Three Rules I’d Never Break by Remi Carrington

Chapter 2

Still fuming from my bombed date, I parked in front of the store, then marched across the parking lot and around the building. I unlocked the back door of my store, which also happened to be my temporary home. That was only because my beautiful new house would be finished in four months and my lease had ended two weeks ago. No way was I going to sign a six-month lease just to live there four months. The tiny apartment in the back of my lingerie shop would do for the short term.

My phone rang as I closed the door. “What?” I didn’t normally answer the phone that way, but I’d seen who called. Sending the call into oblivion would have been smarter, but hearing one more apology—even a fake one—might ease a bit of my rage.

“Don’t be mad, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” The jerk sighed. “Don’t be difficult. I just pulled up outside your shop. I saw your car out front. Let’s go grab a drink and talk about it. Or I could come in . . .”

There were so many things wrong with what he’d said I didn’t even know where to start. It had creeped me out in the restaurant when he’d asked about my business because I hadn’t mentioned owning a lingerie store. It creeped me out even more that he’d driven to where I worked . . . and lived.

The name I used in my day-to-day life wasn’t what was on all my official documents. My mother—God love her—was so outside the box, she wasn’t aware of the box. Anyway, she chose my first name; my dad decided on my middle name. All my documents were under the name Shasta D. Carter. The D stood for Delaney. That was the name I used.

But the weirdo didn’t know my name was Shasta. People who knew couldn’t keep from making jokes about it.

“Not interested.” I ended the call and tossed my purse on the bed. While I could act tough, my insides felt like jelly. I needed to calm down.

When I was young, I’d learned to take care of myself. That was when I learned the first rule. Then with my success in business had come challenges and creeps, and I added two more rules. Even when following all of them, I still found the bad boys. More accurately, they found me. Why? I didn’t want a bad boy. But that seemed to be the only type of guy who wanted me. I guess owning a lingerie store sent that signal. Thus, the rules.

Rule one. Never get caught with your pants down. I’d learned this rule from a drunk old man outside a sketchy bar in a tiny coastal town out west. He shared the advice with me—I was only seven at the time—then promptly got in trouble breaking his own rule. Literally. Thankfully, I hadn’t seen it. I’d just heard him shouting at the police about it while I hid in the backseat of my mom’s car. Even as young as I was, I understood what he meant and added the second part to that rule. Always be prepared for anything.

Rule two. Never model the merchandise. This was a frequent request. Ugh. What weirdo thought I’d actually do that?

Rule three. Never date a customer. If they made their way into my shop, they were in a relationship, and I wasn’t going to be an extra or a home wrecker. And the guys who said they were shopping for their mom—liars. All of them.

I shrugged off my cute little jacket and returned it to the hanger. Piece by piece, I shed my clothes, eager for a shower to wash off the stench of the bad date. Because the only bathroom was across the hall, I wrapped a towel around me for the short trip. The windows across the front had blinds—which were closed—but I still opted for a towel because of rule number one.

I tiptoed across the dark hallway, turned on the bathroom light, and closed the door.

After turning on the shower, I pulled my hair into a ponytail, then smeared on a calming face mask. Calming probably meant it was for irritated skin, but right now I was willing to try anything. Maybe a mini spa session in the shower would relax me. It had to.

I pulled back the curtain to step into the shower and stopped when I heard a thunk. That sounded close.

Had I forgotten to lock the door? I closed my eyes, trying to remember. The jerk had called right after I’d stepped inside. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked the bolt.

I pressed my ear to the door.

Footsteps. Someone was definitely in my store.

Had that creep come in? If he’d snuck in, this wouldn’t end well for him. I could call the police, but my phone was on my bed across the hall.

I needed a plan.

The bathroom didn’t offer much in the way of defensive weapons. After a quick scan, I tightened the towel around me and picked up the plunger. Whoever got hit with this deserved it.

I pushed open the door and tiptoed into the hall.

“Hands up! Drop the . . . Delaney?” A figure stood with a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other. The voice was all too familiar, but thankfully not the jerk’s.

The plunger hit the ground as my hands shot up. Even though I knew Eli had figured out it was me, I obeyed.

The man had a gun; I had a towel.

“What are you doing here, Eli?” I glanced down as the purple Egyptian cotton towel responded ever so slightly to the pull of gravity.

Why had I thrown my hands into the air with such gusto? Keeping the rise and fall of my chest to a bare minimum, I dropped my elbows lower.

Silently, I begged the towel not to slip.

“The burglar alarm.” He lowered his gun.

That was the other thing I’d forgotten. To turn off the silent alarm.

“Is there anyone else here with you?” He moved toward my bedroom door.

“There better not be. You can check.” If my dud of a date had snuck in, I’d rather Eli handle the greeting.

He swept the flashlight around my room. “It’s clear.”

The towel was definitely moving downward. “Um, can I put my hands down because if they stay up any longer, this towel is going to fall right off. And I’d prefer that not happen. I’ve sort of exceeded my embarrassment allotment for the . . . year.” I’d broken rule one. Literally. Not only had I been caught unprepared, but my mistakes had caused the situation.

He shifted the flashlight away from me. “Yeah. Sorry. Just keep your hands where I can see them, Miss Carter.”

Of all the deputies to respond to an alarm at my lingerie shop, it had to be the gorgeous one who had just pulled me over and could barely string a complete sentence together whenever I was around him. It was adorable in a way to see him all tongue-tied. But the chances of this guy asking me out were somewhere between zero and negative a thousand.

After tonight, he probably wouldn’t even look at me, let alone speak to me. That was a shame because he was one of the good guys. He checked all the boxes.

With my arms crossed in front of me, holding the towel in place, I cleared my throat. “Do you have some sort of report that needs to be filled out? Do I need to sign something saying that it was a false alarm?”

“Nope.” He looked at the wall beside me.

Why bother keeping my hands where he could see them? He was making a great effort not to look at me.

“So . . . can I turn off the alarm and get in the shower?”

His brow furrowed, and he stared at my face. He probably couldn’t even say what color my towel was. He hadn’t let his gaze drop that low. “Yep. But it’s not safe for you to be here . . . like that.”

“Why not?” I didn’t react well to being told what to do, or in this case, what not to do. Then I remembered how much Eli hated it when my friend Cami had lived in the back of the photography studio in the same strip mall.

He clenched his jaw. “Someone could break in.”

“And you’d show up as soon as they did. I didn’t even have time to get in the shower.” I walked closer to him, taking out a bit of my frustration on the poor deputy. “I don’t plan to live here long if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.” Backing toward the door, matching my pace exactly, he shook his head. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you at first with that stuff on your face and wearing only a . . .” He spun around and hurried toward the rear exit. “By the way, the back door wasn’t locked.”

The heavy door closed with a thud.

After turning off the alarm, I leaned against the door, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

At least I’d kept my wits about me. I had to find a small victory in the horribly embarrassing situation. Another tiny victory—my towel hadn’t fallen off. That was good.

A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts.

Eli didn’t need to see me wearing only a towel a second time, so I leaned close to the door without touching it. I didn’t want to leave face mask smear.

“What?”

“I didn’t hear the bolt latch.” Eli didn’t miss much.

I flipped the bolt. “Happy now?”

“Good night.”

There wasn’t anything good about this night. After all the drama, hunger consumed me, but I had to wash off the stupid face mask before I could go out in public. And put on clothes.

So much for not getting caught with my pants down. I’d been caught with them missing entirely. And it rattled me.