Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

stop and get my own flowers. Purposeful ones, not accidental reminders that I’m alone.

Or I can get a succulent. Those are hard to kill, I think.

I showed them the few other pictures, though there wasn’t much to see.

“Pictures in that hallway will make it look bigger,” Jared surprisingly tossed in.

Meghan nodded. “Same with the dining room area.”

“I love your windows. So much natural light,” Jenna said before inevitably—and thankfully—turning the discussion to her. To be fair, she’d lasted two minutes. It was a new record for her. “I really wish I had my own apartment to design the way I wanted.”

“Why don’t you?” I asked, coming across like a caring therapy buddy and not someone desperate to steer the attention away from themselves.

She sighed dramatically, ensuring she had everyone’s attention before launching in. “I keep telling Dr. Davis I’m ready, but he doesn’t agree.”

“Why do you think that is?” Derrick prompted, trying to lead the conversation into something deeper. If he got her to admit her faults—that her narcissism led to destructive, attention seeking behavior when left unchecked—he’d probably float out of the room on cloud nine with the validation he wasn’t wasting his life.

If that’s what he was hoping for, he wasn’t going to get it. According to Jenna, it was everyone else’s fault. Her loving family. Her friends. Her boss, coworkers, and Dr. Davis himself. If she could find the seven degrees of separation, I was sure she’d blame Kevin Bacon, too.

Derrick hid his dejection when every attempt he made at nudging her toward accountability was swatted away with practiced ease.

The rest of the session continued along the same lines until it was finally time to get out of there. I was up and out of my seat, not bothering with my usual inconspicuousness as I hauled ass to the stairwell. Like a monster was on my tail, I jogged down the steps and out into the lobby before slowing down.

“Hey.” I looked to the side and saw the bodyguard lounging behind the receptionist’s long desk. Slouching, his long legs were spread as he swiveled the chair back and forth. “Where’s the fire?”

Under my skin.

Keeping that thought to myself, I blurted the next thing that popped into my head. “Why’re you here?”

“Work.” His deep voice was teasing when he added, “Don’t worry, I’m not a total stalker.”

Oh.

Right.

Even though I could’ve sworn my anticlimactic climax the week before was the final nail in my fanciful coffin, I was wrong. The crazy part of me—which was the majority of me—had hoped he’d been there waiting for me.

Wow, suuuuuuper stellar day for my ego.

“But,” he pushed his seat back, “I did pick this chair to make sure I saw you before you left.”

Well.

Okay then.

That softens the blow.

Now, to leave on that high note.

“Well, you saw me.” Without another word, I gave him my back and headed for the exit.

“Briar, wait!”

I tried to tell my body to resist his rough voice, but it didn’t listen. My head turned so I could watch him come from behind the desk, his long legs easily eating up the small distance I’d managed to put between us.

“Is there something about my name that makes people want to scream it?” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Or at least phrase it better.

My already burning cheeks felt like fire when the hot guy’s smile turned into a smirk.

“That’s not what I meant,” I huffed.

He held his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your smile did.”

“Did my smile also tell you to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

Yes.

“No.”

My blunt rejection did nothing to lessen that stupidly charming smile. “No it didn’t or no you won’t?”

I knew his shout had garnered attention. I felt eyes on us.

But it didn’t freak me out. It soothed the residual bruising my ego took earlier, and I was proud people saw us.

Fuck you, Derrick. I’m not a pariah or an outcast. I’m not some dirty secret to be hidden away. Someone out of my league does want to talk to me and doesn’t care who sees it.

But he wasn’t just talking to me. He was asking me out.

Again.

Too bad I couldn’t say yes.

“Both,” I answered as I began walking toward the door again.

The bodyguard followed. Not just through the lobby, but out to the sidewalk.

Like he was chasing me.

Like I was worth the chase.

More people watched us. Well, they were mostly looking at him since it’d be hard not to stare. The man wore a gray long sleeve shirt and black slacks with the same confidence and appeal Bond wore tuxedos. But no matter how many people checked him out, all of his focus stayed on me.

It was an unfamiliar but not unpleasant experience.

I wanted more of it.

“Your smile says yes,” he teased.

I fought to flatten my lips into a scowl, but I knew it wasn’t working. “How do you know my smile doesn’t say murder and destruction?”

“And think about how much easier that’d be for you to accomplish if we had a predetermined place to meet.”

No cringing? No concern? Not even a lecture about my black humor?

He can take a joke without reading into it. That’s sexier than him being tall and hot, with a body out of a Marvel movie and a jaw that should be on the contraband list.

Okay, it’s equally as sexy.

A giddy feeling I hadn’t experienced in years—not since the before time—bubbled in my chest. It wasn’t much, just a hint of lightness, but it was enough.

It was like he could read my weakening resolve. “If it helps, don’t think of it as a date. Think of it as a destruction planning session with a new friend.”

“Maybe,” I murmured.

He sweetened the deal that was already a fluffy mound of cotton candy. “You can even pick the restaurant and meet me there.”

I was gonna say no. I should’ve said no. But when I opened my mouth, I blurted, “Mexican.”

“Done,” he shot back instantly. The burn under my skin at the thought of plans flared, but before it could turn into a full