Two

Dahlia

 

“What did one wear to meet an arrogant dick?” was the question of the day.

Thankfully, I hadn’t packed most of my clothes before I’d left for California, so my ‘work’ clothes were still hanging, perfectly pressed, in my walk-in closet. Not that it made the choice any easier, mind you. Did I wear jeans and a smart shirt? A skirt? A dress?

Why did I care? I had no intention of spending any longer than five minutes with Damien Fox. I needed just enough time to tell him there was no chance in hell I was selling The Scarlet Letter and to get out of my bar.

I pulled a red dress off the rack and looked it over. It was one of my favorites, and the red-soled, black, Louboutin pumps I’d had my eye on since walking into the closet were the perfect match. I grabbed them before taking both the shoes and my dress into my bedroom to get ready.

I still didn’t know who the hell Damien Fox thought he was. I’d replayed the phone call a hundred times, and I couldn’t believe the audacity of him and his words. Was that how he conducted all his business? By ruthless, pushy tactics? Was anything he did honest or was it all underhand?

As far as I knew, the man had never been interested in buying Scarlet until my dad died. I was as deep in the running of it as he was, and I would have known if anyone had tried to buy it. That wasn’t something Dad would have kept from me—he would have wanted me to be prepared for this exact situation.

As it was, I wasn’t. Not even the tiniest bit. Was there a way to stop someone trying to buy your business when you didn’t want to? I assumed I could eventually get a restraining order, but that seemed excessive. Even if the person in question was as persistent as a severe bout of vaginal thrush, just like Damien Fox seemed like.

I giggled at my own thoughts. Better the string of inappropriateness came out now, in private, inside my head. I doubted that particular thought would go down well if it came out of my mouth in his company.

Although, it would be worth it, just for the look on his face…

No. I was a business owner now, and I needed to be professional at all times.

I smoothed my dress down my stomach and looked in the mirror. Indigo-blue eyes partially hidden by dark-brown bangs blinked back at me. The red lipstick slicked across my lips matched the dress almost perfectly, but none of that hid the nerves that were rolling around in my stomach.

There was no difference between my nerves and an elephant doing a roly-poly. Both were as unsettling as the other. Not that I’d ever been in the presence of an elephant doing a roly-poly, but I could imagine how uncomfortable that would be to be around.

I stepped into my shoes and gave myself one more stare in the mirror.

Goddamn this, why was I nervous? I was Dahlia Lloyd. Despite my name, I was no shrinking flower. I never had been, and I wasn’t going to start now just because a Fox wanted me to submit to his demands.

The sooner Damien Fox learned that, the better it would be for him.

I nodded at myself in the reflective surface, grabbed my purse, and went in search of my things.

And my bravado.

 

***

 

The Scarlet Letter was deathly quiet as I entered through the back door. It was so early that not even Abby was here yet, and that was for the best. She’d become fiercely protective of me after my dad’s diagnosis, and I hadn’t even told her about this meeting this morning.

If I had, I knew she’d march herself down here despite her late night just to make sure Damien Fox was handled.

He would be handled—by me. I’d become certain of that in my drive over here. He had no right to call me up and assume I’d meet with him, much less to assume that said meeting would lead to me selling him my bar.

He could go to Hell on a first-class ticket with a martini in hand for all I cared.

And I didn’t. Care, that was. All I cared was that he took himself the hell out of my life and let me get on with getting back to my new normal. This wasn’t what I’d planned on upon my return. Granted, I’d still be in Cali if it weren’t for his constant going on, but still. Semantics.

It was whatever.

I locked the door behind me, grabbed the phone, and headed up to my office. I had a little time before Damien showed up, and all I could do with it was attempt to make my office a little tidier.

Not that it would make a big difference because not much could make this office tidier than it was. A hurricane could blow through this mess and make it better than it was right in that moment.

I’d barely put a stack of papers back in the right pile when the phone rang. The time flashed as nine-fifty, but the number was unknown. This was Damien, no doubt.

“The Scarlet Letter,” I answered. “Dahlia speaking.”

“Ms. Lloyd. I’m at the front of the building.”

“You’re—” my attempt at telling him he was early was cut off by what was quickly becoming his trademark hang-up move.

I slammed the phone down on the desk.

If I’d been in a better frame of mind, I’d have left him waiting for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in that frame of mind. I wanted to get this crap over and done with so I could carry on with my life.

“Sonofabitch,” I muttered, pushing off the desk.

At least I knew my makeup wasn’t smudged. I hadn’t had a chance to have coffee yet, and I paid good money to ensure that my lipstick didn’t come off with the sip of a glass of water.

I tugged my dress down as I headed down to the bar. I had to walk through the entire bar to reach the front door where he was waiting for me. Keeping my temper in check was harder than I’d imagined it would be—annoyance crawled over my skin, twisting and turning it into goose bumps I couldn’t will away.

Stopping in front of the double, wooden doors that made up the front doors to the bar, I did my best to school my expression into one that didn’t give away how I was feeling. Judging by my inability to not purse my lips, I was failing.

Abysmally.

Whatever. If he didn’t want to annoy me, he should try leaving me alone.

I unlocked the door and opened it. I’d seen Damien Fox before, but never in person, only in pictures. And in fact, that pissed me off even more, the photos I’d seen apparently didn’t do the man justice.

He was devilishly handsome, from his dark hair to his dark, calculating eyes. The stubble that coated his strong jaw was trimmed short, but just long enough to be the perfect length to rub your fingers over.

