Desperate

VERONICA

“He’s the devil in disguise,”

A snake with blue eyes,”

And he only comes out at night,”

Gives you feelings that you don’t want to fight,”

You better run for your life…”

– Carrie Underwood

I was piling up stacks of newly published books on the counter of the bookstore I worked at when my coworker Patty decided it was time to take a break.

“Cover for me!” she said, her voice as commanding as ever. I had to grit my teeth so I wouldn’t yell at her or something.

She always knows just when to take breaks, right when the store is about to be packed! Bitch.

Cursing her inwardly, I nodded curtly and in the next thirty minutes I had to run from place to place to help the other workers who had their hands full of customers.

I could only do so from behind the counter, though, since I couldn’t really leave it.

I was so busy sliding credit cards and calculating how much change I needed to bring back that I didn’t notice a certain someone entering the store.

I was preoccupied, working like a charging machine, that when that same someone’s turn came to buy a book, I didn’t register who it was.

First, I noticed the book they held. Unlike the other customers, whose choices were predictable and boring, this someone’s book was unique.

My eyes widened behind the glasses I only ever wore at the bookstore, and I found myself smiling, despite my rising exhaustion.

“Slater’s Bridge,” I said as I took the book from the person, “that’s a good one.”

“I know,” said a deep, familiar voice that made me freeze.

Slowly, reluctantly, I raised my eyes from the book, and they landed on the blue ones of Jax Cole.

His lips curled a little into what looked suspiciously like the beginning of a smirk and his eyes locked mine in a spell I couldn’t break no matter what.

Stupefied, I could only utter out a soft gasp. What the hell was he doing here? In my bookstore? Of all bookstores around the city, he just had to stumble upon this one, hadn’t he?

Next, I found myself involuntarily checking him out. He looked so good that many women in line didn’t even complain about my hold-up because of his hotness.

With this shaggy hair and rumpled clothes, he looked like he’d just gotten out of some well-pleasured woman’s bed. His skin was just as golden as I remembered, and his eyes…

Oh my God, his eyes…

Had this gorgeous specimen really had sex with me? I couldn’t help but wonder.

He was just too good-looking. He couldn’t possibly want me, and it’s not that I wasn’t good looking myself, it’s just that a guy such as him would find me so…

Immediately, I cursed myself. What the hell was wrong with me? Guys flocked me all the time.

I always see them leering at me, gazing longingly at my boobs. Of course, I looked good. Of course, guys like Jax Cole would find me worthy. I am worthy.

I realized I was staring dumbly at Jax and quickly lowered my eyes and got into motion.

“That would be ten,” I said quietly, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Well, this was awkward, after all.

Silently, Jax handed me his shiny black credit card. It looked like a premium of some exclusive brand, but I didn’t dare to ask, so I just went to grab the card from him when my hand brushed slightly against his.

Electric.

I jerked my hand back so fast that the credit card fell to the floor. Face completely flushed by now, I mumbled a quick, “Sorry,” and bent to pick it up.

Like a coward, I avoided looking at him and just slid the card, did what I had to do, and handed it back to him, cautiously enough so our hands wouldn’t touch again.

They didn’t. Success.

But when I tried to pull my hand back, he grabbed my wrist, effectively stopping me.

Tensing, the skin of my wrist burning under his big, callused hand’s grasp, I jerked my eyes up and found him scowling at me.

Trembling a little for a reason beyond me, I blurted, “Is there a problem, sir?”

Yup. I called the guy I slept with “sir”. My mom would be so proud.

Apparently, Jax found my little slip-up irritating, seeing as his jaw tensed and his left eye twitched menacingly.

“Sir?” he said in a mocking voice that made me audibly gulp.

“I–” I had no idea what I was about to say, but it didn’t matter anyway.

Some guys who weren’t spelled by Jax’s hot magic, suddenly made a commotion about the line not moving.

All Jax had to do was turn his head, give them a stare, and they all shut up, not brave enough to stand up to such a big man like him.

