Thirteen

Dahlia

 

Apparently, my days were a string of bad decisions lately. The first? Agreeing to dinner with Damien. The second? Canceling that dinner. The third? Opening my front door to him this morning.

Well, maybe the last one wasn’t. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it was him at my door—hell, when Dustin called me with his name, I could have had him send Damien away. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew that I had to face him sooner or later, and the longer he was in my life, the more I realized that ‘sooner’ was the better option where he was concerned.

I had to be realistic. The more I put him off, the more persistent he’d become, and the more likely he ultimately was to drop into the bar, completely unannounced and on his own schedule.

Not to mention the fact I’d seen him on the camera as he’d approached the front door.

I’d watched as his car ambled up the driveway, as he’d slowly gotten out of it, as he’d grabbed the coffees and made his way to the door. The entire time, he’d had the saddest look on his face, made only more noticeable when he’d left his car. His lips had been turned down, his eyes hooded, his shoulders slumped…He was barely a shadow of the man who usually presented himself to me.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was just…something. Something about him and the way he held himself that was different. He’d tried to hide it, but he couldn’t hide it in his eyes.

I wanted to know what was hiding behind that fake smile and those sad eyes. I wanted to know why, for a few minutes, he’d been so different to the controlled, unemotional man he appeared to be.

What was the pain he was hiding? What was buried beneath the cold, apparently unfeeling exterior?

I was curious by nature.

Curiosity killed the cat.

I was face-to-face with a Fox.

Inquisitiveness wasn’t the best way to go about dealing with him, but hey. I was an idiot. That much was painfully obvious.

I snatched my purse up from the passenger seat and got out of my car. The place Damien had picked—and then asked my opinion on—was small and out of the way, tucked down a side road a thousand miles away from anywhere tourists would choose to go. I’d never been here, hell, I’d never heard of it, so I planned to step outside my comfort zone and defer to Damien on what to eat.

He was standing outside the door to the tiny bistro when I approached him. “You found it okay,” he greeted me, hitting a button on a key fob. The lights on a sleek, black BMW blinked twice as it locked.

I glanced at the car. “You’ve driven yourself twice in one morning. Is it your chauffeur’s day off?”

He laughed and opened the door. “I only use him when I need him. My morning run and breakfast with a beautiful woman aren’t any of those times.”

“But dinner is?”

“Of course. The back seat isn’t fun by yourself, is it?”

He was back to his normal, sexy self, it seemed.

We sat at a small table in the back corner. It was well lit by the large window that allowed just enough sunlight through, and we both settled in with the menus.

“What do you recommend?” I peered up over the top of the foldout, cardboard menu.

Damien raised an eyebrow, meeting my gaze. “You can’t decide?”

“I’ve never been here. I don’t know what’s good.” I gave my most innocent, one-shouldered shrug.

“The California omelet with the French toast.”

I waited for him to continue with another suggestion, but he didn’t. “Just that?”

“I’ve never ordered anything else. I got it the first time I came here and it’s too good to get anything else.”

“Well, that was easy enough.” I put my menu back into the holder and folded my hands on the table in front of me.

He stared at me for a moment before doing the same.

“You look shocked.”

“I didn’t think you’d pay any attention to what I said.” He scratched his jaw. “You generally do the exact opposite of what I recommend.”

“You brought me coffee this morning. I’m feeling amicable.” I half-smiled as the waitress came over.

We placed our order for the same thing, me adding an iced vanilla latte and him adding a regular coffee. Once she’d left after a lingering look at Damien, I suppressed my eye-roll and looked out the window. There was nothing to see, just the shops on the other side of the street slowly opening. Lights flicked on, shutters raised, and signs flipped in the window. They were more boutique stores, more catered to the individuals who dared walk down this out-of-the-way street than the kitschy, touristy ones I normally saw.

And of course, there were the people. The men in suits and women in smart dresses, not unlike the two of us at this table. Parents wrangled children, clutching at their hands to keep them out of the road. A young girl ran past in yoga pants with her headphones in, lips moving as she sang along.

I could watch people all day, and in this city, there was no shortage of diversity.

A fact that was proven as a gentleman teetered past the window in three-inch heels and a bright, red wig.

Ahh, Vegas.

“You know,” Damien said, “if this were any other city, I’d be alarmed right now.”

I peered over at him. He had a slight smile on his face as he looked out of the window, too.

“Me too. It’s more normal than not.”

“You’ve got something on your mind.” He slowly turned back to face me, his expression unreadable.

I propped my chin up on my hand as our coffees were delivered. “I just inherited a multi-million-dollar business. I have a hell of a lot on my mind.”

He inclined his head. “More than usual, then.”

“I am wondering why you showed up at my house this morning.”

“I’m wondering why you didn’t have your guard turn me away at the gate.”

“So am I.” I fought a smile. “Color me intrigued. You generally blindside me at work—it’s not like you to announce yourself.”

