Tragic

He's not one of the guys from the alley because they are still across the street. I turn away again, not caring if I was rude because I'm just totally out of my element right now and I just want to get something to eat. A crowd exits the diner and I let them jostle me away from the offended guy and push me inside. When the door closes behind me I let out a huge breath of relief.

Cookie's Diner right now is a haven for me. Some of the sound from outside is muffled and I give myself a moment to relax before the door opens and lets the noise back in.

"Can I help ya, honey?" the middle-aged waitress asks me as I stand there breathing hard.

"Um." Shit. I suck it up and force the words out. "I belong to Ronin and I just want some food to go, if that's OK."

The waitress smiles and winks at someone in the doorway behind me. "She belong to you, Ronin?"

I twirl around, my face hot with embarrassment. And yes, there he is, in all his top-model splendor, except with actual clothes on this time.

Ronin looks at me with a satisfied grin. "That's right, Angie. This one belongs to me all right. And we'll be eating here, so just send Cindy back when she's got time."

And then he hooks my arm around his and leads me towards the back of the diner. "Now, princess, do you mind telling me how you got yourself to Cookie's when I left you locked in your tower?"

"You left me up there on purpose?"

"How else could I keep an eye on you while I went out for drinks? You're not twenty-one, right? No bars for the baby. But I see you are resourceful. I might have to keep the reins a little tighter on you than the others."

I scoff at his boldness as he pushes me to sit in a booth at the back of the diner. Who the hell does this guy think he is? "Look, Ronin, I'm not sure how all the details of this deal will shake out, but I'm just going to go ahead and make one thing clear right now. I'm not in the market for big brother, I can take care of myself, and if you try and lock me in the building again, I'm leaving for good. I don't take shit from any—"

"You all ready to order, Ronin?"

The waitress, Cindy I guess, is standing over us tapping her pen on her little order pad.

"Yeah," Ronin says, clearing his throat. "The usual for me, and bring one for her too, but make it well-done."

"Excuse me! I can order for myself. And I'd like—" I have no menu, so I make it up. "A grilled chicken salad."

The waitress eyes me, then bends down to write her ticket as she looks to Ronin for confirmation. What is up with that?

"She'll have my usual, well-done."

Cindy clicks her gum and walks off, ripping the order off the pad and clamping it up on one of those turn-style things for the cook in back.

"How dare you?"

"How dare I what?" He's grinning at me again and if he wasn't so damn irritating with his controlling bullshit, I might be tempted to gaze at him for a while. His eyes blaze with mischief, like I'm entertaining him or something, and then he leans back, kicks out his legs and pushes them against mine under the table. He drapes his arm over the back of the booth with a satisfied grin and my heart beats a little faster.

He's touching me.

I pull my leg back and he laughs. "Ah, yes, I forgot. Rook, the only model in the history of Antoine Chaput studios who refuses to be touched. You're gonna have to get over that. Real fast."

"How dare you order for me?" I reply, ignoring his flirt, or threat, or whatever the hell that comment just was. "I have no idea what your usual is, and who are you to tell me to eat it well-done anyway? I just wanted a salad."

I get nothing from him beyond that confident smile. We stare at each other for a few moments and he looks me straight in the eyes. Like he can see through me or something. I try to keep his gaze, but I lose the contest and look away first as my heart does a weird dance inside my chest.

"Relax, Rook. This place is famous for their burgers so I ordered you a burger. Well-done, because that's how most people eat their burgers. I like mine medium-rare, but I don't like the idea of you eating undercooked hamburger, so I got it well-done, OK? Do you want me to change the order? I will if you prefer medium or rare or whatever."

I look away, embarrassed. Did I just overreact? Or did he just play me?

There's no time to answer because a girl dressed up like a biker straight out of Sturgis saunters up to Ronin and plants herself next to him in the booth. She ignores me completely.

"Ronin, my love. Does this outfit scream STURGIS, or what?"

It's like she read my mind. A laugh bursts out before I can stop it and the wannabe biker chick shoots me a dirty look.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"We're not casting for STURGIS until TRAGIC is over, Lisa. You'll have to come back in a few weeks."

"Well, I can do TRAGIC, too! I'm tragic, right?"

"Ah, you are, sweetie. But Rook here is our new TRAGIC girl, sorry. That job is taken."

My eyebrows shoot up. "I am?"

Lisa jumps on my indecision. "She's not signed yet?"

"It doesn't matter, Lisa, Antoine and I chose her this afternoon during her test shoot. She's the girl we want." And then he looks over to me and smiles. But this time it's not cocky and bold. It's warm and seductive—a little crooked with a promise of something devious and a hint of dirty in it. Everything inside me goes warm in an instant. "So we'll do whatever it takes to keep her."