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

up for the aforementioned credit cards—which I wouldn’t. Car recalls and warranties, even though I had no car.

Good to see the robot spam callers have branched out to robot spam mailing.

Surrounded by jaggedly-ripped envelopes and crumpled papers, I shook out the catalogs to make sure some hadn’t gotten stuck in them. When I was done—and dangerously close to being late—I grabbed my purse and locked up before hurrying outside.

As I speed walked to my favorite restaurant in the history of all restaurants, I tried to control my emotions. But thanks to the mail, thoughts of my dwindling bank account, and even the disconcerting vulnerability that came from Sue’s well-meaning but invasive picture, I couldn’t settle my mind. I felt exposed and paranoid and stressed.

If I had his name and number, I’d have canceled my date even though doing so at the last minute was beyond rude. Ghosting him would make things a billion times worse, otherwise I just wouldn’t show up.

With no other option, I breathed deep, repeated my control mantra—with my salsa one thrown in for good measure—and kept going, even as the burn under my skin grew.

Turning a corner, I saw him standing in front of the building. Dressed in a sweater and jeans that fit criminally well, he scanned the area. When his eyes landed on me, a grin split his face.

Okay, if nothing else, tonight is good for my shitty self-esteem.

Even though he was already at the restaurant, he walked down the sidewalk to meet me. “Hey.”

“What’s your name?” I blurted by way of greeting.

He didn’t seem startled or irritated. “Alexander.”

“Hi. Sorry, that was driving me crazy. Briar.”

“I know. I heard someone say it at the center.”

“Right,” I drawled, self-conscious about my less than smooth greeting and the reminder of therapy.

“Hungry?”

I nodded and started for the door. When he opened it, gently putting his hand on my lower back for me to enter first, a pleasant shiver went up my spine.

Once we were seated and had ordered drinks, he opened the menu. Likely noticing I didn’t do the same, he asked, “Been here before?”

“A couple times…”

…a month.

Since food and I had a complicated relationship, and money and I had a strained one, I rarely got takeout. When I did, it was always from Loco Diablo and it was always the same order.

Cheese and bean enchiladas, no lettuce or tomato garnish, inferno hot sauce on the side.

Why risk splurging on a bad meal when I could have guaranteed perfection?

And if that guaranteed perfection came at hole-in-the-wall pricing and included free salsa, all the better.

Being on my own turf should’ve grounded me. I had the advantage. But my emotions were still in knots from earlier, and the unease that’d begun to fade grew back tenfold. Another shiver went down my spine, but unlike earlier, it was far from pleasant.

“Briar?”

My gaze snapped to him. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked what you recommend.”

“Oh. Enchiladas. But you really can’t go wrong with anything.”

“You okay?”

No, my boss is a generous and appreciative saboteur who’s made me paranoid.

“Yes. But I might need to hire you.”

He straightened his shoulders. “Then we should turn this into an interview instead of a destruction planning session.”

“Good idea.” The waiter dropped off my soda and Alexander’s beer. I took a sip before asking, “How much experience do you have? Because, like most low paying jobs, I’m looking for twenty years’ experience with methods that have only been around for two.” He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I added, “And by low paying, I mean no paying. It’s an unpaid internship.”

“Of course. And I started my business eleven years ago.”

“When you were a fetus?”

He chuckled. “When I was twenty.”

Wow. He started a whole freaking business when he was a year younger than I am now?

“But,” he continued, “I’ve been doing it since I was eleven.”

“Eleven?” My brows lowered. “Like, keeping kids out of lockers in exchange for their lunch money? Chocolate milk for no swirlies?”

It was his turn for confusion to furrow his brow. “What do you think I do for a living?

“Bodyguard to a tech nerd,” I said before I could stop to phrase it nicer than I did in my head.

Alexander laughed, and had I not been confused, I’d have thought it was one of the best sounds I’d ever heard.

Fine, confused or not, I totally thought it. Just like I thought the easy smile that went with that laugh was both attractive and enviable.

“Close.” His laughter faded, though his smile remained. “But I’m the tech nerd.”

“But that guy with you at the center.”

“Craig? He’s my CFO.” At my slow blink, he clarified, “Chief Financial Officer.”

Financial.

And of course a financial guy would be there since Alexander had donated enough money to the center to warrant a special tour.

I’d say I was surprised since Alexander didn’t look like any kind of nerd—tech or otherwise. He also didn’t look like a mega-loaded guy. He just looked normal.

Well, incredibly good looking and normal, but also apparently rich and selfless and perfection upon perfection.

But my mind was too busy racing to let my shock fully sink in.

“This was a mistake,” I whispered so softly, it was barely audible.

He may not have been able to hear me, but he picked up on my change of emotion. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go.” Bolting upright, I knocked the table in my hurry to stand. Thankfully, the glasses just rattled rather than spilling everywhere and adding to this disaster. “Sorry, it’s just… I have to go.”

“Briar, wait—”

“Please.” Desperation dripped from my words when I added, “Eat the enchiladas,” as if the safety of the world depended on him indulging in their hot, cheesy goodness.

He could’ve followed.

I was surprised he didn’t.

But I was also grateful.

On shaking legs, I rushed outside to breathe fresh air that didn’t feel so fresh. The wide-open space was too small, leaving me fighting to even my breaths as my extremities began to tingle.

It wasn’t the discrepancy in our lives. That he’d launched a clearly successful business when