Beneath These Chains (Page 6)

I was pretty sure I’d entered an alternate reality. “You’re really gonna keep showing up, regardless of how many times I haul your ass home?” A thought struck me. “You drove today, right? You didn’t walk again.”

“Yes, I’m going to keep showing up, so you’re just going to be wasting your gas by taking me home every time and expecting me to stay there. Besides, I thought we covered the part where I actually have something to offer you in the way of skills. I mean, I was good at the Bennett Foundation because I had connections and excelled at playing on people’s philanthropic sensibilities, but I think I’m going to be even better at this whole pawn business thing. I’ve already sold two watches this morning for twenty-five percent more than you had them priced. If you think my case cleaning skills are good, then you should see me haggle.”

I strode closer, because Elle had conveniently—and noticeably—avoided answering my second question.

“Did you drive?”

Her chin lifted. “I took the streetcar and walked.”

“I told you—”

“And I told you—”

I backed her into the case and pressed a hand to the glass on either side of her hips. “You want to work here? You don’t walk. That’s my rule. You can’t handle that, then you don’t work here. End of story.”

Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “You realize you just put handprints on my clean glass, right?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them and fixing my gaze on her face. From the challenge in her golden brown eyes to the determined set of her tempting mouth, she was absolutely stunning. But I would not let that distract me from the point at hand.

“Are we on the same page, Elle? Or am I taking you home for the last time?”

Her eyes dropped from mine. “I don’t drive,” she admitted. “So that’s kind of a problem.”

My confusion mounted. I lifted a hand and tilted her chin back up. I liked her eyes on me—probably too much.

“What do you mean you don’t drive?”

Her forehead creased. “I mean I don’t drive. It’s a pretty simple concept, and I’m not really sure how else to explain it.”

Just because it was a simple concept didn’t mean it made any damn sense. “You don’t have a license?”

Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, and it took everything in me to not sweep my thumb over it and tug it free.

“I have a license. I just choose not to use it.”

She still wasn’t making any sense.

“So you don’t drive at all?” I asked.

“Right. Good, glad you’ve finally grasped the concept.”

Something just didn’t add up here. This wasn’t New York or Chicago where you could easily get away without having a car. “How do you get around then?”

“I walk, or I take the streetcar, or I get rides with friends. If I really need to get somewhere and don’t have any other alternative, then I call my mother’s driver or get a cab.”

God save me from rich chicks and their weird ways. “Your ma doesn’t drive either? Is this a family thing?”

She shrugged. “Can we move on to the part where I say I’ll probably keep walking because I’m not planning on calling her driver or a cab on a regular basis to get here, and the walk from the streetcar really isn’t bad? No one is going to bother me.”

And that was where we were going to have a problem. I dropped my hand from her chin and stepped back. “You don’t know this neighborhood—I do. And you stand out way too much to be walking these streets and stay in one piece. No fucking way, Elle. I’d say you’re fired, but since I never actually hired you, let’s just call it a day, and I’ll thank you for cleaning my cases and making a few sales.”

She crossed her arms, her expression turning mulish. “I don’t think you understand how stubborn I am. I’ll literally just keep showing up every day until you lock me out.”

I released a long breath and laughed. This was getting ridiculous. “Why? Why the hell do you want to work here so bad? It makes no goddamn sense.”

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting in the way of an answer, but it wasn’t her quiet, “I’ve got my reasons, and it’s just icing on the cake that everyone I know will think I’m being ridiculous again and wasting my time.”

My momentary humor fled. “And that’s supposed to convince me to let you stay? You insulting my shop?”

“I’m not insulting it; I’m just saying what they’ll say to me. It’s nothing against you. And quite frankly, I’m already hooked on the idea of working here, so if you really try to make me leave, we’re going to have issues.”

It was official: I would never get women. Arguing with Elle was absolutely pointless. I didn’t understand her reasoning, her logic, or any other damn thing about her—except that she’d impressed the hell out of me on Saturday when she’d rattled off all the items I’d been underpricing. I’d spent a few hours combing the internet, and she’d been right. I couldn’t help but wonder what else I was missing. I’d accumulated a lot of knowledge in the last two years about the stuff that came in and out of this place, but I couldn’t know it all, and I didn’t always have time to research every single piece. She was right about one thing, though; she had skills, and they’d be welcome. So I did something I rarely ever did, and I gave in.