Three

Dahlia

 

I hefted the heavy box of paperwork off the desk of my dad’s old office. The home office was just as bad as the one at the bar, and I felt like I’d already shredded an entire forest’s worth of paper.

Unable to shake my annoyance from yesterday morning’s meeting with Damien Fox, I had a permanent eye on my phone. He’d left too easily and too quietly. As much as I wanted to be done with this shitshow, I didn’t need his promise that we weren’t done to know that he was coming up with another plan to pry the bar from my hands.

Whatever his reason was for wanting The Scarlet Letter, I was more certain than I had been before that the only reason he was trying to buy it now was because he’d assumed I’d sell. He wrongly thought I’d be a pushover and that he’d own it by now.

He’d underestimated me, and I had a feeling that was why he’d left so easily. He needed to rethink his plan of attack. Going in, guns blazing and batting his stupidly long eyelashes at me hadn’t worked the way he had hoped.

Was I entering a tactical war to keep hold of my bar? There was no way in hell that he was giving up that easily. Hell, he hadn’t even acknowledged my mini-rant. He hadn’t said a word until he decided to tell me I was fascinating.

A fact I, of course, already knew.

I wished he didn’t, though. I couldn’t shake the thought that the reason he was going to keep coming back was to find out more about me.

What if that was how he’d made his success? Was he the kind of person who tore apart your life to find your weakness to use against you?

The only weakness I thought I had was an enthusiastic love of chocolate ice cream.

He scared me.

I knew nothing about him, yet he knew a little about me. He knew I’d not long left college and how old I was. Neither of those things were something Abby would have told him, so he had to have found them out by himself.

I knew it was a common thing to do, but the fact he’d been looking me up made me shiver. What else did he know about me that I didn’t know he knew?

Why didn’t I know enough about him?

I needed to change that, and I needed to do it now.

I moved another box to the door for recycling—I’d had enough of shredding, it could go as it was—and looked at the clock on the wall. I didn’t have to be at the bar until three, so I had time to do a little digging. And I knew exactly where to start.

I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend, Mia’s, number as I walked to the kitchen. The sunlight almost blinded me as it streamed in through the vast, sliding glass doors, and I muttered a curse right before Mia picked up.

“Hi, stranger. A little birdie told me you’re home.”

I smiled. “I am. How’s married life?”

“Same as it was before, except neither of us can decide what to do about the business.” She laughed. “West wants me to rename it, but I don’t know if I can be bothered to go through all the steps to change it from O’Halloran to Rykman. If I’m going to do that, I may as well name it something else altogether now there’s a whole team of us.”

“That would get my vote,” I told her.

“But what?” I could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Never mind. I’m just going to ignore him until I can think up something. How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing good, actually. It’s nice to be back and settling into work again. I’d be happier if I didn’t have to sort through all dad’s paperwork.”

Mia laughed. “Remember when I did that small marketing campaign for him online? It took him two weeks to find the info from the last woman he hired to give to me. It was a good thing he booked me so far out.”

I did remember, and she wasn’t exaggerating. Maybe his filing system didn’t work for him, either. “I do remember. I actually have a favor. I need some info.”

“Fine, but it’ll cost you a drink.”

“Done. Do you know much about Damien Fox?”

She was quiet for a moment. “Not many people do, but I probably know the most. He’s friends with West. Why do you need to know about him? I didn’t think you knew each other.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it. “We didn’t until his persistence brought me home.”

“Are you…dating him?”

“If by dating you mean plotting his murder, then, yes, I am.”

“Uh oh.”

I gave her a quick rundown of the situation. “He seems to know a lot about me, and I get the feeling he isn’t going to give up anytime soon. I need a head-start.”

“Now that, I can help you with. I’ll see you at seven.”

 

***

 

I walked into the bar at two-thirty. The bar was dead. There was a group in the corner, a couple in a booth, and a table full of girlfriends who were laughing happily. The music was low and soothing, unlike later where it’d be turned right up in keeping with the party mood.

The versatility of the bar was why I loved it so much.

Charley, one of the waitresses, banged out of the doors that connected the bar to the kitchen with a tray resting on her shoulder. The smell of the cheesy-bacon stuffed potatoes we had on the appetizer menu made my nose twitch. They smelled so good, and now, I was hungry.

I’d skipped lunch to continue my Damien Fox information hunt. I hadn’t found anything except the string of strip clubs he owned and articles about his charity and functions or some crap. I’d read one and given up. It was nothing but singing his praises, and I didn’t give a shit about his praises. I gave a shit about something that would be useful to me.

I walked up to the bar and approached the giant bouquet of flowers. White and pink lilies stared out at me. “Hey, Abs.” I softly ran a finger across the edge of a lily petal. “You got an admirer?”

She blinked at me and then the flowers. “Me? No. Those are yours.”

I frowned. Mine?

“There should be a card in there somewhere. They were delivered about a half hour ago. I knew you would be here early so I didn’t bother calling you.”

“Yeah, the text of ‘Are you getting your ass to work today?’ covered that.” I flashed her a smile before looking for the card. “Who sent them?”

