5. Emily

Ihalf expect Ethan to throw me out on my ass when I show up for my shift at Cucina Amore, but it's like nothing happened the night before. He only gives me a look like he's never seen me before then assigns me some tables and throws me to the wolves like usual, and I don't mind one bit.

Rachel's working too. Apparently, she made up with Danny after their fight the night before, and he put hands on her once again, but this time she says it with a big wink and a huge grin, which I guess means Danny's magic dick solved all their problems. Good for them. I'm not super into joking about domestic violence, and I wish she'd dump that freaking asshole, but she's the sort of person that has to get to there on her own. I'm here when she's ready though.

The tips are good tonight. Maybe it's because I rolled the dice and wore a lower-cut dress than usual. After seeing my father's empty refrigerator, I'm doubly motivated to earn as much spare cash as possible. Though if I'm being honest with myself, maybe I dressed a little sexier than usual because I kept thinking about Mr. Bianco and those big hands of his, that low voice, those gorgeous eyes, the perfect stubble on his chiseled jaw, his plump red lips ripe for riding.

I'm at the lowest point of my life, and I'm pretty sure the bank's going to foreclose on my childhood home, but I somehow have time to fantasize about an attractive stranger.

I still don't get why he covered for me. Everyone in that room knew I was lying about cleaning the floor, and the way Ethan talked to Mr. Bianco made it seem like he was some serious hotshot.

And yet he let me go.

Now I want to see him again. Him and his sex bag.

But those are thoughts for another version of me. Somewhere in the space-time continuum, maybe in an alternate universe, there's a version of me that got her shit together after high school and went to college, that didn't float from one dead-end job to the next, only to find herself desperately fighting to take care of her elderly father. Maybe that version is happy and has friends, and maybe that version can spend a little excess energy dreaming about steamy one-night stands with hot-as-sin rich guys.

That's not me though.

All I get is sore feet and an aching back and older every day.

It's a decent night though, all things considered. Rachel talks my ear off about how Danny promised to take her on vacation to Disney—horror of horrors, those two stuck at Disney for an entire week—and the tips continue to roll in. I get some friendly, appreciative looks from my male customers, and those looks are mostly aimed at my boobs, which is fine, that's what they're there for, and all in all I find myself with a decent wad of cash at the end of the evening.

I'm closing, like always, and there's a part of me—psychotic, insane, unhinged, deranged—that wishes Mr. Bianco would show up again. Maybe I could crawl into the office and try to steal from the cash bag again, except I'm pretty sure I can't get away with that twice. No, a bank robbery is in my near future.

"Night, girl," Rachel says out front as Ethan locks the doors. He nods and heads off to his car, walking with his hands shoved in his pockets. Rachel gives me a quick hug. "I'm going home, making Danny rub my feet, and drinking an entire bottle of wine."

"Lucky you. I'm going home, passing out, and waking up in approximately four hours for my next shift."

Rachel sighs and gives me another, tighter hug. "It'll get better," she whispers. She knows something's up with my family finances, but I haven't given her all the details. If she knew how bad it was, she wouldn't say something so patently wrong.

I watch her head off into the night before walking to my car. I'm parked on the far side of the lot, and there's a part of me that's disappointed.

I wanted to see Mr. Bianco again. I wanted him to swoop into the restaurant with his black duffel bag slung over one shoulder only to drag me by the arm into the back alley. I wanted him to proposition me, spend a night with me and find out exactly what I use this kinky stash for. I wanted him to fist my hair and kiss me and ravish me up against the wall of the alley, and maybe he could shove the gag in my mouth or tie my hands behind my back, just a little casual play, that's all, not asking too much.

Instead, I'm back to my normal life.

Except there's something different about my car. I slow then stop and stare as the driver's side door opens and a man gets out. Of my car. I look around, wondering if maybe I'm looking at the wrong twenty-year-old Honda Accord, but no, that's absolutely mine.

And Mr. Bianco was sitting behind the wheel.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my mouth wide open, and suddenly all my stupid sex fantasies don't seem so great anymore.

Not staring at the man in the face.

That chiseled jaw, those hard eyes, his roguish smile like he knows he was being bad but doesn't care that I caught him. His head tilts as he comes around the front of the car and saunters closer.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says.

And a little voice in my head screams: less talking, more tying me up and fucking me!!!

"You wanted to talk to me by breaking into my car?" I step back from him and look around, but Rachel and Ethan are both already gone. Not that they'd be much help. "You realize that's weird, right?"

