Chapter Twelve
Ashlyn
“Ashlyn?” Lorraine stood near the bar, tapping her pen against her order pad.
Ash finished passing out two glasses of iced tea and one beer to a trio of guys dressed in bright orange vests. “What’s up?”
“There’s a guy seated in my section, but he’s asking for you.”
“He’s asking for me?” Her customer service skills weren’t so brilliant that in two years she’d ever been personally requested as a server before. “Who?”
“He’s in the back near the window. Looks like he’s got money.” Lorraine tugged at a black curl as she trailed after Ashlyn. “So . . . if he’s seated in my section . . . does that still mean I get the tip?”
Ashlyn stopped and turned to face the girl. Maybe seventeen, she’d been pulling after school and weekend shifts for the past three weeks. She was pretty enough to get Bart to hire her without any references or experience, so it had been up to Ash to train her.
“Generally, no, but . . .” Hell, the kid could probably use it. “Just this time.”
“Thanks.”
A woman sitting near the bar waved at them. “Better go check on table three.”
Lorraine twisted in the wrong direction and scanned a row of empty tables before Ashlyn turned her around and sent her on her way. The training wasn’t going well. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t stick around long. No one ever did. The depressing fact of the matter was that Ashlyn was the longest standing employee Bart’s had ever know, other than Bart himself.
The soles of her sneakers stuck to the floor as she made her way to the back of what passed for a dining room. Over the back of the booth all she could make out of the customer was a head of black hair tinted blue by the glow of the neon sign in the window.
Slapping an order pad against her palm, Ashlyn stepped up to the table. “How can I—? Roger?”
She almost didn’t recognize him in dark wash jeans and a navy button up. The thick glasses had been swapped out for wire rim one and his hair, which she’d only ever seen sliced back, hung wild and disheveled across his forehead. This was a much better look for him.
“Ashlyn?” His surprise threw her. Hadn’t he asked for her by name? “I . . . You really do work here?”
“Um . . .” No was the answer she wanted to give, but the apron and order pad would be a little hard to explain away. “Yep. How did you know?”
“Someone mentioned . . . I didn’t actually believe it until just now, though.”
Fantastic. If she had to guess, she’d put her money on that ‘someone’ being Preston. Her job at Bart’s wasn’t glamorous, but it was hers. If word got around in her mother’s circles . . . Ashlyn groaned. “Who else knows?”
“No one.” Roger sifted on the cracked plastic. “I mean . . . I overheard it as a rumor, but I don’t think anyone actually believes it. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
She didn’t feel like working for a living was something she should be ashamed of. She wasn’t hooking in a dirty alley for chrissakes. But there it was anyway. “Thanks, Rog.”
“Do you have a minute?” He indicated the bench across from him.
Ashlyn scanned the room. The construction crew dumped a pile of bills on their table and headed for the exit. A quiet thunk of a dart hitting the wall outside of the bullseye sounded and Joey—a regular who spent most days with his ass planted on a stool at the bar—cursed out loud. A man and woman sat together at the bar and a couple other tables were occupied, but they were all in Lorraine’s section.
“Sure. Why not? Can I get you something to eat?”
“Is there anything here that won’t kill me?” A smile softened his words.
Ashlyn laughed. “Probably not, but the fries are more of a slow death.”
She put in the order, tacking on a bacon cheeseburger for herself, and informed Bart that she was taking her lunch break even though it was barely eleven in the morning before sliding into the booth opposite Roger.
“It’s really strange seeing you here.” Ash shook her head, still struggling to reconcile two separate parts of her life colliding. “Dressed like that.”
Roger’s smile looked like something out of a dentist’s ad. It was weird that she’d never noticed that before. “Did you think I wore a tux every day?”
Ashlyn’s nod was sincere. “Slept in ‘em, too.”
The song ended and the mechanical whirl of the jukebox swapping between records filled the silence. Most businesses upgraded to digital music over the last decade, but not Bart’s. Here it was antique vinyl all day, every day with antique music to match.
“So what are you doing here?” A David Bowie song started playing. At least it wasn’t all bad. “Just came to see if the rumors were true?”
Roger shrugged. “I’m glad they were.”
“Why?” Because now he had something to hold over her? Being blackmailed by one pompous jerk wasn’t enough?
“Because now I get to have lunch with you.”
“Oh.” So maybe her jerk-dar was a little faulty lately. Cynical wasn’t a word she liked to think described her, but maybe it wasn’t far off.
Lorraine delivered their plates along with a couple glasses of water. Ashlyn wasn’t entirely sure what the wink she gave her was supposed to mean, but decided to let it go. The food was hot and greasy and everything a place like Bart’s promised to be. She didn’t eat it often—not wanting heart disease before she turned thirty—but when she did it never failed to impress.
Ketchup squirted from the back of her bun and plopped on her plate. Roger used a fry to scoop it up. They talked and laughed about people they both knew. Ashlyn shared stories from working at Bart’s that seemed to horrify and fascinate Roger in equal measure. The thirty minute break passed quickly and Ash realized she was actually enjoying herself. Roger was a funny guy and it was nice to have someone who knew that other side of her life to talk to in a no-stress environment.
