She falters but recovers quickly, leading me to the booth. Smart girl—she knows money when she sees it. I slide in, unbuttoning my suit jacket, eyes never leaving Wren.
She hasn't noticed me yet.Good.I want to watch her, study her in her natural habitat before I rip her out of it forever.
My dossier on Wren Calloway is comprehensive but clinical. Twenty-two. Orphaned at seventeen when her parents died in acar crash. Community college dropout due to financial hardship. Currently working three jobs to make rent on a studio apartment in the worst part of town. Sixty-two thousand in student loan debt despite never finishing her degree. No boyfriend. No close friends except a roommate who moved out two months ago.
The facts don't capture what I'm seeing now—the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating, the genuine smile she gives to the elderly couple at table seven, the slight wince when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She's been on those feet for hours.
My whiskey arrives. I take a sip without tasting it, watching as Wren approaches a table of three men in business casual. Weekend warriors slumming it, pretending they're not middle management drones with mortgages and nagging wives. They're already drunk, laughing too loudly, taking up too much space.
One of them says something to Wren. She shakes her head, that smile now forced and tight. He reaches for her, fingers brushing her arm, and she steps back. My blood turns to lava.
I'm halfway out of my seat when a manager intercepts, directing Wren to the service bar. The men laugh, high-fiving each other. I memorize their faces, already planning their financial ruin. By Monday, at least one of them will be unemployed.
Wren disappears behind the bar, and I force myself to sit back down, to breathe. Patience. I've built an empire on patience.
Twenty minutes pass. I nurse my drink, decline a refill. Wren emerges from behind the bar carrying a tray of colorful cocktails, heading for a bachelorette party in the corner. She has to pass by the trio of assholes to get there.
It happens fast. One of them—balding, wedding ring indentation visible even from here—sticks out his foot. Notenough to trip her completely, but enough to make her stumble. Drinks slosh over the rims of the glasses. The men snicker.
Wren recovers, continues on. Delivers the drinks. Turns to head back to the bar.
Balding Asshole reaches out, grabs her wrist. Yanks her toward him. Says something in her ear that makes her face drain of color.
I'm moving before my brain fully registers what I'm doing. The room blurs around me, sounds fading except for the thunder of my pulse. Three seconds to cross the floor. Two seconds to reach their table.
One second to wrap my hand around the fucker's throat.
"Let. Her. Go." My voice is deadly calm.
His eyes bulge as my fingers tighten. Slowly, his hand releases Wren's wrist.
"What the fuck, man?" one of his friends says, half-rising.
I don't look at him. "Sit down before I decide to make an example of you too."
Something in my tone—the promise of violence barely contained—makes him sink back into his seat.
Balding Asshole is turning purple. I ease my grip just enough to let him suck in a breath.
"Calvin," Wren whispers beside me. "Please."
The sound of my name on her lips only fuels my rage. This piece of shit dared to touch what'smine.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask him, voice low.
He shakes his head, eyes wide with fear.
I lean in close. "Calvin Mercer. And I've just decided to buy this place, fire the management that allowed you to put your hands on this woman, and ban you for life. But that's tomorrow's problem." I tighten my grip again. "Tonight's problem is that you touched something that belongs to me."
"I didn't?—"
"No one touches my little girl," I growl, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "No one."
His friends are backing away now, hands raised in surrender. The entire section has gone quiet, all eyes on us.
I release his throat with a shove that sends him sprawling against the booth. "Get out. All of you."
They scramble to comply, throwing cash on the table, avoiding eye contact with anyone. As Balding Asshole passes Wren, he opens his mouth as if to say something.