped short when my eyes landed on the steel doors a few feet away.
Shit.
Shit.
Damn.
Fuck.
“Do we have to take the elevator?” I blurted, trying not to envision the two of us in an elevator…alone. There was just something about them that made my imagination run wild, and I’d shamelessly imagined this bounty hunter and myself being trapped in an elevator multiple times. Too many, if I was being honest. If I had a therapist, out of all my other shit, the elevator sex dream would be at the top of the list of “Things Margo Needs to Heal.”
“Temper.”
Shit.I’d been staring at the elevator doors. “Hmm?” I hummed, feeling heat climb up my neck, spreading in my cheeks.
Hayes raised a brow, his eyes scanning my face. “Do you have a fear of elevators?”
I could say that. Yeah, that would definitely—
“If so, I need you to get over that, because there is no way in fuck I’m climbing twenty-three flights of stairs right now,” he informed me, brushing his knuckle against his nose, glancing at the stairwell entrance.
I—what?
I glared at him. “Last night, you said there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do to keep me safe.”
He clicked his tongue. “Yes, but it’s eight in the fucking morning and I haven’t had coffee. You didn’t want to stop and get coffee.”
“Oh, so Mr. Perfect Top Gun needs coffee to wake up?” I quipped. Before he could reply, my mouth just kept running. I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes. “Jesus, the only reason I said no to coffee was because you’ve already done so much for me and, I have to admit, after our one-night stand, I’m having a little trouble wrapping my head around the fact that you’re as perfect as I imagined. If you needed coffee, then you should’ve stopped for coffee.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep.
Maybe it was the high-stakes emotion I’d been running on for the last forty-eight hours.
Or maybe it was because deep down, I was tired of holding everything in, tired of pretending I was something I wasn’t. I wasn’t the perfect woman who had her shit together, who made good money, and still had the energy to make home-cooked meals more than twice a week. I wasn’t a successful businesswoman like Sarah or Pam—hell, even Cardinal. Her photography business is taking off, and she is handling it with a grace that should be studied. I’m just a small-town barista/bartender with a bad family. I’m no good—