Interlude

Chapter 5

Rose wanted to run away. This was hell.

Yanking the hem of her tiny skirt for the hundredth time, she balanced a tray of drinks. The relatively short walk to the table seemed to go on forever; her toes ached with each painful stride in heels that didn't qualify as shoes. She couldn't believe that this is what life had come to be.

Chin up, Rose. She persuaded herself. It's only temporary.

Setting the tray on the table she forced a smile, ignoring the way two sets of eyes openly gawked at her.

"Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?" She prayed that they didn't actually reply in the affirmative.

One of the guys shook his head and smiled at her, slow and leering. He reached to tap the back of her hand. It was a light touch but completely unnecessary. "Not at the moment. You can come back later."

Severely discomforted, she snatched her hand back suppressing the disgust that threatened to show on her face

"Rosie!" the manager hissed when she was one her way back to the bar to pick up another round of drinks.

"Yes, John?"

"Stop looking so damn skittish. Do we pay you to make the guests feel unwelcome?"

No, you don't. You pay me to tolerate actions that are fit for a strip club. she thought to herself. Yet, I'm here and I can't judge you because I really need the money.

Rose had not been able to find a job. Her work with Sherman hadn't been enough to showcase her talents. No one wanted to hire an inexperienced young woman who seemed so nervous during her interviews. She had finally managed to get a part-time sales job at a furniture store but there were bills to be paid, not to mention the debt interest alone had started haunting her dreams. In a moment of madness and desperation, Rose had asked Sam to get her a few shifts at Lobby77. This was the third night...of utter disaster. She couldn't get over the way men looked at her. The uniforms were appalling. It was shocking how the place flourished under the guise of being a trendy lounge when in reality it was nothing more than a sophisticated cover up for rich businessmen to pick up woman.

During her first shift, the manager had decided to call her Rosie.

"It's more...appealing." he had said.

And because she hated the job, she accepted the name without any resistance.

The next table she had to wait on, was occupied by a particularly nasty set of middle-aged men. She walked towards them with a heavy tray full of drinks and was about to set it on the table, when a hand touched the back of her thigh, creeping under her skirt. Instantly bewildered, the tray dropped from her hands propelling all the glasses in different directions. The contents spilled all over the guests and glasses crashed to pieces. It was a complete mess. The manager came running once again. He was already not impressed by her and such a commotion made him instantly angry.

All at once, the men started yelling while the manager shot her dirty looks. Another server appeared with two mops and promptly handed one to her. She cleaned the mess as quickly as possible and made herself invisible.

"Rose...just quit." Samantha came in behind her. "This isn't for you." She was used to her skimpy uniform and took a different name every other day. Today a small badge on the right of her crop top read, Mia.

"I need the money."

Sam's eyes furrowed. "I hate seeing you like this."

"You got used to it. So will I."

"There's a difference between you and me. I can deal with these things. You can't." Sam paused, biting her teeth, "And that's not criticism towards you."

Rose gave Sam a slow, meaningful look.

Why didn't the world realize, that behind every tough exterior is a wounded heart wallowing in the depths of yet another painful story.

"Don't try to imply that I'm better than this and that you're not." There was no way she was going to let her roommate feel inferior. Sam was her only friend, a truly warm human being amongst a sea of mean and selfish people. "Because that's not true! I shouldn't need to be doing this and neither should you. But here we are, anyway."

"Rose..."

She shook her head in dismissal. "Let's just get through the shift tonight."

"I'm actually going to be off in about thirty minutes. Do you want me to wait for you?"

"No...no. I still have two hours. You go home. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

After the mishap at the last table, Rose had assumed that the group would've asked for a different server. But they hadn't. Anxious and mortified, she found herself carrying another tray towards them, this time with appetizers.

"Darlin'" the man in the striped gray suit drawled. He was easily in his late forties or even early fifties and was giving her the look of a randy teenager. "You seemed a little nervous last time. Why don't we start over?"

Rose managed a weak smile and mumbled something to the effect that she was alright.

"What's your name, love?" The second man asked, clearly very drunk.

She stuttered and blurted. "Rosie."

"Ah..." the man in the gray suit exclaimed. "Such a sweet name for someone as beautiful as you."

The third man smirked. "Would you like to sit with us?"

"No, thank you. I should..." Rose swallowed, shuffling backward. "...go."

"We'll leave you a nice big tip. Don't worry. It'll be more than you get paid here for a week." The man continued condescendingly. "Come here."

He didn't wait for an answer. He reached forward and snatched her waist, yanking her into his lap. The other two men didn't react except to chuckle with approval.

She was so shocked that for a whole minute her body froze. Despite her troubles, in her life so far, she had always been safe. Within seconds three nobodies had shattered her sense of safety.

In the next heartbeat she fought out of his lap and turned to flee. The man however was egged on by her resistance.

"There... there, love. Easy now. We're just talking" His slimy hands found her waist again. It felt horrific. Any second now she was about to find herself back in his lap and...

It never happened.

The man's hands were yanked away, making her recoil several inches.

A tall male figure in a pitch black suit had put himself in front of her.

"Get your fucking hands off her!"

She didn't need to see his face. The sound of his voice - deep and masculine that now raged with something dark and dangerous - had the ability to pull her back to life from the deepest state of unconsciousness. The smell of cedar wood and forest invaded her senses.

Amidst the miserable chaos of her current predicament a feeling of certainty arose. She was sure, as sure as one is of the rising sun, nothing would touch her. Not anymore.

Her world was safe again.

He was here.