Page 17 of Blood Sugar

Chapter 5

Midnight Diner

Sadie

Leaning forward, I dragged my finger along the edge of my lip, trying to clean up my red lipstick. It was lighter than the deep burgundy dress hugging my curves. With a grin, I winked at my reflection. I looked like a knockout, and Rowen wouldn’t know what hit him.

On my way to my car, the crotchety old man who ran the motel hollered at me across the asphalt courtyard.

“Missy! Miss Corvin. Hold up, there.”

“Yes?” I said, turning. My nose wrinkled at the way he surveyed my body.

“If you’re going to be staying any longer, I’ll need you to prepay week by week. So you’ll need to come up with that by tomorrow.”

“What?” My fingers squeezed my purse strap hard enough to leave a mark. “That wasn’t what we discussed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s our policy.”

With a huff, I swallowed down the urge to argue. “Sir, my new job hasn’t paid me yet, and it won’t for another week. I’ll pay you two weeks in advance when that happens, plus what I owe for this week. Would that work?”

His eyes glittered at the idea of getting two weeks instead of one. It would take my entire paycheck, if I even got a paycheck, but so be it. This was a temporary struggle. Hopefully after those two weeks, I’d be able to move into an apartment in town.

“Fine,” he snapped, his eyes roving over me again. “Where are you going tonight all dressed up?”

“My new job.”

“Are you some sort of escort or something?”

My teeth ground together, sending an ache through my jaw. I didn’t like anything about his tone or the way he was looking at me.

“It’s none of your business what my job is. But if you want to be paid for my stay, I need to go to work.”

Without waiting for his response, I stalked to my car and slid into the driver’s seat. My heart thudded in my chest, and my skin felt cold and clammy from the confrontation. I needed to get out of there.

My drive into town gave me time to calm down and refocus, and by the time I walked into the bakery, I could smile without it feeling forced.

Seeing Rowen’s expression when he saw my dress made everything better. Time slowed as he turned to face me. His jaw slackened and his pupils dilated. I wanted to walk over to him, frame his jaw with my hands and feel his stubble against my palms. But he wasn’t mine to touch.

But I’d had a taste, and I was dying for more. My fangs ached thinking of our makeout session behind the bar. No matter how badly I wanted more, I needed to focus on my job. That was more important right now. Later, once I made myself indispensable, maybe things could be renegotiated.

“So, what are we doing tonight, Chef?” I asked, smirking at the way his jaw ticked when I called him chef.

“You can do the cookies again, and the quick breads. Let’s go over the recipes together and get started. And I want to show you a few things.”

Rowen shoved another apron at me, and I tied it at the waist before turning so he could tie the neck. A sense of victory swirled in my chest when his breathing stuttered. After a moment’s hesitation, he tied the apron strings, his fingers brushing over my skin and lingering.

I knew what had thrown him off—it was the reason I’d picked that dress. The back had a large heart-shaped cutout that framed my bare back. It was more appropriate for a cocktail party than the kitchen, but I didn’t regret a thing, seeing how dark Rowen’s eyes were when I turned back around.

Rowen showed me how he baked pie crusts before we got into the new recipes. The time sped by, but the quick breads proved more challenging than the cookies. The dough was drier, and flour poofed in white clouds from the mixer every time I added more.

It didn’t take long before frustration was welling up, tearing away my calm facade. Apparently I was less composed than I’d thought.

“This doesn’t look like you said,” I grumbled, peering into the mixer and being rewarded with a puff of flour directly into my face. “Ack! What the hell?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Rowen said, appearing in front of me. His warm hand closed around my wrist, stopping me from rubbing at my face. I couldn’t see his expression through the tears filling my eyes.

“Stop, Sadie. Let me take care of it.” His low, commanding tone had me instinctively submitting, tilting my head back as my shoulders dropped. He muttered a string of words that were definitely not English, and the flour cleared from my eyes. “Better? Does anything else hurt?”