“I was feeling generous this morning. Blindsiding you hasn’t exactly worked in my favor so far, has it?”

“True.” I sipped my coffee. “But neither has your attitude. Although, that does seem to have improved.”

“I’m trying the charm offensive. Is this working?”

“Better than before. I might actually—shock horror—be starting to like you a little.”

“Enough for dinner?”

“Enough that I might get through this breakfast without considering the quickest way to kill you.”

“You’re so delightful, Ms. Lloyd. This explains why I can’t stay away from you.”

“The reason you can’t stay away, Mr. Fox, is because you still want to buy my bar,” I drawled, not bothering to hide any of the dryness in my tone. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that fact.”

He held his hands up, sitting back as a grin stretched across his face. “I’d be amiss in thinking you had.”

“You continue to surprise me with your intelligence.”

“I think that was a compliment.”

I smiled. “It was the closest you’ll get to one today.”

Damien laughed and adjusted his sleeve. “I’ll take it.”

Then, our breakfast arrived, cutting short our conversation. We ate in a somewhat awkward silence, except for him asking me if the food was good. It was—of course it was, and he knew that. The question was whether or not he meant it or whether he’d asked just to break up the awkwardness for a second. Either one, I didn’t care, because it had broken the silence and the awkwardness, and for that, I was thankful.

I hated silence around him. I never knew what he was thinking. When he knew you were watching, he clammed up. That was something I’d slowly realized over the past several days. He played his cards close to his chest, and he was exactly who I’d want on my poker team, that was for sure. Emotion and feelings were shared as and when he deemed fit.

Otherwise, he was the human version of Pandora’s box. Who the fuck knew what was going on behind those dark, brown eyes?

Not me.

Sometimes, I didn’t want to know.

No, I used to not want to know. I simply wanted to rid him from my life.

While I didn’t necessarily want to keep him in my life, I wanted to know everything about him before he disappeared.

If he did.

I was spending too much time with him for him to disappear easily.

My phone rang when I was halfway through eating. I hesitated, but Damien motioned for me to get it with a wave of his finger, so I pulled my phone from my purse and excused myself from the table.

Stepping outside into the already sweltering heat, I answered Abby’s call. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Fergus is dying,” she drawled. “Barry is sleeping in the back. I forgot to tell him that Fergus was in early today so he had to leave early.”

I rubbed my hand across my head. Barry wasn’t a bad guy—he was just homeless. I knew nothing about him except he sometimes helped out in the basement hauling stuff around for a cup of coffee, fifty dollars, and permission to sleep on the step of the back door. Like my father, I’d once tried to offer him a place to stay, but he accepted a shower and simply moved on. He was happy, and who was I to judge that?

Fergus, however…

Well, he was a bitch.

“Give him a Xanax and a shot of vodka and tell him you’ve moved the scary man on,” I answered.

“Tried it. Except it was ibuprofen, and that was for me because his scream has given me a headache. I’m going to fire him if he doesn’t stop breathing into that paper bag in a minute.”

I had an assistant manager who was a diva and a manager who didn’t suffer fools.

I needed to rethink my staffing.

“I’ll be right there.” I sighed. There was no way of getting out of this. I had no doubts she would fire him—and despite the fact I was the one who had the final say, it would do nothing but cause Fergus to need an ambulance. “Avoid Fergus. Give Barry his coffee and have him help you do the order when it gets there.”

“Gotcha.” She hung up.

I headed back inside. “I’m sorry,” I said to Damien. “I have to go. Fergus is having a breakdown.”

He raised his eyebrows, more in amusement than in shock if the slight curve of his lips was anything to go by. “I don’t envy you that.”

I paused. “Right. You know each other.” How well did they know each other? And why didn’t I know more about that? “How do you know each other?”

“His story, not mine.” He chuckled and threw fifty dollars down on the table. Way too much for the breakfast, even with the tip. “I’ll come with you. I’ve seen one or two of those from him. What set him off?”

I grabbed my purse. “We have a homeless man who comes around every now and then—sleeps on the back steps. He does some odd jobs and stuff for us. Totally harmless. The first time Fergus saw him, he freaked out, so now we’ve got a system. I don’t even see him half the time, but this morning, Fergus took the early shift with Abby and Barry was sleeping outside.”

Damien chuckled, opening the door for me. “I know Barry. He does the same for most of us on the Strip. He’s a good guy.”

“Do you know why he’s homeless?”

“Not a clue, but then again, I’ve never asked.” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll see you at the bar?”

It sounded like a question. Like he was asking my permission to come with me, although he’d already said he’d come.

I hesitated for a moment, flicking my gaze over his face. “All right. Just don’t kill my manager.”

He smiled slowly and stepped toward his car. “No promises.”

 

***

 

I pulled up to The Scarlet Letter just seconds before Damien did. By the time I had my key out, he was standing right behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath on my shoulder.

I needed to wear a dress with sleeves thicker than a spaghetti strap around him.

