Ella kept her head down as she stepped out of Nicholas's car, the hood of her sweatshirt tugged low and her hair pulled around her face like a curtain. She hadn't let him drop her off directly in front of the coffee shop—insisted he stop around the corner instead. Too many eyes. Too many phones.
He hadn't been happy about it. In fact, he'd argued with her the entire ride here.
"You shouldn't be going in today," he said, gripping the wheel so tightly she saw the whites of his knuckles. "Let me talk to the manager. Or hell, I'll buy the damn shop and put you on payroll to sit at home until this blows over."
She'd snorted at that. "I don't need to be rescued, Nicholas. I need to work."
He'd glanced at her, jaw tense, eyes burning like storm clouds behind glass. "They're going to talk. They're already talking. You don't have to walk into that."
"I'm not ashamed," she whispered. "Let them talk."
