The grip Eric had on my waist was bruising. He didn't lead me out of the bistro; he practically hauled me. I could feel the eyes of every single person in the diner on my back, their whispers following us like a funeral procession.
"Eric, stop! You’re hurting me," I hissed, trying to pry his fingers off my skin.
He didn't say a word. His jaw was set so tight I thought his teeth might crack. He threw open the door of the black SUV and practically shoved me inside. Before I could even scoot over, he slammed the door and climbed in beside me.
"Drive," he growled at the chauffeur.
The partition went up immediately, sealing us in. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of Eric’s heavy, ragged breathing. He looked like a man on the edge of a violent outburst.
"Who is he?" Eric