Jax turned his eyes to me, and I suddenly felt all tiny and vulnerable, which was completely out of character. I was taller than most girls, and I was certainly not vulnerable.

I learned some Judo and had danced for ten years. I am flexible, and strong, and believe me, getting kicked by a dancer is not something any of you want to feel.

So, the fact that Jax made me feel like that by simply his intimidating presence made me feel like these man who couldn’t voice their thoughts once Jax gave them the warning glare.

I didn’t want to feel like a coward. I was brave, goddammit!

Besides, it’s Jax. Jax, Oliver’s best friend. Jax, who’d known me for so long. Jax, whom I’d given my first time to. He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.

His grip on my wrist tightened and if his eyes could’ve bored holes in mine, they would’ve.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice silkily low, like a predator in the wait.

Oh boy. What did he want to talk about? Our fling was well and truly over. It’d been three months!

Gathering some crumbs of my will, I lifted my chin and stared deadly in his eyes when I said, “I don’t think so.”

He didn’t like my response. “It wasn’t a question, Veronica.”

Well, well. Someone needed to learn not all girls come crawling on all fours at his demand.

“Let go of my hand, Jax,” I said, tugging said hand. “I have work to do.”

Without hesitation, he let go of my hand. When I thought it was the end of it, he leaned in so closely that his nose was only inches away from mine.

“We will talk,” he said deeply, hot breath on my face. He smelled like mint. I loved mint. “Tonight, when you finish your shift here.”

Not bothering to hear my adamant objection, he turned on his heel and went out of the store, Slater’s Bridge by Dimitri Tanner in his hands.

***

When I finished my shift, I told Patty that she’d close up the store. She moaned and whined, but I couldn’t care less.

I grabbed my stuff, shoved my newly purchased book into my bag, and made the quickest escape in the history of all escapes.

It didn’t help me, though. Once I was out of the store and a block away, a familiar warm hand grabbed my wrist and launched me into a halt.

I turned and saw Jax, of course, with one hand in his pocket, and the other grabbing my wrist again.

Without thinking twice, I said, “You’re going to leave a bruise.”

This time, he wasn’t as quick to let go.

“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring my widening eyes, and led me down the street and toward an abandoned park, where he settled on one of the benches and dragged me along to sit next to him.

“You know,” I snapped, feeling like a child, “there’s a thing called free will. You can’t force me to do anything against my will.”

He gave me a cool arched-eyebrow look. “I just did.”

Cocky, aren’t we?

“I mean it, Jax,” I said and took my wrist back from his hold. “I’m not a puppy you go on a walk with.”

“It was a means for you to not get away,” he said, giving me a hard look.

Smartly, I snorted. “Do you think I’m that much of a coward?”

Pay no mind that I did try to get away.

He gave me another look that told me he thought I was full of shit. I didn’t blame him for that; even I thought I was full of shit. When he didn’t say anything else, though, I started to get agitated.

“What do you want?” I asked, figuring that going along with him would be faster than rebelling. Although rebelling sounded pretty good…

“A few things,” he said, eyes narrowing on me. “First, I have a favor to ask.”

Okay, I didn’t expect that. “What kind of favor?”

“You know I work as a web designer and illustrator for Oliver’s company, right?” he asked, face turning serious.

“I know.” Oliver had mentioned it a few times, pleased that he put in a good word about Jax when he was in need of a job and his boss hired him.

“Good,” he said, “then you’ll understand that the web, like any other web on the internet, has text in it.”

Hearing him explain obvious stuff to me like I was a child made me scowl. “Cut to the chase, Jax.”

“Oliver told me you completed an English degree when you were sixteen in a special program,” he said, “he also told me your biological father taught you Russian and that you’re an expert.”

That’s me, the Russian expert. Spasiba.

“I need someone who knows very good English and even passable Russian,” he continued, and then looked at me intently. “That would be you.”

For some reason, Oliver recommending me to Jax made my stomach lurch. “Don’t you have some English PhDs in that company? Or even out there?”

