We didn’t get in touch for several more days after that.
During a break, I was chatting with Caesar and learned he was flying back this evening.
‘A week off once he’s back? And I’m off for the next two days starting tomorrow.’
The moment I told him that, a text came back: “Then should I come over tonight? Once I land, I can borrow my manager’s car.”
‘Not a bad idea. We were going to meet anyway.’
And tonight was perfect timing.
Lately, former athletes and MMA hobbyists kept showing up at the department store to film “picking fights” content. Which meant a foul-tempered bastard like me had to endure strangers’ taunts and insults all day.
I almost passed a kidney stone from sheer stress.
‘…Yeah, I needed someone who could actually talk to me. Someone pretty—and as gentle as they are pretty. Someone who could detox my brain and push out the dogs who left bite marks in my head!’
I welcomed that sudden hit of glucose to my tired body and started hammering out a time. Keep your distance from celebrities? Screw that. If I didn’t feed my eyes and soothe my nerves, I was going to commit a murder by next week.
My shift ended right at seven.
Thanks to the news cycle being consumed by celebrities’ drug scandals, we wrapped earlier than the string of overtime shifts last week.
‘I can actually leave on time today.’
My phone had died, so I pulled it out and plugged in a power bank. The screen lit and a few messages came in.
‘Did Caesar text?’
Captain, Captain.
What are you doing?
Are you off?
Need a running mate?
It was Noah.
Judging by the timestamps, he’d tried me right at quitting time.
‘Texting a senior on their day off? Even if I had something to ask, I’d avoid it out of pure self-preservation.’
He’s got a good personality… but I’m skipping a workout today. I plan to eat something great and pass out.
‘I’ll call later and tell him I’ve got plans.’
Organizing my evening in my head, I trudged toward the parking lot.
‘I parked on this side, right…?’
I reached the far end of the employee lot—and saw a wreck of a car.
…My beloved ride.
“Are you kidding me. What the hell.”
Shattered windshield. Bumper collapsed…
I don’t recall sending my car to the junkyard. How did it end up like this?
“It’s not like I keep anything valuable in here…”
I turned on my phone’s flashlight and looked closer. The dash cam that should’ve been mounted was gone.
‘I literally replaced it a few days ago! Did they do this just to steal it?!’
Or they ripped it out because it recorded their faces.
Staring at the car, I muttered with a sick feeling, “I’m screwed… At this point, buying a new car will be cheaper than a repair. Will insurance even cover this?”
…Whatever. I’ll at least submit it. I snapped photos and emailed them to my insurer.
‘I can’t do anything about the car, so I’ll leave it. Even if I want to call the police, preserving the scene comes first.’
Not that they’ll show up fast… Our store’s had so many incidents that when we call now, the first thing they do is sigh.
‘…They’ll probably yell at me for making them come out for this.’
Fine, leave it.
The insurer will file a criminal complaint anyway to recover costs. No need for me to pile on and get on the cops’ bad side.
With that decided, I pocketed my phone.
“Right… how am I getting home.”
Should I call an Uber? Will I even get one?
‘…Nah, it isn’t far enough to bother.’
I chose my apartment for its proximity to work. It’s a 40–50 minute walk.
‘I run for an hour. Walking is nothing.’
And I’m not pressed for time. If I head home, shower, and dry my hair, Caesar will get there right about then.
‘I’ll treat it like an evening stroll. Fresh air.’
With that in mind, I started walking at an easy pace.
The problem started… not long after I set out.
I was following a quiet stretch on the edge of the road when I sensed footsteps shadowing me.
‘…I told Caesar not to send a tail, and here I am with one.’
Should’ve asked Noah to meet me. If a six-and-a-half-foot (about 2 m) unit had been beside me, the creep wouldn’t have dared.
‘How do I shake him…’
I drifted closer to the roadway, ready to flag down any car if I had to—when a black SUV slid up beside me and honked.
‘Working with the guy behind me?’
I glanced over, wary. The driver tipped his cap just enough to show his eyes—bright silver.
‘Caesar!’
No idea how he knew to find me here, but get in, now.
I yanked the rear door open and dove in. Caesar hit the gas like he’d been waiting for it, shooting down the empty lane.
Wind roared through the open door.
“Are they following?!”
“They aren’t keeping up. Looks like he was alone.”
He tapped the auto-close; the rear door shut, and he eased down to a sensible speed.
“Come sit up front. And buckle up.”
He said it while reclining the passenger seat with one hand to make it easy for me to climb over.
I switched seats and pulled the belt across my chest.
“You saved me.”
“You just about stopped my heart.”
He exhaled.
“I swung by the store since it’s on the way to your place, just in case. If I hadn’t, why were you walking home?”
What did he expect me to do—my car got totaled.
I grumbled, wounded. “They smashed my car. What else was I supposed to do but walk…”
“You should’ve called an Uber.”
“How was I supposed to know I’d be followed?”
“Even if you weren’t, you should’ve been cautious. If you’d gotten hurt, what then? I would have cried three days and nights.”
…Okay. Put that way, I’ve got nothing.
I shut my mouth. He glanced at my face, then calmly shifted topics.
“Judging by the car and the tail, they wanted you on foot.”
“Ah.”
“So they could follow you home for your address.”
He took a tight curve smoothly.
“The one upside is we can finally file for attempted kidnapping or stalking. No clue how seriously the police will take it, though.”
…Did he really just suggest I file a stalking report? Me?
“I’m not filing.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d have to say I escaped in your car… The only thing I can safely report is that someone totaled my car.”
Which could easily be chalked up to a random theft-and-vandalism case.
Still, at least that I can report.
“If I say you saved me twice, people will start making connections.”
He sighed.
At a red light, he reached over and caught my wrist.
“Hun.”
Gooseflesh prickled up my nape. Not from the touch—because of what he called me.
‘Oh, come on…’
In the U.S., calling someone “hun” means “honey.”
‘Sly bastard—pretending it’s a nickname for my name.’
I eased my wrist out of his hand and joked, “Did you just call me ‘honey’? Or were you trying to say my name?”
I expected him to backpedal—“That wasn’t my intention.” Caesar was even more shameless than I imagined.
“‘Hun’ or ‘honey’—it refers to the same person.”
A silent scream clawed up my throat. I wanted to punch him, but unfortunately he was the one driving.
I swallowed my violence for the sake of road safety.
“Let me out. I’ll go home alone…”
“That won’t do.”
“I want to end the date here.”
“Hmm. The date isn’t really the problem anymore, is it?”
He added, utterly unruffled,
“What if we get to your place and someone’s waiting, hidden?”
This time I shivered for a different reason.
Right—he’d just said they probably tailed me to get my address.
‘And if they lost me midway, they might use other methods to track me.’
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
He took in my pale face and added, matter-of-fact,
“Whether it’s fanatics or a hired killer, it’ll be hard to handle without me. Even hitmen avoid jobs when a celebrity’s involved.”
“…”
“Do you really want me to leave?”
God, he’s infuriating. If someone’s scared, don’t beat them over the head with facts—comfort them.
I glared at him, then said something he absolutely wasn’t expecting.