Chapter 33

Being jumped in my own place of employment by a group of drunk golfers wasn’t on my bingo card for the day, yet here I am all the same, facing clubs and fists. All because I wouldn’t let them humiliate my employees and humiliated them instead – by being better at golf.

If they were sober, they would probably realize how asinine this all is. When they sober up later, they might even apologize. I won’t be inclined to accept that apology, no matter how this plays out.

“Gentleman,” I say. “If you could please calm yourselves. We can talk this through.”

I’m not a fighter, never have been. My father taught me to use my words over my fists to get me out of most situations. Usually, it works. This time, however…

The hatred burns in the four rude guests that surround me. Gripping the clubs tighter, they don’t seem like they want to talk.

I swallow thickly, my nerves on edge and my fear rising.

Think fast, Esther. There has to be a way out of this.

Hoping to make eye contact with someone who could come help de-escalate the situation, I look wildly around. But the area these men picked for their attack is fairly secluded. Unless another employee is going on break soon, which doesn’t seem likely, I’m in deep trouble.

“This isn’t a big deal,” I say, holding up my hands. “Why don’t we go back to the clubhouse? I’ll buy you all lunch and we can talk.”

“Not a big deal, she says,” one of the men grumbles. “You made us look like assholes in front of Hugo Harbinger! You think you can just walk away from that?”

I didn’t make them look like anything. They were the ones who abused their caddies and then underestimated me, likely because I’m a woman. They set themselves up to look bad. Even if I didn’t beat them in our challenge, I’m sure Hugo would have still despised them for how they acted.

I would be very, very surprised if I ever say any of these men return to any event after this, whether sponsored by Harbinger News Network or not.

“Stop talking and just hit her, Gary. There’s only one way this bitch will pay for what she’s done,” says one of the other men, a man I recognized as the ringleader from before.

These men clearly are not open to the idea of talking.

Maybe I can run. They are drunk, they might trip and fall. Golf cleats aren’t exactly contusive to running, but I can at least make an effort.

I’m not going to just stand here and let them beat me.

With that thought, I swivel on my heel, about to take off.

I swivel myself directly into a hard chest. An arm slides securely around my waist, keeping me steady.

A feeling of safety and security washes over me. Looking up, I find myself adrift on the blue ocean. I blink, and realize this is Miles.

Did he follow me?

Maybe I should be annoyed. Instead, a rush of relief washes over me. Surely these buffoons wouldn’t continue to attack me in front of a congressman.

“You seem to have a knack for finding trouble, Esther,” Miles tells me, a tight smile on his face.

“Who are you?” Gary calls. “Her pretty boy protector?”

Do these idiots not recognize history’s youngest congressman? Where did Hugo even find these guys?

Miles gently ushers me behind him. “Stay back. I need to take the trash out for you.” With me secure at his back, Miles cracks his knuckles and starts forward.

“Miles, wait!” I call out, but he holds his hand back to me, indicating I should stay where I am. I do.

Gary moves at once, his club raised. He aims for Miles’s head and swings like a baseball bat.

I gasp, frightened for Miles.

Miles smoothly ducks like it’s no effort. Then he rights himself, grabs the club on the backswing and tosses it harmlessly to the side.

He disarms two others much the same way. The men were overconfident, likely emboldened by the alcohol. That same alcohol gives them sluggish movement. Miles moves around them so fluidly, he makes it look like a dance.

The last one left, the leader, seems nervous now, his eyes wide. His golf club shakes in his hand.

When Miles starts toward him, he immediately drops his club. “I’m sorry! I give up!”

Miles huffs a sharp breath at him, unimpressed, then turns his back to walk toward me. Behind him, the leader bends down to pick his club up again.

Fear striking my heart, I dash forward, arm outstretched. “Miles, watch out!”

Miles ducks just as the leader swings. The club misses Miles but catches me on the back of my knuckles. I hiss as I cradle my hand to my chest.

Miles watches me, eyes widening. I swear they turn red as he turns back to the leader.

The leader drops his club again, but Miles isn’t to be stopped this time. He storms forward, fist clenched, and punches the leader square on the jaw.

The leader drops, knocked out cold.

“Get him, and yourselves, the hell out of my sight before I have you arrested,” Miles snaps at the others.

The rude guests move at once. They scoop the unconscious leader in their arms and then scurry away. Drunk as they are, they drop the man a few times on the way to the exit.

Miles doesn’t pay them even a moment’s more attention. Instead, his full focus is on me.

“Your hand,” he says and holds his out expectantly.

My knuckles ache something fierce, but the club only grazed me. Nothing’s broken, I can tell. Still, Miles seems determined, and I know how stubborn he is.

I give him my injured hand. Immediately, he starts to inspect my wounds. Some of the skin has been grazed off of one of my knuckles, but otherwise I’m okay. He doesn’t seem convinced of that though, instead looking at me like I’ve suffered a serious wound.

“We need to clean this up,” he says. “Now.”

That seems excessive, but… well, I suppose with the broken skin, it would be better to be safe than sorry.

“There’s a first aid kit near one of the standalone bathrooms. Here.” I lift my hand away from him and start walking. Immediately he falls into step beside me. He’s watchful, both of me and our surroundings. I appreciate it, though I don’t expect those men to try anything again.

To be fair, however, I didn’t expect them to try what they did last time either.

Maybe Miles has the right idea to be careful.

We find the bathroom. It’s separated into two halves, one for men and one for women, though both halves contain only one single-use stall.

After grabbing the first aid kit from near the front of the building, I head for the women’s room. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Miles and enter.

Miles enters the bathroom right behind me.

I look at him, a brow lifting.

“You’ll need help to clean that properly,” he says, and locks the door.

My heart hammers as he leads me to the sink and starts the water. Gently, he takes my hand and leads it under the water. As I hold it there myself, he opens the first aid kit and removes the cleaning ointment and a bandage.

“Here,” he says, after a moment. I give him my hand and he towels it dry. Then he carefully applies the ointment.

It stings so I hiss. He doesn’t let up, meticulously covering all the broken and red skin. Then, as carefully, he applies the bandage overtop.

“Thanks,” I tell him, expecting him to let go of my hand.

He doesn’t. Instead, he leans down and presses his lips over the bandage.

He lingers there so long that I blush, my face burning hot.

Then, with his mouth on my hand, he glances up at me.

There’s a promise in his eyes, in this moment, in the quiet of this locked room and the two of us alone.

My heart races.

He doesn’t mean to…?

Does he think that we’ll…?

Are we about to be intimate?