“We have,” he said, “but none of those know Russian as well.”

Okay, next tactic. “I don’t understand why you need someone who knows Russian.”

Apparently, he had an answer for anything I dished.

“Our company cooperates with a Russian company. Some of their workers don’t know English too well, and instead send texts to us in Russian and expect us to find people to translate.”

“Unfortunately, our past translators had majorly been deleting parts of the texts, and we’re now in need of a new translator who knows Russian as though it’s their first language and is fluent in English.”

“Guess what?” He grinned. “You’re it.”

I was slightly distracted by his dazzling grin. God, but he was one handsome bastard.

Then I digested what it was that he was offering me, and I felt my jaw drop.

“So, you’re basically giving me a job offer?” Like an actual job. Not a bookstore cashier job. A job that I could probably earn a lot of money at.

“I am,” he said, and his eyes glinted a little too wickedly. He saw the dollar signs in my eyes. He knew he had me.

God, but I knew he had me there.

“How much?” I demanded, not caring anymore about him dragging me around or trying to intimidate me into submission.

I even grabbed his hand, almost digging my nails into his skin with excitement brimming deep inside of me.

“You’ll get five grand for each text you translate,” he told me.

My heart almost burst out. “How many texts are there?”

His grin widened. “A lot.”

A lot. Five grand for each. I was going to be a millionaire.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation, clenching my hands even tighter on his poor one. “Oh my beloved Jesus, but yes!”

The smile that stretched on my face threatened to break it.

His grin turned into an amused curl of his lips that I found highly attractive.

“I’m glad you’re agreeing,” he said, and something I didn’t understand flared in his eyes, “because it means we’ll have to work many hours together.”

My dollar-filled bubble snapped, thanks to his needle in the form of words. I jerked my hands away from him.

“What?” I asked, bewildered.

He leaned closer.

“My boss told me I would require to supervise you, at least for the first few months, to see that you do your job correctly, seeing as I was the one who realized the previous texts were poorly translated.”

“I’ll be your primary boss, and you’ll have to listen to every single thing I say and do ~anything~ I order you to.”

No one could mistake the evil gleam in this devil’s eyes.

“Also,” he continued, “you’ll have to spend time with me when I work on the web, because some of these texts would go up on the site.”

“Now,” he suddenly smirked, “that you know all that, is your answer still a booming yes?”

I had no words. My stupidity was so deeply integrated I was slightly disgusted with myself.

He planted the perfect trap: put the big numbers in a neatly woven web, and when the prey comes to take a long, greedy whiff, stick the webs to its body and successfully catch it.

Working with a guy I had sex with. Working for a guy I had sex with.

Spending time with Jax fucking Cole.

It was as if my big No-No about one-night-stands came biting me in the ass.

I’d made it my life’s mission to sleep with random people I didn’t have to see again and then slip away before they regained consciousness after the act itself, just like I did with Jax.

It should have worked with Jax. We weren’t close, we never interacted, even that night we didn’t so much as talk as we devoured each other hungrily.

In fact, in the entire eight years we’ve known each other, this, right now on this bench in this dark, deserted park, was the first time we’d ever had such a long conversation, agitated or not.

All this led me to two confusing questions.

The first was practical: Why me? I’m sure there are tons of Partly-Russian Americans out there who knew Russian just as well as I did and also had a degree in English, or even a PhD.

So why me? Why not hire someone who’s actually professional, and not to mention a college dropout like me?

The second question was closely related to the first one, only much more private. Why did Jax want me to spend time with him? To work for him?

I mean, as I said, there're plenty of other people, I'm sure of it, who could do the same job. Then why did he choose me, out of nowhere?

To say I was confounded would be an understatement.

My questioning gaze must have penetrated because he answered one of my silent inquiries.

“We're in an urgent need of a translator,” he said, eyes a luminous shade of blue, “you're the only one I could think of at such a short notice.”

I called bullshit. “You don't say.”

His eyes narrowed. “I'm not joking, Veronica.”

