Page 3 of Fletch’s Protection

“Sure, Cupcake.” He glances down my body slowly, but it’s not creepy. His expression is warm. “Now, can you ring these up?”

He’s holding up the packet of bolts.

Cupcake.

He really went all in on the fake boyfriend thing. I take the bolts and he follows like the world’s largest guard dog.

The whole time I’m ringing up his purchase, the man burns Clark up with a glare. The other clerk, Sadie, watches from her station like it’s a soap opera.

The tension in the building gets hot enough to crack the windows.

As if there isn’t enough madness, my boss appears in the doorway to the break room where he lounges for hours at a time. His gaze bounces between the biker, Clark and me.

Oh no. I can already tell this isn’t going to go well. I didn’t think my heart could sink any lower, but it does.

“You know what, Mari?” His face reddens as he straightens his Gary’s Hardware shirt. “We don’t want this kind of trouble here. You’re fired!”

The packet of bolts falls out of my hand and hit my big toe. But all I can hear is Clark laughing.

2

Fletch

Fucking hell. He fired her.

First things first. I get in the grimy bastard’s face. “Back off. One more sound out of your mouth, you’ll be eating teeth.”

The boss puffs up more, clucking his tongue like a chicken. “Clark, you boys come with me, and Mari, I’ve got a document for you to sign.”

“She’s not signing shit,” I fire back.

His mouth snaps open, then closed. “Then she’s not getting her last paycheck.”

“Fine. I’ll cover it.”

Clark whistles and laughs as he and his guy follow the boss toward a set of swinging doors. He takes one last look at Mari, “You’ll be seeing more of me, girl.”

Goddamn. I’ve never wanted to break someone in half so bad in my life.

The other woman shuffles out from behind her register. “I’m sorry, Mari. Good luck.” Then she follows the men toward the back.

What the fuck is wrong with these people?

Mari stares into space, her teeth sunk in her bottom lip, her arms are limp by her sides as she stands behind the register.

“Cupcake, let’s get you out of here.”

“I got fired. Canned because he harassed me!” Her eyes mist at the corners as she shakes her head.

“Fuck them,” I grunt. “Let’s get you out of here. Now, get your things together.”

“What? What did you say?” she asks, shell-shocked.

“Purse, cell phone, coat. What do you have with you?”

“Oh. Uh. My purse is the only other thing I have. It’s under here.” She reaches below the counter and pulls out a small leather bag.

Looping an arm around her neck, I guide her toward the door. “You like coffee?”