Not that I wanted to rub my fingers over his anything. It was just an observation.

“Dahlia Lloyd, I presume?” His voice was just as deep and rumbly as it was on the phone. Better, actually. If horniness had a sound, it would be his voice.

Damn it. I was not one of those women.

I straightened my spine and met his gaze. “Were you expecting me to be anyone else?”

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed.” His eyes glittered with amusement.

“Ask a stupid question and you’ll get a stupid answer, Mr. Fox. Come on in.” I stepped to the side for him to pass.

He joined me inside the bar. I locked the door behind him and waved him to follow me.

“Please excuse the mess in the office. I’m in the middle of sorting it out.” I rounded my desk and offered him the seat on the other side.

His dark gaze cast around the room as he sat. A rectangle shape the size of a phone pressed against the fabric of his dark gray pants, and the matching jacket he wore seemed to stretch across his broad shoulders as he got comfortable.

I knew what he was seeing. Boxes upon boxes, random stacks of paper and folders, and an empty Coke bottle.

Whoops.

“Would you like a coffee?” Why was I offering him a drink? I didn’t want him here long enough to finish one.

Thankfully, he shook his head. “I just had one, but thank you. I’d like to get straight to the point.”

“I’m not selling The Scarlet Letter.” What? He’s the one who said we needed to get to it.

He arched one dark eyebrow. “You haven’t heard what I have to say yet.”

“Quite frankly, Mr. Fox,” I said, resting my forearms on the desk in front of me, “I don’t feel the need to hear it. I can’t imagine that anything you say will make me change my mind.”

“It’s a deal that would benefit us both.”

“The only thing that could benefit us both is you hearing what I’m saying.”

“I’m hearing it, I just wonder if you know what you’re doing.”

My eyebrows shot up. Did he really just say that to me? Did he just imply that I don’t know how to run a bar? “Excuse me?”

If he’d recognized my anger, he didn’t let on. He rested his right foot on his left thigh and gripped his ankle. “You’re awfully young to be running a bar. You’re only twenty-five and barely out of college.”

“That happens when you go back to complete your Masters.”

“Fancy degrees don’t run businesses, Ms. Lloyd.”

“I didn’t think dumb people could either, but here I am, looking at you.”

He stared at me.

“I’m not quite sure who you think you are, Mr. Fox, but I can assure you, I’m sure as hell not who you think I am.” The sharp edge to my voice made him sit up a little straighter. “While you seem pretty certain that a Masters in Business Studies won’t run a business, you’re neglecting to realize that I’ve been running this bar with and for my father for the past seven years while I’ve been studying. My age has nothing to do with my ability to keep this bar as successful as it is. I’m telling you that I’m not selling the bar, and even if I were, to sell it to someone who has zero respect for me would be an insult to my parents.” Not to mention to myself. “I can’t possibly see what else is there is to discuss, so I apologize for you wasting your time coming here this morning, but I think you should leave now.”

I was furious. I’d known he was rude from the phone calls, but to sit in front of me in my building and tell me I was incapable of running the very thing I’d grown up being taught to run was beyond anything I’d ever known. The audacity of him was on another level.

He didn’t move until I stood and held the door open pointedly. Then, in the same silence he’d adopted for the past few minutes, he followed me to the front doors where I unlocked them and held that one open, too.

Damien Fox stepped in front of me into the doorway and stopped. With his attention on me, he ran his gaze along the length of my body, not pausing to linger anywhere until our eyes met. Dark brown with hints of gold, his eyes were mesmerizing.

It was a shame his personality didn’t match his looks.

“You’re really quite fascinating, Ms. Lloyd,” he said in a low voice that probably would have made me shiver if I weren’t so angry.

“So is the Crime and Investigation channel,” I shot back. “It would be a better choice of your time.”

He laughed.

He actually laughed at me.

“You would think.” A wry smile stretched across his full, pale pink lips. “I’ll see you soon, Ms. Lloyd.”

I sincerely hoped not. “We’ll see.” I returned the smile and was about to shut the door when I saw Abby heading our way.

A scowl formed on her face when she realized who was standing in front of me. Ignoring him completely, she said, “Morning, Dahlia.”

“Morning, Abs. The coffee’s on.”

She gave me a thumb up before disappearing inside.

“Abs,” Damien mused. “Abby, right? Your manager.”

I couldn’t help my smirk. “She doesn’t like you much. And now, I understand why.”

That smile reappeared on his face. It was a cross between a cocky grin and a sexy smirk, and I had a feeling it was one he saved for difficult people. “There’s plenty to like about me, Ms. Lloyd. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

God, he was arrogant.

“Ten points for trying, but I have to get back to work now, so…” I trailed off and gave him a pointed look.

So, get lost now, please.

He inclined his head toward me, and then, I noticed something I’d missed before.

He had a scar, right beneath his right eye. It was faded, but it had caught in the sunlight that bounced off his face. About two inches long and relatively thin, it added a ruggedness to his overly-polished appearance.

How had he gotten that scar?

And why did I want to know?

“We’ll speak soon.” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“No, we won’t. We’re done here.”

“We’re far from being done,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips.

My answer was to shut the door. Slam it, actually. In his face.

If only the door were soundproof, I wouldn’t have to listen to that rich laugh of his through it.

I turned to find Abby standing next to the sweeping, circular bar, shaking her head.

“He’s such a jerk.”

It was hard to argue with the truth.