Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  Turning, he pushes through the door of the bar. With a hard jerk of his head, he motions me to follow him. After a moment’s hesitation, I trail him into the narrow hall of the kitchen. A mixture of smells assails me, as well as the clanging of pots and pans and food preparation.

  Abruptly, he pivots and faces me. In a voice filled with fury, he says, “I saw you. You didn’t check their IDs.”

  Understanding dawns. “They’re my friends. I don’t need to check their ID. I know how old they are.”

  He rears back, eyebrow raised. “You expect me to take your word for it?” His tone and his expression are both skeptical and scathing. “You’re not twenty-one and you want me to believe your friends are?”

  I open my mouth to respond but he bulldozes on. “John doesn’t mess around with this shit. It’s his liquor license if he gets caught serving minors. The authorities up here will have his arse in a sling.”

  Okay, now I’m not simply angry, I’m pissed off. “First of all, I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to me. Stop treating me like a freakin’ child.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

  I ignore his snark. “Second of all, I’ll be twenty-one next month and everyone at that table is a year older than me. And lastly, my friends wouldn’t ask me to risk my job so they can drink alcohol in a bar. Got it?”

  Graham glares at me as he exhales a frustrated breath.

  Screw him. “Look, you can hate me all you want. I don’t care anymore. But I’m tired of being your punching bag. I’m here to do a job and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go out of your way to make that harder.”

  If I expect him to apologize for jumping to the completely wrong conclusion and bitching me out, I would be in for a rude awakening.

  “Get back to work,” he orders, pointing to the door. “Give me a couple minutes to fix the drinks.”

  One of my reasons for taking this job was to get to know the real Graham. Well, guess what? The real Graham is turning out to be a real asshole.

  Chapter 12

  “You busy?”

  I look up from the invoice I’d been staring sightlessly at the last five minutes to see John standing at the door to my office. I hadn’t heard him approach. I’d been thinking about what happened with Emily yesterday. This is precisely what I feared would happen if we worked together, that every day we’d have a clash of some sort.

  “Not really. What’s up?”

  He enters but doesn’t sit, choosing to address me from a standing position. “I heard you’re having issues with Emily.”

  Shit, I don’t need this right now. But I wave off his concerns with a dismissive flick of my hand. “It’s nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”

  “You want to tell me what it is with you and her because it’s starting to affect your work.”

  “No, it’s not,” I deny, running my thumb along my jaw. Christ, I need a shave.

  He eyeballs me. “When you’re lecturing an employee where a member of the kitchen staff can hear you, it is. If you need to discuss something with her that involves raised voices, you do it out of the earshot of customers and other employees, got it?”

  I’ll admit to being annoyed, but I don’t remember raising my voice at any point in our conversation. But I understand where he’s coming from. Raised voice or not, what I did was uncalled for and unprofessional. And it’s something I’ve never done before. Not when I worked at my dad’s pub and not here. Until last night. That girl brings out the worst in me.

  “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t happen again because you’re going to clear up whatever is going on between you two—and don’t insult my intelligence and tell me it’s nothing. I wasn’t fucking born yesterday.”

  God, have I been that obvious? I thought I’d been good about keeping my issues with her under wraps. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve spoken to her during her shifts.

  “What is it with you and her anyway? What do you have against her?”

  Answering his questions truthfully would be like setting off a live grenade—in me. “John, I promise, it won’t happen again. But you know how I get about selling alcohol to minors. I just went a little overboard. I’ll apologize to her the next time I see her and everything will be cool.”

  Two deep creases form between his eyebrows as his brow furrows. “What, she’s not checking ID?”

  “No. It was just a mix up. I thought she hadn’t but it turned out she knew them.”

  He cocks his head and his gaze turns probing. “You sure?” Anything that has the power to jeopardize his liquor license is of utmost concern to him. I wasn’t kidding when I told Emily he takes that shit seriously. As he should, this place is his livelihood.

  “I’m sure.” I’d double checked with Jason because the girl does know how to lie. Apparently, Emily’s friend is a big deal around there. Something to do with her being a model and being featured on some gossip show. And her boyfriend is the star wide receiver for the Warwick Warriors. Both are seniors of legal drinking age.

