The Criminal

Ch. 17: Touch her and I'll kill you.

I fly around my apartment, shoving anything and everything I might need into my bag. I slept through my Monday morning alarm and am now approximately fifteen minutes behind schedule. Normally, I wouldn't mind but I've got a client first thing and I hate being late. Hunter is still fast asleep on my sofa, making it difficult to navigate around my apartment. I attempt to be as quiet as possible but being in such a rush makes it difficult.

"Fuck!"

I stub my toe on the coffee table and silently scream through my pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"I thought we agreed not to," teases Hunter, now awake.

He's always so beautifully dishevelled first thing in the morning. His hair is such a mess and the floral pattern on my cushion always imprints onto his cheek. It's cute, but I remind myself he's off limits. Saturday night was a blip in our agreement. We've yet to address it, but I'm putting down to nerves and curiosity. Really, I was only getting him to show me what it feels like. I can argue it was for educational purposes.

"I stubbed my toe!"

He laughs.

"It's not funny, dickhead!"

His smile is devastating.

"I'm late for work," I announce, grabbing the last of my things. "Don't bail on our session, or else!"

"Or else what?"

I launch a cushion at his head. "Or else I'll fuck you up!"

He quirks a brow and smirks, which I chose to ignore. Instead, I close my front door and sprint for the bus, instantly regretting today's heels. I somehow make it—despite traffic—and get to work before my client shows, though not without consequence. My hair is a mess and I'm pretty sure I have sweat patches under my armpits.

"Nicole?"

"Yeah."

Hayley smiles. "Here!"

She tosses me a hairbrush and a can of deodorant.

"I LOVE YOU!"

She smiles, in a much better mood today. Our deleted files have been retrieved, sparing her guilt. I've not had the chance to share the news with Hunter, though suspect he'll know soon enough. Nothing seems to get past Murphy and his men. I doubt he'll be happy about it, but I can't think about that right now. Suzie—my next client—deserves my full attention.

"Your nine O'clock is here," informs Hayley.

I run the brush through my hair and spray myself, shoving both items into my drawer when done. I then collect Suzie and settle her into our session, starting her off with a gentle guided meditation.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Better," she admits through a yawn. "The baby kept me up last night."

Her daughter—Grace—is three months old.

"Ah, the joys of parenting."

She laughs, hiding another yawn. "Do you have kids?"

"No, but I have a niece."

Suzie smiles and it's huge.

"How did the job interview go?" I question.

Her smile soon disappears, replaced instead with a frown I can't help but think is adorable. "Not great. They asked me about my prison sentence, and I overshared."

"What did you say?"

"That I was a recovering drug addict."

"Okay."