Eighteen

Dahlia

 

His raucous laughter answered me. We all knew I didn’t mean it. It was my knee-jerk reaction to what he’d said. I wasn’t happy, but I also knew that Fergus had thrown me under the bus and just driven the damn thing right on over me.

So, I did the only thing I could.

I shut the door.

Of course, that only made them laugh again. Abby was seriously on the way to having her best friend card revoked again, and Fergus and I were gonna have to have a little chat about how I was never to be in the bar when Damien showed up.

I took a deep breath and placed my hand over my eyes. A deep ache throbbed behind them. Was it stress or tiredness? I couldn’t tell. Both were completely viable.

“Dahlia?”

The laughter gave way to Damien’s deep voice.

“Dahlia isn’t here,” I replied, dropping my hand.

“You sound like her.”

“I’m her unreasonable twin.” I bit down on my lower lip and looked up to the ceiling. Had I just thrown his stupid line back at him? God, I had. I was a mess.

“There are a lot of these twins around, huh?”

The laughter that he was hiding in his voice was the thing that made me turn and open the door. Only by an inch, though.

I poked my head into the gap and peered up at him through my eyelashes. He smelled like coffee and fresh air. His hair was brushed and slicked back in its normal style, a far cry from the messy mop it was this morning.

I was kinda sad about that. There was something so freeing about him when his hair wasn’t tightly styled back. This one made him look…uptight.

“Have you ever considered not slicking your hair back like Gomez Addams?” The words all but fell from my lips, much to Abby and Fergus’ amusement and my mortification.

Yep. Abby and Fergus were still hanging around like a pair of bad rashes.

Damien’s lips twitched to the side. His eyes twinkled in that annoyingly charming way of his, and he skipped right over my question. “Can we talk?”

“We can. I think the question you’re looking for is could we talk.”

“We could, but by this logic, my question should be would you talk to me.” His amusement was mounting. “So, would you talk to me?”

“I’m so awkward,” I muttered, stepping to the side and opening the door for him.

He joined me inside as I shut the door on Abby and Fergus waggling their eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t have ever pegged you as awkward,” Damien said, meeting my gaze. “But, that said, ever since last night, I’m starting to see that you can be awkward.”

“We’ve all got our bad qual—” A bang interrupted me.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and reached for the door handle. One quick tug later and the eavesdroppers were struggling to stay on their feet.

“I forgot my—” Fergus started.

“Buttplug!” Abby finished, clapping her hand over her mouth. “Wait. Was that stereotypical?” she asked him.

“Little bit.” He grimaced.

I cleared my throat and hit them with a look that said it wasn’t cute anymore. “Don’t the two of you have work to be doing? Like managing the bar, Fergus? And an interview in fifteen, Abby?”

Abby glanced at her watch. “Oh, shit!” She grabbed Fergus’ shirt and dragged him after her down the hallway.

“There are a few times,” Damien began, looking after their retreating figures, “that I’ve thought you’re lucky to work with your closest friends. Today is not one of those times.”

“You’re preaching to the damn choir,” I muttered to myself. “Let’s go. Fergus is great at delegating stuff and a terrible gossiper.” I snatched my purse and phone up from the desk.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere the nosy neighbors can’t see or hear us.” I locked the office door behind me and led him into the bar. I stopped by the end of it—I had to let someone know I was leaving, even though I didn’t think I’d be gone that long—and saw my favorite thing.

Fergus being chatted up by a woman.

I nudged Damien in the stomach lightly. “Watch this.”

“Is she—ohh.” He leaned forward a little, his fingers brushing across my hip as he went to grip the edge of the bar.

A flash of heat spread over my skin where he’d touched me.

The girl opposite Fergus bent right over the bar, squeezing her boobs together. I glanced up, but Damien didn’t react. Well, he reacted with amusement when Fergus slid her drink across to her, leaned in, and her expression changed to one of embarrassed shock.

“Never gets old,” I mused, catching Fergus’ eye and nodding toward the door. He shot me a thumbs up. “Come on. Before he decides to take his break and follow us.”

“He’d do tha—never mind.”