I didn't think he was. I was simply trying to figure out why he wanted me. Was it strictly professional? Was it because of that night? I immediately dismissed that last thought.

It couldn't be because of that night. It was a fling for him just as it was for me. It couldn't be anything more.

I mean, he was Jax Cole.

He was famous for sleeping around even before we met that night.

I wasn't like those stupid lovestruck girls in those poorly-written romance novels that believe they could change the man-whore they love.

The truth was, man-whores can only change if they choose to, and not by a certain woman or something like that.

Besides, even if it was like in those stupid romance novels, Jax and I only had sex once, after we'd never really talked in all the years we'd known each other.

It didn't, couldn't, mean anything. I wasn't so naïve as to think so. Besides, Jax wasn't a man-whore. Oliver sometimes told us about Jax's supermodel-like beautiful girlfriends.

I even remember one of his girlfriend's names: Annabella.

While Jax wasn't a man-whore, but he also wasn't one to fall head over heels for a girl he'd simply had sex with.

So no, I didn't believe it was because of that night. So why, goddammit? Why?

Jax could probably see the wheels whirling in my brain trying to figure out the riddle of him because he smirked again and stood up.

“Think about it,” he said, “and give me a call when you decide.”

A call. I could give him a call.

“Fine,” I muttered. The whole thing really needed a recalculation on my part.

“Good,” he said, “now let's take you home.”

I was in the middle of standing up when he said that, and it made me scowl.

“I don't need you to walk me home, Jax,” I said, annoyed, “I'm living right around the corner.”

He chose to ignore me and instead started heading toward my house, to my surprise. I then suspected Oliver tattled to him on where I live exactly, and also where I work, so he could play the perfect ambush.

Calling him all kinds of unflattering names inside my head, I followed him quietly.

He didn’t say another word, didn’t even spare me a glance, and only when we reached the entrance of my building, he turned to face me.

Irritated with him and with myself and with this entire evening, I spat an ungrateful, “Bye.”

But he wasn’t having any of it. He suddenly sneaked his arm around my waist, pressed my front so it would line his, and leaned close.

For a moment I thought he would kiss and me shut my eyes tightly, knowing I could do nothing to prevent him from doing so, but then I felt his minty breath on my sensitive earlobe.

“You may’ve forgotten,” he said roughly, quietly, “but I can still remember the taste of you.”

I was shocked into tensing, unable to move at all. The devil chuckled and, in a blur, he was gone, leaving me with weak knees that threatened to crumble under me.

Disoriented, I somehow made my shaky way up to the seventh floor and opened the door to the apartment.

Amy and Nick were in the middle of the dirtiest make-out session ever, but I didn’t care, and neither did they. None of us had any shame left.

If it weren’t for me unnervingly trying to sit straight on the couch right in front of them, they would’ve probably ignored me and continued smooching each other’s faces off.

As it was now, they both parted and turned to look at me questioningly, their bodies still tangled with each other.

When they saw my wide eyes and zipped lips, Nick offered, “What’s wrong, Nix?”

What’s wrong indeed? It’s not the first time someone talked dirty to me. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I’d been hearing dirty talk whenever I slept with someone, like, “You’re so tight” or “You nipples are so soft” and so on. I even talked dirty sometimes just to pump up the air.

So why was I so flustered about what Jax had just said to me?

“Nix?” Amy’s concerned voice finally penetrated my shocked mind. “Is everything okay?”

Without thinking twice, I blurted, “He said he remembered the taste of me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two exchange baffled looks.

“Who said that?” Amy asked.

Jax did. Jax still does in my head.

They saw they didn’t get anywhere with me, and so Nick ended the small chat with a sentence that made me cold to my feet:

“Whoever said that to you, you must’ve left one heck of an impression to make him want to come for seconds.”

Amy and Nick returned to making out after that.

The come for seconds part got to me. Everything made so much sense now, although it still didn’t answer all of my questions. But at least I understood.

Jax Cole wanted to have me in his bed. Again.

“I can still remember the taste of you.”

Oh no.