He hesitates for a split second before speaking. “Simon.”
I drag my gaze away, moving to hide behind the massive coffee machine as I write his name on the paper cup.
I’m flustered. I rarely get flustered. Even Ryan complains that he never succeeds in making me blush, yet here I am… feeling out of it because of a stranger. This is weird, and I feel guilty instantly.
I take a deep breath as I pour his coffee into his cup, my eyes drifting up to the large clock opposite me. Thank God, this shift is done now. I’ve got so many class notes to get through, and then there’s tonight’s dinner. It’s the first time I’m formally meeting Ryan’s family, and truthfully, he seems more nervous about it than I am. I can’t help but wonder if Ryan’s family thinks I’m a gold-digger too.
It’s all I can think about as I hand Simon his cup. He takes it from me, his gaze inquisitive, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I hope I’ll make a good impression tonight, but there’s this niggling sense of unease I can’t push aside. I’ve always trusted my intuition, and I can’t help but feel like tonight is going to be a disaster.
I bite down on my lip as I take off my apron and walk into the staff room to grab my bag. By the time I walk out of the coffee shop, I’m overthinking everything. It took me an entire week and close to two weeks’ worth of my salary to select an outfit, yet now all of a sudden I wonder if I might end up looking like I’m trying too hard. I’m worried they might not like me, and that they won’t be able to see past my messed up past. They won’t want their son to date someone who doesn’t even know who she truly is, will they?
I’m so lost in thought that it takes me a moment to heed the warnings my intuition is sending me. I blink as I realize that I’m not alone in the narrow alley that leads to the bus stop, and a chill runs down my spine.
I pause and inhale shakily as I turn decisively. In my experience, most weirdos will let you be if they think you’ll put up a fight or confront them. My eyes find the man behind me, his dark green eyes squarely on mine.
“Simon,” I murmur, before straightening my shoulders. Savannah’s words ring through my mind again. You’re so obviously all he can see. A chill runs down my spine as I stare him down. He pauses and raises his brow.
“Are you following me?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Silas
Alanna glares at me, and the dim lights in the alleyway just make her look even more beautiful.
I take a moment to drink her in and smile, enjoying the way her bravado wavers as her eyes widen ever so slightly.
“Me? Following you?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Does she see beyond the expensive clothes? Does she see me, or does she see the persona of Silas Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Security? I’ve spent two weeks coming here every single day, waiting for a sign to prove that a small part of her remembers me, but she’s given me nothing. I’m just a stranger to her, and it kills me.
Just looking at her has my heart clenching tightly, every fiber of my being begging me to take her into my arms. I so desperately want to tell her about us, but I can’t.
I can’t risk distorting her memories. If the doctor is right, and her amnesia is truly caused by her subconscious desire to forget her painful past, then I cannot force her to remember. I can’t make her go through the pain of losing her father, of homelessness. Not again. Not because of my own selfish desires.
Besides, there’s no guarantee that would accomplish anything. Even if I do tell her, there’s no way to know how her mind will respond, what she’ll remember.
Alanna narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, drawing my attention to her breasts. She’s still so fucking beautiful. I take my time trailing my eyes back up to hers, a smirk finding its way onto my lips when I find her staring me down.
“Yes. You. My colleague tells me you only ever hang around the coffee shop when I’m there.”
Alanna looks at me like I’m some random stranger, and it hurts. I’d hoped that seeing me would spark a memory, but no such luck. I’m truly no one to her.
“Is that so?” I ask, my voice soft. I grin at her and take a step toward her. She tenses, and then she takes a step back, retreating until her back is against the wall. She looks up at me with wide eyes, a hint of panic simmering below the surface.
I lean my forearms against the wall, caging her in. There are only a few inches between us, and part of me wants to push further. I want her against me, but only if she comes willingly.