I laughed. “Of course he would. I might be his boss, but he’s still older than me. He plays the elders card on a semi-regular basis.”

“Have you reminded him what happens when you get old?” Damien held the door open for me.

“Yes. He’s more bothered about the wrinkles than anything else.”

It was his turn to laugh. He pulled his sunglasses from where they’d been hanging at the collar of his shirt and put them on. I had to dig in my purse for mine, but we’d only taken a few steps when I had mine on, too.

“Where are we going?” he looked down at me.

I glanced at my feet encased in my white, lace flats. “We can just walk.”

“All right…” Skepticism tinged his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Yep.” I was wearing a skirt and spaghetti-strapped shirt with ruffles around the v-neck, so I wasn’t worried about getting hot. “It’s not my fault if you always wear black shirts.”

“I don’t always wear them.”

“You have at least twenty white shirts, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in one.”

“I like black.”

“I suppose it matches your soul.”

He smirked, his head twitching in my direction. “And my heart. It’s a curse.”

I ignored the implications of that given my earlier thoughts about my growing feelings toward him and stuck my hands into the pockets of my floaty skirt. “So, you want to talk.”

He adjusted the collar of his shirt. “You disappeared this morning.”

“Uh…You disappeared, actually.”

Lines formed on his forehead. “No, you went upstairs and I used the downstairs bathroom to shower. I figured you needed a few minutes after I was short with you.”

Oh, good. My entire day had been based on what was apparently a misunderstanding between two grown adults, and we were going to deal with it the long-ass way around.

Just fabulous.

Fuck.

“I didn’t—I’m going to need a drink for this conversation.” I turned right immediately into one of my favorite cocktail bars.

I loved it when that happened.

“Fun. Cocktails are my favorite,” he drawled, catching the door just before it could shut after someone left. He motioned for me to go in first, and I did so, ignoring his snark to remove my glasses.

I grabbed a tall table in the back corner, hung my purse on the hook beneath the table, and sighed. “Get the Hickey Mickey,” I said.

“What the hell is a Hickey Mickey?”

“Makers on ice.”

“Is that the best they have?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Too common for you?”

He half-smiled, sitting down. “Just asking.”

I rolled my eyes and placed our order the moment the server came over. We sat in silence as we waited for our drinks to be brought over—his whiskey and my frozen strawberry mojito. I peered into the frozen, red drink, mixing the ice with my straw, and quietly said, “I’m sorry for asking something that’s obviously uncomfortable for you.”

“Don’t be.” He reached over the small table and brushed his thumb over my cheek. It was such a tender touch, so out of place for him. “You were just asking, and I had a feeling you would. I probably shouldn’t have been as sharp as I was. It was just a question.”

I glanced up at him. His hand was still resting on my jaw, and there was a slight smile playing at his lips.

Lowering his hand, he said, “My family is a tough topic for me.” His voice was slightly strained as if the admission was hard for him to make. “It’s not a great situation. It’s hard to explain and—”

“It’s complicated,” I finished for him with a slight smile.

“Yeah. Complicated. That’s one word for it.” He let go of a long breath before wiping the hint of frustration from his features with the hand that was just touching my face. “So, what happened to you this morning? You disappeared into nowhere.”

“I didn’t disappear.” I tapped my finger against the tabletop. “I went upstairs to get dressed because you were obviously in a terrible mood and decided it was best if I left. So, I called a cab, and then when I got back down, you were gone. It was silent.”

“And you decided to go instead of trying to find me?”

“What was it? A game of hide-and-seek?”

“No, good manners.”

I pursed my lips. “If you were in the shower, why didn’t I hear it?”

“I’m assuming,” he said slowly, “it’s one of those wonderful coincidences where I’d just turned it off and was still in the bathroom. I heard a door shut, but I thought it came from upstairs.”

Wrong. “That would have been me leaving.”

“Coincidence it is, then.”

I sipped my drink with a huff. “Coincidences like that don’t happen in real life. What bullshit.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Is that because you’ve been in a horrible mood all day or because you didn’t get to see me wet and naked?”

I paused. Actually, now that he mentioned it…

“You’re considering your answer very carefully, aren’t you?”