“I’ve got to get back to work, but it was really nice seeing you.”
“I had fun,” Roger agreed. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“Sure.” Ashlyn tied her apron back around her neck and patted the front pockets to be sure she had her pad and pen handy. “You know where to find me.”
“I was thinking maybe somewhere else.” Roger stood, dropping a fifty in the middle of the table that covered both their bills and left Lorraine a tip she’d be gushing about for weeks. “Dinner at Vincent’s?”
“Um . . .” Vincent’s? As in proposal, wedding anniversary, special occasion, super romantic Vincent’s? “Like . . . a date?”
That smile was back. “I wouldn’t mind calling it that.”
“Listen, Rog . . .” Ashlyn’s stomach knotted. Damn, things had been going so well, but then he had to go and complicate it. “I really like the idea of us being friends, but . . .”
“I get it.” The smile vanished and a shadow crept over his face. “Which one is it? Preston or the guy you brought to the gala? It’s hard to keep your boyfriends straight these days.”
Shock dropped Ashlyn’s jaw.
“Excuse me?” Rude wasn’t usually part of Roger’s personality, but she was seeing all different sides of him today. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Right . . .” He nodded abruptly. “. . . because who pays attention to a nice guy when there are assholes all around?”
Ashlyn bristled. “Mason is not an—”
“So it’s Mason, then,” Roger surmised.
The background noise dimmed and Ashlyn got the distinct impression that they’d gained an audience. “It’s not—”
“You’re making a mistake. A guy like that . . . I’m only trying to help you, but you refuse to be helped.” His finger wagged in her face and it took every ounce of self-control Ashlyn possessed not to snap it off and shove it down his throat. “You’re going to get hurt.”
Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no more words were forthcoming. She watched in silence as he strode toward the door and before the burst of cold air from his departure could make its way to where she stood, her pocket started vibrating.
“Crap.” She wrestled her phone out, dropping a pen and a hair tie on the floor in the process, and glanced at the caller ID.
Double crap.
***
A sinking feeling tugged at Ashlyn’s innards. Spinning. Like everything in her was being flushed down a drain. “Mom, please, just listen.”
“No, you listen, Ashlyn Sophia Mills. You deliberately disobeyed me and now—”
“Disobeyed?” What was this, the sixteenth century? “You don’t own me, Mom. I don’t work for you. I don’t have to obey your every command.”
“Is that so?” Not good. When her mother’s tone got calm like that it was almost always not good.
Ashlyn’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel and she thanked her lucky stars that she was sitting in the parking lot outside Bart’s and not on the road somewhere. “Please try to understand. My friends need me. This is important—”
“I needed you, Ashlyn. Your mother needed you.”
Guilt slithered through her gut. “That’s not fair.”
If there was one thing Ashlyn couldn’t stand it was passive-aggressive bullshit. Yell, scream—hell, slap her if the situation warranted it—but guilt-trips she couldn’t bear. And her mother knew it.
“I agree.”
“Please . . .” Ashlyn dropped her head, cradling it in the bend of her arm. “. . . don’t.”
Whether her plea was muffled by the sleeves of her sweatshirt or her mother simply chose to ignore it the end result was the same.
“Your entire life, I’ve always made sure you’ve had the best of everything. The best schools, the best clothes, the best experience, the best professional contacts . . . Your father and I set you up for life and you chose to throw that all away.”
Ashlyn’s knuckles ached with the force of her grip. “Mom, I don’t want—”
“It’s your life, Ashlyn.” That was a revelation. Ashlyn’s head jerked back and she blinked at the phone, but her mother wasn’t finished. “If you never want to make anything of yourself, if you want to be a part-time waitress at some dump serving up warm beer and cold fries to truckers in greasy ball caps and stained shirts for the rest of your life, that’s your decision. God knows you’ve never made good ones.”
Ashlyn shut her eyes and took a steadying breath before counting silently to ten. The senator was all aboard the emotional attack locomotive, barreling down the track full-speed ahead. If she wanted to avoid a head-on collision, it was time to veer onto the logic rail. “This isn’t like asking me to schmooze or make a public appearance. The man I’m trying to help put away is violent, he hurts people. If he gets away with it, people I care about will be in danger.”
“Yes, well . . .” Her mother sniffed. “Now someone you obviously do not care about is in danger of losing everything she’s ever worked for.”
Ashlyn groaned. The crazy train was about to crash and burn and all she could do was hold on tight and brace for it.
“I think it’s high time you understood exactly what it is you’ve been taking for granted up until now. No more.”
“I . . .” Ashlyn’s mind blanked. “What?”
“You heard me. No more allowance. No more financial aid of any kind until you stop this nonsense and take a good long look at your priorities, young lady.”
“I . . .” What?
“Goodbye, Ashlyn. Call me when you’re ready to see reality. You may hate it, you may wish it wasn’t true . . . but you need me.”
A click followed by silence and Ashlyn stared at the phone in disbelief.
What the hell just happened?