Page 31 of Hunt You Down

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said, fidgeting with his own drink.

“That’s not ominous at all,” I quipped, tossing him a grin.

“I have a work function next week, and I want you to come with me.”

“That means I’ll meet all your coworkers?” I asked nervously. “As your… boyfriend?”

“Not all of them—that would take forever.” He relaxed me with a smile. “But yes, as my boyfriend. There will be a lot of people there, but you don’t have to meet all of them.”

André paused to let me respond, but my face must have given away my fear.

“I understand if you’re not ready.” He took my hand, soothing me by drawing soothing circles on the back of it. “There’s no pressure, you’re more than welcome to stay in if you want to.”

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to something like that.”

“Would you let me worry about that?” Before I could protest, he continued. “If we’re going to date, and you’ll be coming to work events with me, you’ll need a decent suit. When’s the last time you owned one?”

“I don’t think I ever have,” I confessed. “Unless you count the Easter ones from the grocery store.”

André threw his head back and laughed. “Now that’s a picture I’d kill to see.”

I reluctantly agreed—so long as the price tag didn’t have a comma—but the whole idea still made me nervous. I wasn’t from his world and as I looked down at myself, the fact was only made more obvious. André was the type of man that oozed rich, and my clothes were very obviously old and tattered. It was as if I wore a sign that said I’d come from a history of neglect and abuse.

André’s t-shirt was immaculate; not a spot or wrinkle to be found. The jeans he’d put on were just as perfect. Mine were old and faded from years of use. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought new clothes for myself. The fabric was so thin that I was surprised they hadn’t disintegrated.

In the time I’d zoned out studying every stitch of his clothing, André had stood to collect our food and brought it back to the table. He set mine in front of me, and my mouth watered.

Just what I needed: the greasiest, fattiest burger I’d ever seen. I couldn’t help but immediately reach for it, taking a huge bite. I grunted, grease dripping down my chin. André handed me a napkin and I mumbled something that resembled “thank you.” My mouth was too full for more than that. My stomach was instantly settled, and I hummed.

“Told you,” André said, laughing. “Best hangover cure ever.”

Garbling around a mouthful of food—classy, I know—I told him, “You know you’re legally obligated to bring me here for every hangover now, right?”

“Noted.”

We fell into silence, both stuffing our mouths. Every now and then, André would hand me another napkin. When he nudged my drink toward me, my eyes lingered on his expensive watch glinting in the sunlight. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

“No, that’s not it.” I set my food aside. I was adamant about not being kept; about making it clear that I wasn’t using André for his money, but I definitely couldn’t afford a whole new wardrobe. That said, asking André for new clothes felt ridiculous.

“David, you’re worrying me. What is it?”

“I want to ask you something, but I have a condition.”

“Okay.”

“You have to let me pay you back for it.” André’s brows furrowed, but I continued before he could question me. “Before I say what it is, I need you to agree to that. I don’t care if it takes me twenty years, I’ll pay back every penny.”

“What is it?” André asked skeptically.

“Some new clothes,” I blurted, rambling on. “Maybe a haircut. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb and it’s⁠—”

“Hey…” André silenced my tirade by taking my hand again. “Of course. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I told you: whatever you need, you can have it.”

I glanced down at the empty tray in front of me. “Even another burger?” I muttered, attempting to squash the anxiety churning my stomach.

“You can have as many as you want.” André’s green eyes sparkled. “Tomorrow, once you’re feeling better, we’ll do it all.”

I relaxed, albeit slightly. “Thank you.”