“Am I that obvious?” I twisted my mouth to the side. “Damn it,” I said at his nod.

He chuckled, the low laugh sending a tickle of happiness down my spine.

I reached back and scratched it. Damn it again.

“Both,” I finally answered, seeing his smile around his glass. “There’s no use lying about it.”

More low laughter.

That laugh was really starting to get on my nerves. Specifically a bundle of them. Between my legs.

I squirmed and sat up straight. “Okay, so now we’ve both apologized and agreed we were wrong—”

“I didn’t say wrong.”

“I’m saying it for you. You don’t need to. You know I’m right.”

He lifted his glass back to his lips and peered at me. “Of course, you are.”

I stared at him flatly. I saw that lame attempt at placation for exactly what it was. Entirely ridiculous at best. Insulting at worst. “We both agreed we were wrong,” I continued. I was going to take the high road here. “We’re back at our original impasse.”

“Of mutual dislike and attraction.”

“Oh, please. You never disliked me.”

“So humble and modest,” he said right as his phone rang. He pulled it out from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s my father. I have to get this—do you mind?”

Oh.

Shit.

I opened my mouth to tell him not to answer that call because uhhelloawkward. Instead, I shook my head that I didn’t, and tried not to lose my mind entirely as he held the phone to his ear.

This day just went from bad to worse.

I must’ve really pissed someone off in a past life.

 

***

 

By the time Damien walked back through the door with a frown on his face, I’d finished my drink, called and paid for the check, and finally beaten my nemesis level on Candy Crush.

He slowly walked up to the table, staring down at his phone like he’d just gotten terrible news.

Which, if that conversation was about what I thought it was, he hadn’t exactly received great news…

He stopped right in front of me. Very carefully, he dragged his gaze from his screen and up to my face. Our eyes met, and where I expected to see annoyance or frustration, maybe even anger, I saw a mixture of bemusement and confusion.

“Did you…” he trailed off, then rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Did you send my father a Cease and Desist?”

“Yes.” I nodded to punctuate it. “I sent you one, too, if you didn’t check your email yet.”

What the hell? Might as well put it out there.

His mouth opened and closed. Dropping his attention to his phone, he licked his lips and swiped at the screen with his thumb. “So you did,” he said, surprise flitting across his face. “That’s…random? Strange? Confusing?”

It was?

“It is?” Now, I was frowning.

“Yes.” He looked back at the email as if he didn’t understand what he was reading. “What is it for? Is this because—Dahlia, I’m lost. Completely lost.”

Confused.

I was very, very confused.

Did he—oh my God. Didn’t he know his dad had been offering formally for the bar?

What the hell?

“I don’t think this is the right place for this conversation.” I hopped off my high seat, clutching my purse, and reached for his hand. It felt so natural, that even as I pulled him along, it didn’t seem right to let go.

Apparently, he felt the same, because he adjusted his hand to wrap his fingers around mine.

I pulled him right out onto the sidewalk and down a few buildings to where a quiet—thankfully clean—alleyway was tucked away. It was the back route to Scarlet, and one I’d taken as a teen when I’d crept out during some of my office work shifts during my one-month-long rebellious phase.

“Did you drive here?” I asked Damien, letting go of his hand when we reached the tiny parking lot tucked behind the bar. Parking lot was generous—it was four spaces.

“No. I walked over from Goldies.”

“Get in.” I nodded toward my car and unlocked it. My red Jaguar was sleek and shiny thanks to a valet while I’d been working.

Damien got in the car after me. I waited until he’d buckled up before pulling away and sliding into the Vegas traffic.

“All right,” he said when we came to a traffic standstill. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath and tapped a light beat to the bottom of the steering wheel. “Those notices weren’t random, Damien.” I glanced at him. “My lawyer called me about half an hour before Fergus told me you were at the bar. Your father made a formal offer for The Scarlet Letter. His second one today.”

“His second one today?”

“Mhmm.” I couldn’t help the pursing of my lips. “The first I was notified of via email at eight this morning. The second warranted a phone call. That’s four formal offers altogether from him alone and not counting the calls and inquiries, according to my lawyer. So, now, if he makes a fifth offer…” I left him to finish that sentence.