She put down the glass she’d been cleaning and walked over to me. “Here.” She bent and picked something off the floor. “It must have fallen out when I transferred them into the vase.”

“Did you read it?” I took the small envelope from her and set down my purse.

“Nope. I can guess who they’re from, though.”

I stopped, mid-way through opening the envelope. “No.”

Her grin was evil.

There was no way these flowers were from Damien Fox. Was there?

“Why would he send me flowers?” I blinked at Abby.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say the answer to your question is in the card you’re holding.” That grin was still in place.

“What? Oh. Right. Of course.” My cheeks heated.

“You’re blushing.” She dropped the grin—and her jaw. “Why are you blushing? He’s a dick!”

“I’m blushing because I forgot I was holding the card. I’m shocked.”

“Flustered. You’re flustered.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Flustered.”

“Ugh!” I ripped the envelope open the rest of the way. She was right—I was flustered. This didn’t make any sense. Nobody had any reason to send me flowers. I’d had tons of them after my father’s death, but they were all long dead.

I pulled the thick card from the envelope. It was plain white on the front, but inside, the note was written in clean, capital letters.

 

MS. LLOYD,

MY APOLOGIES.

DAMIEN FOX.

 

I stared at the card. That was it. That was all it said. Our names and the most half-assed apology I’d ever read in my life. Sure, it’d come with the flowers, but compared to the flowers…Who the fuck would send what had to be a hundred-dollar bouquet of flowers and combine it with this card?

I hadn’t meant to call him dumb yesterday, but maybe I wasn’t too far off the mark, after all.

“What?”

I looked up at Abby. Wordlessly, I held out the card for her to read.

She pulled it from between my fingers and read it. A loud laugh barked out of her, and she threw the card down on the bar with a shake of her head. “Just when I think he can’t surprise me anymore, he does that.”

That was one way to put it.

I dug around in my purse for my phone. Easier said than done. I had everything and its twin in there, so it took me a minute to clasp my fingers around the smooth Samsung and pull it out. Abs looked over at the screen as I pulled up my messages and started a new one with him as the recipient.

 

Me: Why are you sorry?

 

Someone came to the bar to order, so my best friend had to dart away, but not without snorting at my message to him.

What else was I supposed to say? Thanks for the flowers but your note was a pile of shit?

Well. Maybe that was the way to go.

 

Me: The flowers are gorgeous. Thank you.

 

There. Now I didn’t look like I was ungrateful because I wasn’t. They really were very pretty—the mix of red, white, and pink lilies and roses scattered with other flowers I didn’t know the names of were the kind of flowers you could look at all day. He probably had an assistant pick them out and do the card, but whatever.

My phone buzzed in my hand, so I unlocked it.

 

Damien: You’re welcome.

 

Another buzz.

 

Damien: I apologized because I underestimated you.

 

Well, I could have told him that.

It was interesting, though. Of all the things he could apologize for—there were many—he picked that. That told me he wasn’t giving up. He wanted my bar, and for some reason, he wanted it badly.

 

Me: I would have gone with being rude and pressuring as the reason for the apology, personally.

Damien: But I’d be lying.

Me: You’re not sorry you were rude and borderline harassing with your behavior?

Damien: I’m trying to be sorry for that, but you’re just too fucking hot when you get annoyed. It’s endearing.

 

What?

 

Me: You know I’m torturing you in my mind when I’m angry with you, right? That’s not typically hot.

Damien: Like I said, you’re fascinating.

Me: Only because you assumed you could walk into my bar and purchase it without a fight once I’d seen you. I didn’t drop to my knees and agree to let you buy it.

Damien: Touché.

Damien: Buying bars isn’t usually what I’m doing when a woman is on her knees in front of me, though.

 

He got worse and worse, didn’t he?

 

Me: Charming.

Damien: Come to dinner with me.

 

My eyebrows shot up. Go to dinner with him? I’d rather sleep on hot coals and be sat on by a sumo wrestler. Not to mention his last text and the fact he didn’t ask. He told me to go.

 

Me: No.

 

I put my phone back into my purse and zipped it up. Of course, the urge to see his response was overwhelming. Because there would be one. A response. He was like a dog with a bone. I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d take my answer and leave it.

It wasn’t like I wouldn’t go. I’m almost certain I would. I wanted to know why he wanted my bar as much as he did, so I couldn’t not go. The only problem was, I didn’t like to be dictated to, and Damien Fox was very, very good at dictating to me.

Case in point with the dinner message.

“He wants me to go to dinner with him.” I picked up my purse. “He told me to go.”

Abby coughed to hide her laughter. “Please tell me you told him what to do with that demand.”

“I told him no, straight up. I’m going upstairs to do some more in dad’s office and do some paperwork. Do you need me to do anything?”

She nodded. “The schedule for the next month. Finley leaves next week.”

Damn. I’d forgotten that. Finley had worked here for five years but was opening a bar in Reno with a friend. He was damn good at his job, and I knew we’d struggle to replace him.

“All right. I’ll get that done and put some ads out.” I left her in the bar and headed up to the office. It was much quieter here, but there was a problem—no Abby.