I bit the inside of my cheek at his closeness and, in a show of control, dropped my keys to the ground.

Awesome.

He laughed, bending to pick them up. “Here,” he said in a low tone, straightening. “Let me.” He touched one hand to my waist and leaned around me, smoothly inserting the key into the keyhole and twisting.

“Thank you.” My throat and mouth were both dry, so the words came out croakily. I swiped my tongue across my lips and took the keys when he offered them to me.

“You’re welcome,” he said into my hair. His lips brushed my hair, and in one less-than-graceful motion, I yanked open the door and threw myself through it into the bar.

His laughter was just loud enough for me to catch it.

I hated that he knew that he affected me like this.

Attraction was such a bitch.

“I hate you,” I hissed back over my shoulder.

“But you’d still fuck me.” He laughed, pushing me inside and closing the door.

I shook off his hands and stalked through the bar. Fergus’ wailing traveled down the back hall from the staffroom, and Abby popped up from behind the bar. Her hair was scrunched into a bun on top of her head, her mascara was smudged beneath her left eye, and her eyes said she wanted to kill me.

“You’ve got a little…” Damien rubbed under his left eye.

She turned her death glare on him. “I was doing my makeup when Fergus screamed. I poked myself in the eye with the mascara wand. Would you like me to show you how that feels?”

“Let’s not,” I jumped in, shooting Damien a glare of my own before he said something else to deliberately piss her off. “Waterproof mascara?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed in reply.

“Where is Fergus?”

“Locked in the staff room. I tried to put him in the corner, but he wouldn’t stay there.”

Damien burst out laughing.

“The corner? Dear God, Abs. He’s not a damn toddler.”

She stared at me, expressionless. “Watch his tantrum on the security tapes and tell me different.”

Chalk and cheese. They made chalk and cheese look like friends.

I shook my head and headed back to the staff room. She tried to put him in the corner? How had they co-existed running this place while I was in California? In hindsight, I should have expected to come back to the building burnt down. Or one of their houses at the very least.

Hmm.

Maybe that was how I got Damien to leave me alone.

No.

Arson was not the answer. The idea of it was pretty fun, though.

I unlocked the staff room door and pushed it open. “What the hell?”

Fergus was sitting on the sofa, wide-eyed. “There was a homeless man sleeping on the step.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“No.”

“Did he do anything even remotely human toward you?”

“No.”

“Then this is ridiculous.” I planted my hands on my hips. “You know Barry helps us out. Or is this just because you and Reggie are still fighting?”

He burst into tears.

This wasn’t in my job description.

“That was insensitive,” Damien murmured, leaning in close to me. “You could have been a little nicer.”

What?

“What else am I supposed to do? Hug him? This is his own fault,” I muttered right back. I was fully aware that I sounded like a petulant child, but whatever.

“I’m just saying, you could have been a little nicer to him. He’s obviously hurt.”

“Oh, so you’re all for being nice to him, but you’ll asshole your way through life around me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you mind?” Fergus wailed, throwing himself forward and hitting the coffee table. “I am having a crisis! Can you have your lover’s spat later?”

Damien tilted his head to the side. “If he were a woman, I’d be blaming PMS right now.”

“I may as well be a woman!” Fergus flung his arm through the air, falling back against the sofa cushions. “No man wants me! If I were a woman, I could be a lesbian!”

“Or you could, you know. Just be straight,” I pointed out.

“Just be straight, she says!”

Oh, God. What have I done?

“You know what else isn’t straight? Roundabouts! Would you walk up to a roundabout and ask why it isn’t a square? No, you wouldn’t. You’d accept its bentness and embrace it.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to date women.”

“Only if I were a woman. Then I’d still be gay. But you’re judging me!”

Damien coughed. Hard.

If he was smothering a laugh, I would kill him.

“Fergus.” He stepped forward and crouched in front of my hysterical employee. “You’ve gotta calm down, man. I know you’re upset, but shrieking isn’t getting us anywhere. Is it Reggie?”

“It’s always Reggie! Do you know what he said?” Fergus blinked at Damien in earnest. “He said we need a break because I’m dramatic. Dramatic! How could he say that?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “I can’t possibly imagine.”

Both Fergus and Damien turned to me. One was scowling and the other was fighting a smirk.

It wasn’t hard to guess who was who.

“I can’t believe you’re so flippant about this. I’m heartbroken, Dahlia.”

“You’re also a thirty-two-year-old man who’s crying over a homeless guy sleeping on the step and being called dramatic. Take a look at yourself, Ferg. This is dramatic. I’m gonna get Bravo on the phone and see if they can get you into a Real Housewives of Las Vegas or something.”

He opened his mouth as if he were going to gasp, then, he froze. What left him was a sigh, and he slumped right back into himself. “You’re right. I’m a mess.”

“I wouldn’t say a total mess, but you’re definitely leaking around the edges.”

He sniffed. “Can we talk about something else? Like when you two are going to go away and fuck?”