“Right. I understand that, but I haven’t made any formal offers. So, why did you send me a Cease and Desist?”

I shrugged my shoulder. “Killed two birds with one stone. Now, legally, you’ve been warned against talking about buying my business.” My smile was a little too gleeful, but I couldn’t help it.

“I might as well get out of the car now. What else are we supposed to talk about? Apart from me pinning you down and putting my face between your legs, of course.”

“Wait, why do I have to be pinned down? Can’t I pin you down instead?”

“Only if you’re willing to sit on my face.” He paused. “And then slide right down to my cock.”

I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel, turning my knuckles white. “I can’t help but feel we’re off-topic.”

“Again, what else are we supposed to talk about?” His hot gaze flicked up and down my body before he settled on tracing my profile. “The weather? Football? Shoes or some shit?”

“We could talk about football.” I moved the car forward a few feet.

He did a double take. “You want to talk about football?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to, I said we could. I used to watch it with my dad, so it’s not like I don’t know anything about it.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. Bewilderment contorted his features, from his one raised eyebrow to his parted lips. “What? Don’t look so shocked.”

“I just don’t peg you for a woman interested in football. Then again, I didn’t think you had the eating habits of a three-year-old, either. You continue to surprise me.”

“I’m like a Russian doll. Just when you think you’ve gotten to the middle of me, boom. I throw a curveball your way.” I moved the car a little more.

“You really watched football?”

I sighed, briefly meeting his eye. “That’s how my parents met,” I said it slowly so the pang that always accompanied talking about them together wasn’t so strong.

I had to say it slowly. If I said it too quick, I’d choke up.

Damien opened his mouth, but I spoke again before he could.

“Dad played football in both high school and college. Mom made the cheer team when he was in his junior year. She said it was love at first sight. He said it was the start of a six-month long attempt by him to get her to pay him the blindest bit of attention.”

“Was it?”

“Love at first sight or a long attempt at getting her attention?”

“Either.”

“Both.” I laughed quietly, moving the car a little more. “She told me once that it didn’t matter if she liked him or not. He had to prove to her that he was worth her time, but she had to prove it to him, too. She was absolutely certain that the key to their relationship was the fact they both knew the other was worth whatever hard times would be thrown their way. He felt the same.”

Damien said nothing.

“They would watch football together. Every game of the season as long as I could remember, and they got tickets to the UNLV games whenever they could. I didn’t care about it until she died.” The traffic moved forward several feet, so I moved with it. “Dad tried to watch the first game of the season after, but he couldn’t. I’d never watched a damn game, but I did then, just so he didn’t have to watch it alone.” I swallowed as the pain clogged in my throat. “After that, I watched every game I could with him.” I slid my hand around the steering wheel just to feel the softness of the leather against my skin. So I could focus on the stitching where the leather joined. Anything but the sadness that was taking hold of my body in the wake of the memories.

“She really made him work for her attention for six months?” he asked, shaking his head.

The exaggeration in the way he said “six months” pulled a laugh from me instead of the sob I feared was coming.

“Something tells me he wasn’t as persistent as someone else I know.” I slid him a knowing look, hitting my blinker to move into the lane one over. I slipped into an empty space when the car behind didn’t move into it. He flashed his lights and beeped, so I reached back between our seats and stuck my middle finger up at him through the back window. “Ass.”

“Road rage,” Damien said dryly. “Awesome. You’re a box of tricks, aren’t you?”

“Not for much longer. There’s a great ice cream place a few blocks off the Strip if this traffic will just start moving.” I punctuated my last few words with a few beeps on my own horn.

“A cocktail bar and an ice cream parlor. Is this how I get my girl card?” he asked, deadly serious, his expression void of all emotion.

“No,” I said, trying to look past the car in front of me. “Cocktails and ice cream is how you increase the likelihood of me sitting on your face.”

Damien leaned over the car and rammed the heel of his hand into the horn. “Come on, assholes!”

Well.

His opinion changed pretty quickly.