Chapter 3 I look hideous

The bathroom mirrors reflect five faces of myself to me, showing me exactly how flushed I am after that encounter with Mr. Drake.

I know somewhere that I am crossing my lines more than necessary by challenging my boss one night before my workday. So far, from our two conversations, I have managed to figure out that Ethan Drake has five different kinds of scowls.

Unfortunately, they all look the same, and they are all present on his face all the time.

This man has managed to make me more nervous in a span of twelve hours than I have been my whole life. Heck! I wasn't even nervous when I lost my virginity to Braden Taylor in 10th grade.

I sigh at the mirror and then turn the tap on to wash my face. I don't care about my makeup anymore, and if I keep myself adjusted, I will end up drinking some more, and a hangover isn't a good thing early in the morning of your first day at work. If I look worse, I will feel more comfortable leaving.

The cool water releases some tension in my nerves, and when I lift my head back up, my makeup is mostly washed away, bringing my many freckles visible to the eyes. Everything has been washed out except for the waterproof eyeliner.

Thank Walmart for that, too.

Releasing a sigh, I open the door to the washroom to step out. Loud music greets my ears, and I see people being even more drunk and crazier than they were when I left the floor.

I look at the crowd to search for Tia and see her making out with a guy on the dance floor. From here, he looks kind of cute, and I don't want to interfere with her make-out session. Grinning at her luck, I take out my phone and type a quick message to her before sending it.

He's cute. Great catch.

I'm going home.

As I put my phone back into my bag, someone collides with me pretty hard, sending me crashing against a nearby wall. I see spots for seconds as my vision darkens.

"Hey, watch out!" I yell, holding my head as it spins.

The person who collided with me turns. He looks big, old, and completely drunk. He even has his saliva dripping down his mouth to his beard, and is carrying a bottle in his hand.

It's disgusting.

"Fucking bitch! Standing...in the way," he growls at me and steps forward.

I instantly back against the wall when he steps closer and extends an arm to grab me.

"Hey! Move away!" I try to walk past him, but he blocks my way and brings his smelly, drunken face close to my own.

His hands are on my arms, hooking into my neckline as he tries to tear it open.

"You'll do for tonight," he slurs, dripping booze down his mouth.

I try to reach for my sling bag, where I always carry pepper spray, but his body pushing against mine leaves me without space. My arm is crammed between his body and the wall, and the pressure of his weight knocks the breath out of my lungs.

I don't even realize when I start to cry, but as I push against his chest hard, I find fat tears moving down my cheeks.

"Let me go!" I sob, crying against his assaults.

No one seems to be coming to my rescue. Everyone is drunk, and it is late, and my best friend is lost in kissing. No, this can't be happening. I can't be getting raped in the middle of a party.

As the man reaches for the hem of my skirt to push it up, a hand slaps on his T-shirt, pulling him off me in one swift force.

I gasp, feeling the relief of his body being lifted from me before my sight clears, and I see the person who saved me.

Ethan Drake pushes the guy against another wall, and as I watch, his fist comes up, hitting the man hard against his cheek. The force is so strong that the man falls to the floor, slurping and becoming unconscious within a second.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, unable to believe that someone's one punch can have so much power.

I look up at Mr. Drake as he releases his hold from the guy's T-shirt and corrects the creases in his suit like a gentleman. A few drunken people who had been paying attention to the scene cheer at him before walking off.

He turns to me, and I find his strong gaze keeping me rooted in place.

"Miss Lucas, are you okay?" he asks, taking a step toward me.

"Yeah...I think I am," as I speak the words, my head hurts, and the floor beneath my feet rocks.

I stumble, falling, but his arms catch me, and before I can stop him, Mr. Drake is scooping me up in his arms swiftly.

"Hold on, Miss Lucas. Seems like you have got a concussion. Would you like me to take you to the hospital?"

I don't know what he expects me to answer because my brain has completely stopped functioning. From here, I can only see his deep eyes gazing into mine with concern and the feel of his hand under my bare knees. The skin burns so much at the heat of his contact that it feels like I would be left with an imprint of his hand tomorrow.

My arms are around his neck, and I am unconsciously staring at his lips.

"Miss Lucas?" His deep voice knocks me back to my senses, and I look around us to see the floor completely packed.

No one is paying attention to either of us or to the man who is knocked out flat on the floor.

"No, thanks..." I blurt, my voice sounding lazily drunk. My cheeks flush in embarrassment. "I'd like to go home, please. Would you call me a taxi?"

