chapter 17~The Man In The Hoodie

I threw myself into work, pitching our fruit like it was the last thing standing between people and starvation. My voice was smooth, confident, drawing in customers with ease. Meanwhile, Liam stood there like a human statue, arms crossed, exuding silent indifference. He wasn't helping, but he wasn't exactly useless either. Because, as much as he tried to ignore them, he was attracting attention.

Mostly from girls.

Teenagers giggled behind their hands, stealing glances at him. Young women hovered nearby, pretending to browse while sneaking shameless looks in his direction. His presence alone was enough to pull people in, but I made sure none of them left empty-handed.

If they wanted to stand there gawking, fine—but they were going to pay for it. Every lingering stare? A sale. Every whispered giggle? Another crate gone. I used their fascination to my advantage, flashing my best smile and making sure they walked away with something in their hands.

And then she appeared.

A brunette, dressed in clothes that screamed money—expensive fabric, subtle but undeniable designer brands. She looked young, maybe in her late twenties, her cheeks already tinged pink as her gaze bounced between me and Liam.

Oh, I knew exactly why she was here.

"Hi," she said, voice soft but eager. "My name is Emilia."

I almost laughed. Girl, I don't need your name—I need your money. Smiling sweetly, I said, "That's nice. How many crates are you buying?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, um... how much for the berries?"

Ah. I see. She wasn't introducing herself to me. She was introducing herself to Liam. Smart girl. But not smart enough. I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice like I was letting her in on a secret. "Can I tell you something?"

She nodded eagerly, and I gestured for her to lean closer. When she did, I whispered, "Buy five crates, and you can have him for two minutes."

Her eyes went wide. "Really?"

I hummed, watching as she struggled to compose herself.

"I'll take five crates," she said quickly, like the decision was entirely her own.

I smiled, casually hiking up the price. She paid without hesitation. Turning to Liam, I plastered on my sweetest expression. "Liam, can you help this beautiful lady load her berries into her truck?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his face. But after a beat, he exhaled sharply and did as he was told. Emilia turned to me before leaving, mouthing a quick thank you. I waved her off with a grin. Only if she knew I should have be the one thanking her for the extra cash.

I watched as she led Liam toward her sleek Jeep Grand Cherokee, her steps a little too eager. The second they reached the back, she turned to him, hands twisting nervously in front of her.

I smirked. She was about to make her move.

Turning my attention back to the stand, I started rearranging the crates, making everything look full and fresh again. But before I could get too comfortable, a familiar voice cut through the air.

"That was low. Even for you."

I glanced up to find Liam walking back, his expression unreadable but his tone edged with irritation. I shrugged. "What? She got what she wanted. I got what I wanted. Win-win."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not a product for you to sell."

I sighed dramatically. "Relax, Liam. She got two minutes of your time, not your soul."

His eyes darkened. "And that makes it better?"

I smirked. "It makes it profitable." For a moment, he just stared at me, something unreadable flashing across his face. Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he turned away.

"Whatever," he muttered.

But as he walked past, I caught the way his fists clenched, the way his shoulders stayed stiff.

Oh, this was fun.

Maybe I should do it again.

I kept selling until the last crate was gone. Mr. Marlow stopped by, shaking his head in amazement. "My daughter could never sell like this," he said, chuckling. I grinned, about to respond, when I caught a low murmur from across the market.

"Maybe because she doesn't sell fruit like a slut."

I heard it. Loud and clear. But I pretended I didn't.

Mr. Marlow walked off, but I didn't. Instead, I turned on my heel and made my way to the woman who had spoken. She was middle-aged, arms folded across her chest, lips twisted in satisfaction.

"What did you say?" I asked, voice calm.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "What did I say?"

"You said I only sell because I act like a slut."

"Am I wrong?" she shot back, her eyes narrowing. "We all see it. Flashing that smile, using your looks to lure men. That's why they buy from you, isn't it?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "First off, thanks for the compliment. And second—" I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make her squirm. "It's not my fault you can't smile. Or that you're not pretty."

Her face darkened.

"If you wanted a tip on how to sell, you could've just asked," I went on, smirking. "But instead, you let jealousy eat you alive. So let's make this simple. If you really think it's my smile or my 'slutty words' that bring in customers, why don't you try it? Go ahead. Flash a grin. Bat your lashes. Stand here for a hundred years and see if anyone buys from you."

I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, mouth slightly open in shock.

"You know you're a bitch, right?" she called after me.

I didn't look back. "So they say."

I was still smirking when I nearly walked into Liam. He was leaning against the truck, arms crossed, watching me. Amused? Annoyed? I couldn't tell.

"What?" I snapped.

He just shook his head, saying nothing.

"Let's go." I moved past him toward the truck, but then—

I saw him.

The man in the hoodie.

He was there again, standing at the edge of the market, watching me like he always did. He had been doing this for weeks—appearing, staring, then vanishing before I could get close.

But not this time.

I wasn't letting him slip away again.