Which meant the first thing I did as soon as I shut the door was check my phone like a loser.

Just like I knew there would be, there was a message from Damien, but it didn’t say what I expected it to.

 

Damien: You’ll go to dinner with me. One day.

 

I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say to that? It was obvious he was the kind of man who was used to getting his own way. He was essentially an adult-sized toddler. I was already getting fed up with his attitude, and unbelievably, every message he sent or word he spoke just made it even worse.

How could anyone be so cocksure of themselves? He was acting like he was the king of the universe or some other freaking bullshit.

How much longer was I going to have to put up with this?

 

***

 

I pinned the month’s schedule to the board in the giant staff room and sent everyone a text letting them know to make sure to check the board in case anything needed to be changed. I hadn’t made much headway in the office since phone calls came in left, right, and center, but I’d sent out the job advertisements so Abby could get to interviewing for Finley’s replacement.

“Knock knock.”

I turned at the sound of Mia’s voice at the door. “Hey! Come in.”

“Abby sent me back. Is that okay?” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ear.

“Sure. And she got you a drink.” I grinned at the wine glass in her hand. “It’s probably easier to talk back here anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if Damien Fox has someone stalking me.”

She laughed and sat down with me on one of the large, squishy sofas. “Is it that bad?”

“He demanded me for dinner earlier.”

Her raised eyebrow said it all.

“Yeah. And those are from him. An apology for underestimating me.” I pointed to the flowers.

“Wow. I only know him as West’s friend and even then, it’s more business than anything, but that sounds exactly like the Damien I know.”

I sighed. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “I know nothing about him except that my father refused to do business with any of the Foxs. He wouldn’t even talk about them, and I’d never spoken to him in my life until I got back.”

“I’m not gonna lie, Dar, but this isn’t the kind of place I expected him to try to buy. It’s not exactly his usual business deal.”

“Exactly. Aside from a couple restaurants, he exclusively operates strip clubs.”

“Maybe he wants to turn this into a strip club.”

“But, why? We run a crazy profit here because it’s different. He has to know that.”

Mia shrugged and sipped her wine. “Damien is used to getting what he wants. Kind of like you with your dad, he was groomed into taking over the family business. I think his dad is still involved, but only in ownership. From what West told me before, Damien’s dad was pretty ruthless and had some less than legal dealings.”

“The mob, you mean.”

“I don’t know for sure, and West didn’t say, but I’d go with that. Something major happened that made Damien’s dad change his ways, and as far as I know, as soon as the contracts ran out, that was the end of it. So, now the business is all clean, but the connections are still there on a personal level.” She paused. “There’s a rumor that when Billy Jo’s shut down, that was because a friend of Damien’s paid Billy a visit. Not long after that, Damien bought it and converted it into Dark House.”

“I remember Billy Jo’s shutting down.” It was one of the most popular Western-style bars in the area, and it made no sense for it to shut down. It had shocked everyone, but now, it made a whole lot more sense. It was prime real estate, too. “Damn. Is that what I can expect if I don’t sell out to him? A gun in my face?”

Mia smiled and shook her head. “He’s an asshole, but he’s not a bad guy. He’s ruthless, but he cares a lot about his family. I don’t think he’d send the mob around to get this place. West thinks he’ll push his luck until he gets bored and then move on to something else.”

“Great. I’m essentially a new toy for him to play with.” Maybe my earlier toddler analogy wasn’t too far off.

“You cannot just barge back here!” Abby shrieked from the other side of the door. “Mr. Fox!”

My eyes widened.

“Oh shit,” Mia whispered, clutching her glass tightly.

Oh shit was pretty accurate, actually.

“Mr. Fox! This part of the bar is for staff members only. I won’t ask you again to get back to the bar!” Abby was seconds away from having a heart attack.

I got up and yanked the door open. “What the hell is going on?”

Damien Fox stopped a few feet short of me, and Abby took her chance. She stepped around the side of him, squared up to him—which was pretty funny because she was at least eight inches shorter than him—and jabbed her finger in his chest.

“You aren’t the exception to the rule, Mr. Fox. Staff only back here. Get back into the bar now before I call the police for your trespassing on private property.”

That was a little extreme.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him, meeting his gaze. “I think I’ve made my stance very clear.”

He held up his hands. “I came to talk to you.”

“You wasted your time. I’m busy.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Mia got up and grabbed her purse. “Hi, Damien.”

She was a traitor.

He did a double take between me and her. “Mia,” he acknowledged. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Why would you?” she said brightly, coming up behind me. “I’ll wait at the bar for you to get done here, Dahlia.”

Me glaring daggers at her didn’t diminish her bright smile at all. She simply grabbed Abby’s arm, whispered in her ear, and dragged her away.

But not before Abby could shoot Damien a look so hard that if it could kill, he’d be dead on the spot.

I waited until they were both out of earshot and focused on the man standing in front of me. Today, his suit was navy blue, but it fit him just as well as the gray one had yesterday. I didn’t let myself linger on that, though.

I swallowed. “What do you want to talk about?”

A slow, sexy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You.”