"I haven't broken into a car in a while. I just wanted to see if I could still pull it off." He makes a disappointed face. "It wasn't even hard."

"Oh, sorry my car's security let you down." I throw my hands up. This guy is absolutely insane. "Seriously, this is an enormous violation. Like, you crossed a whole host of boundaries just now, you realize that, right?"

He looks back at me and doesn't seem fazed. "Like I said, I want to talk to you."

"No, thanks. I'm going home." I brush past him and head toward the driver's side.

"I have a proposition."

His voice is silky and commanding, and I swear my core clenches, which is not something I'm proud of, but I can practically hear that man telling me to get down on my knees, and I'm pretty sure I'd do it.

"Save it for someone else," I say, reaching the door. I swear, I locked this thing before going inside. "I don't care what you do with your sex bag, Mr. Bianco, but it doesn't involve me."

"Simon," he says, standing against the passenger side door. He leans his forearms on the roof. The guy's massive with shoulders like bowling balls. "My name's Simon."

"Oh. Okay. Good for you. I'm still leaving." I grab the handle and yank the door open.

"It's not a sex bag," he says, sounding casual as he glances at his hands, looking bored. "Just so you know."

I pause, hating myself for taking the bait. "Like I said, I'm not trying to judge you. I mean, I have certain interests too, but—" I bite my tongue because my god I don't need to start telling this guy about my kinks. "Seriously, I don't care. I just want to go home."

"I'd happily use what's in that bag to bind your ankles together, and I'd strap that ball gag to your mouth, but I told you, it's really not for sex."

I take a ragged breath, because Jesus, the thought of him tying me up has been a constant fantasy all day, and hearing it from his dirty mouth only makes me freeze like a prey animal.

"What's it for then?" I ask, and I know I'll regret it, because if that bag isn't for fucking then it's for something even worse, and I don't want to know.

But Simon leans closer.

"Those weren't sex toys, topolina. Those were for kidnapping. I can understand how you confused the two, but I assure you, the person I tied up last night didn't enjoy it one bit."

I start to hyperventilate, because yeah, that's exactly what I didn't want to hear.

This is too much. This is way too much. Simon just admitted to kidnapping someone, and I have no clue how to process that. I wish I could open up a huge pit in my brain and toss the last twenty seconds into a deep dark hole then cover it up with a sign that reads Do Not Remember, For The Love Of Your Sanity, He's Not Hot Enough, Don't Do It, but the sign would be a lie.

He's definitely hot enough.

"What do you want from me?" I manage to croak, feeling a horrible mix of terrified and sick.

"I only want to talk. I promise, I left my bag at home." He smiles, but it's not comforting, not even a little bit. "You were trying to steal from me last night. No, don't speak up, I don't want to hear you deny it. That will only annoy me. In exchange for showing mercy, I want you to hear me out. I need a half hour. I'll take you somewhere public. And when I'm finished, you can drive home, regardless of what you decide." He opens the passenger side door. "I think that's more than fair, topolina."

More than fair. More than fair. I think that's more than a nightmare. All my pathetic horny energy is gone, replaced by sheer and total fear, an icy lance of it stuck down into my toes. He's looking at me like he's having a good time, but this is a man who could crack my spine with his bare hands. This is a man who admits to kidnappings, who carries around a bag for that express purpose, and who really did catch me trying to steal from him.

I could run. Turn around and try to get away. I'm pretty fast. Going for a run is basically my last form of self-care, and I might be able to escape. But if I don't and he catches me, I think all this talk about having a conversation will be gone, and much worse will happen.

I could scream. I could beg. Or I could go with him and listen to what he has to say.

So far, he hasn't tried to hurt me. Sure, he broke into my car, but what's a little grand theft auto between pals? He did catch me elbow-deep in his stuff, his kidnapping bag, and we both know what I was really looking for. He could nail me for that. He probably should.

Instead, a conversation.

"Somewhere public," I say, meeting his gaze and holding it. My life can't possibly get worse. What's the harm in this?

"Scout's honor." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "Come on, topolina. We can do this the easy way and drive over together, or we can do it the hard way, and I can show you exactly what kind of kink I'm into." He licks his lips to emphasize his point.

Oh my god.

I could scream. I probably should. I mean, there's a man threatening me with kinky sex and licking his lips at me in a dark parking lot.

Too bad I'm extremely into it.

I'm apparently both desperate and brainless. Not a great combo.

I look over my shoulder. There's nobody around. Nobody to help, nobody to care. Not that they would anyway.

I don't trust myself to reply, so I get in and start the engine, my cheeks burning pink.