There is something there and when I see her again, I swear I'm going to get to the bottom of it.
"Can I take away the edge tonight?"
I glance up at the soft sultry voice and find Venus staring down at me. Her fiery eyes shine in the dim lighting of the room and a wicked smile spreads across her face. Under normal circumstances, I would be all over that. Venus is the perfect club girl: does whatever you want, without complaint. We have history, but tonight, my thoughts are with Jasmine. "Nah. Not tonight."
She nods once, her brow furrowing. "Okay." She runs her hand down my arm. "If you need me, you know where to find me."
I did, but I knew I wouldn't be going to see her tonight.
Or any night soon.
***
Fucking morning traffic again. I race into the club, rounding the hallway corner I bump into something, then I hear a squeak. Grabbing her arm, I hold her up to keep her from falling over.
"Jasmine?"
She jumps out of my grasp and rubs her arms, looking everywhere but directly at me.
I smile, my first genuine one in days. "Welcome back. How are you feeling?"
When she finally looks up at me her stare is blank. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking." The robotic tone of her voice throws me. It's like she's been trained; told exactly what to say and when to say it.
"Come," I finally say, taking her hand in mine. It's a bold gesture but I hope that voicing it as a command will make it easier for her to comply.
She flinches at the contact then slowly relaxes under my touch. My large hand envelops hers and I can't help but think how good this feels. Her skin is smooth in comparison with my weathered hands, but I like the way her fingers look linked with mine. We walk into the office and she drops my hand and walks straight to the desk, rifling through the piles of new invoices that came in yesterday. She works silently, diligently.
"How's the home life?" I ask, finding myself needing to talk to her. It doesn't matter what it's about, I just want to hear her voice. She hasn't spoken much, but what little I've heard, I've liked. I'm pretty sure she could read the damn phone book and I would be happy listening to the words leaving her full lips.
"It's fine." Her response is brief but I notice a twinge of fear in her eyes. They dart around the room almost as if looking for someone else. She moves away from me, putting space between us.
She's shutting down.
I just don't know why.
I decide to dive right in and ask what I really want to know. I'm not the kind of guy to beat around the bush. Whatever I'm feeling I want to know if it's a waste of time. "Are you single?"
"Why do you ask?" she asks, her voice small. Her teeth gnaw at her bottom lip as she stares at the carpet.
With two long strides, I close the space between us and look down at her, my finger hooking under her chin and lifting her eyes to meet mine. I graze my thumb along her full bottom lip releasing it from her grasp. "Because I want to know what kind of competition I have."
Her eyes go wide. "I'm not single."
I search her face for a sign. Something that will give away that she is happy, that she's in love with the person she's with.
I see … nothing.
Her face is blank.
Her gaze is hard and cold.
What the hell has happened to her? She is young. Way too damn young to be so bitter. "How long have you been with him?"
"A while," she whispers and looks away from me.
Nodding once, I drop my hand.
She turns, giving me her back. Her way of telling me the conversation is over without confrontation. It pisses me off, but I have to respect that she's in a relationship. I should back off. That would be the right thing to do.
She gestures to the paperwork. "Where would you like me?"
On my lap, straddling me.
Your mouth on mine.
My hands roaming all over your body.
I clear my throat, pushing everything I'm thinking out of my mind, trying to remain professional. "On the couch is fine."
Why she even asks is starting to wear on me. Not because she asks for permission, but because it seems like something, or someone, has made her believe it's the way she should live. I've seen the signs before. The nervous way her eyes scan the room, or how she jumps at every contact. How she avoids speaking about herself, as if she isn't important.
"I'll be right back." I head to the kitchen and make myself a coffee needing to be out of that room and away for a minute.
Walking back in the room Jasmine's head is bent over our inventory list, her mouth wrapped around the end of the pen she's using to match items to the supplier invoice. There are tiny creases in between her brows and her knee bounces lightly. She's fascinating to watch. I don't think I've ever paid this much attention to how someone reconciles stock before. I leave the room, returning with a coffee in each hand. I nudge her foot with mine and she jumps.