I request him as if it is a casual favor from a stranger and not from someone who is literally in his arms. My mind is too dizzy to ask him to put me down right now. Don't know what other morons I will end up encountering if he does.

Mr. Drake looks at me darkly and then he adjusts me in his arms, such that my head is lying on his shoulder. With a strong flex of his muscles, he begins walking while I shamelessly lie as a caterpillar in a cocoon. My hold around his neck tightens, bringing me close to his musky scent of beer and sandalwood.

He walks us out of the bar, but instead of calling for a taxi, he begins to carry me towards a car.

An Audi

"Umm...Mr. Drake?" I murmur against his shoulder.

"Yes?" he asks, continuing to maintain that scowl.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Depends on where you live, Miss Lucas."

"Where do I live?"

He stops in front of his car at my question and raises an amused eyebrow at me. Even from this angle, the eyebrow looks angry.

Very very angry

"Miss Lucas..." he speaks calmly. "You've managed to get under my skin in the last twelve hours by insulting me, making fun of me, challenging me, and now getting wounded. Do you wish to piss off any further while you're literally in my arms?"

I press my lips to a thin line. What a rude man!

Shut up, Cynthia. This rude man is taking you home.

"I didn't ask you to carry me."

"It was either this or leaving you there to be trampled on by drunken feet. Would you have preferred that, Miss Lucas?"

"No," I huff. "Take me home."

I see him muttering something to himself as he pulls open the door to the passenger seat of his car. With his strong hands, he puts me inside, and his knuckles brush over the sliver of exposed skin of my belly when my crop top hitches up. We both inhale a breath, me out of awkwardness, him, I have no idea why.

He hooks the seat belt around my torso. Shutting the door, he walks around the car, opens the other side, and gets in. As he starts the engine, he takes another look at me, and his frown deepens.

He is either disgusted or troubled. I do believe it is the first. I look hideous.

"Which way?" he asks.

"Drive straight," I say, and then mumble the rest of the address as I lay my head back in the seat, closing my eyes.

The hum of the engine soothes me a little as he drives the car, and soon, I get lost in dreams with the quiet groan of the air coming through the open windows luring me in.

I open my eyes when the car stops with a jerk. Looking at Mr. Drake, I observe him as he gets out of the car and walks around to my side. I watch like a helpless child as he opens the door and stands there, still frowning at me.

"Will you walk or do I have to carry you again?" he grumbles the question out, taking a look at his watch.

I don't know what's gotten into me, but I end up smiling at him and lifting my hands in the air like a child.

"Carry me up, please."

My boss's eyes widen, his eyebrows raising as he takes my posture in. His face changes color for a second, turning a shade pink, but it doesn't miss my eyes.

"Should have taken you to the hospital," he murmurs. "You must have hit that head pretty hard."

He leans down to release my seatbelt. Hooking his arms under my knees and back, he picks me up into his arms again, and I lay my head on his strong shoulder. I swear, this man is made of hot muscles I would like to lick someday.

"Apartment 250," I tell him as he shuts the door and walks towards the elevator of our apartment building.

He keeps his hold on me tight as the elevator shuts and then opens again after some time, bringing my floor into view. I point towards my apartment when he steps out and hear him grumble something again as he walks towards it.

Absent-mindedly, I pull the key out of my sling bag and open the door for him. Mr. Drake enters the apartment and walks to the couch in the hall. He doesn't speak a word as he drops me flat on it.

The moment the soft cushion greets me, I twist and turn, feeling sleepy.

"When will your friend be back?" he asks as he takes hold of my feet and starts opening my heels with gentle fingers.

His touch is warm, making my toes tingle.

"She won't be back," I whisper, eyes shutting slowly. "She got a cute guy. She's going to get banged tonight."

I don't even flush as I speak the words. I hear a soft laugh and look to find Mr. Drake chuckling to himself.

So he does laugh.

"You've no control over that tongue, do you?"

I turn to the ceiling, smiling softly and then wider.

"No," I answer as Mr. Drake gets up and starts to unbutton his suit. "What are you doing?"

I suddenly become anxious, but don't find the strength to say something more as sleep starts to get me deep. He just shakes his head as he gets his sturdy arms out of the suit.

He leans down and places the suit over my body, smiling softly.

"Have a good night, Cynthia," he whispers close to my ear. "You have a long day tomorrow."

As if my body follows his orders too, I quickly lose myself in a deep slumber.