  John continues to study me, eyes squinted as if he’s trying to read my mind. “Maybe I shouldn’t have hired her,” he says after a long pause.

  I shrug and recline further in my chair. “What’s done is done.” What else am I going to say? Fire her? On what grounds?

  “If her working here is going to make you miserable…” His voice trails off and his brows go up as if to say, What do you think? You want her gone?

  Damn, I think he’s serious.

  Here’s my chance. With one word, I can get rid of her. “You’d really fire her?” I ask but there’s enough caution in my voice to convey I’m not all over the idea.

  Hey, why aren’t I all over the idea?

  “It’s a helluva lot harder to find a good assistant manager than it is to find a server,” he says with a shrug.

  “I asked you not to hire her last week and you blew me off. Now you want to fire her after she’s already started?” I shake my head, letting out a low laugh of disbelief.

  “Last week I thought you were just being a prima donna. Now I realize that whatever beef you’ve got with her must be serious to do what you did last night. You know me. I don’t like drama and I don’t need that kind of drama here, so if she’s not working out, I’ll tell her she has to go. This is an at-will state, after all.”

  I don’t know whether I’m going soft on her, but damn that sounds harsh. You can’t do that shit in England. Employees can only be terminated for cause. And what would she do? She’s already quit her job at the school.

  It’s not as if she’s going to starve, you idiot.

  True, her folks aren’t exactly paupers. Her mother’s a well-known modeling agent and her father’s a fucking district attorney. “She quit her job.”

  John stares down at me in surprise. Then he throws back his head and gives a throaty laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” There’s nothing worse than not being in on the joke.

  “You are, you back-peddling dolt. You didn’t want me to hire her but the second I offer to get rid of her, instead of jumping at the chance, you’re coming up with reasons for me not to.”

  My hackles rise at the knowing look he’s giving me. It’s not that I have feelings for her—at least not warm ones. I just think firing her without cause would be a shitty thing to do. My god, I’m not an unfeeling bastard. But you know what, let him think what he wants. I’m a professional. I can deal with having to work with her.

  “Last night was my fault, that’s all. I told you, I’m going to talk to her and everything will be cool.”

  Backing out of the office, he holds up his hands. “Don’t say I didn’t offer.” Then he turns and disappears from sight, the sound of his footsteps heavy on the wood floors of the hallway.

  I sit motionless behind my desk, my bottom lip squeezed between my index finger and thumb as I marvel at the irony of the situation.


  The tables have turned. Now I’m the one who has to apologize to her.

  I walk into work the next day with my armor in place. This time, I refuse to let Graham get under my skin. April said something similar during her pep talk to me this morning when I told her what happened.

  She’d been furious at Graham, employing color adjectives to describe him and his attitude, and suggesting he do something to himself that is anatomically impossible. She’d also been miffed at me for not telling her right then and there. Honestly, what would she have done? Cornered him and glued her driver’s license to his eyeballs after browbeating him with it? Talk about making things worse.

  It’s bad enough he thinks I’m nothing but a spoiled brat used to getting my way. That lying is my modus operandi. Not to mention the whole situation with Milt and Joe.

  He’s out to prove—to himself more than anyone else—that I’m everything he needs me to be. God forbid, it turns out that a broomstick is not my preferred mode of transportation. That I’m essentially a decent person. One who made a mistake I’ve lived to regret. Nope, Graham won’t even contemplate such a person exists. But she does. I’m living proof and I’m not going anywhere.

  As usual, the place is noisy and crowded, but not so crowded that I have to side-shimmy my way to the bar. This time I left my purse in my trunk and stuffed my necessities—cell phone, lipstick, comb and car keys—in one of the pockets of my apron. I’d blanched at the thought of asking Graham to lock it in his office. The less contact we have, the better. Hopefully, today won’t be a repeat of yesterday.

  On the positive side, since Milt called out tonight, I’ll be getting an entire section to myself, which means more tips for me. That’s something to look forward to.

  Seeing Graham, not so much. But there he is, standing next to the kitchen door talking to Lou, the part-time dishwasher. Then as if he senses my presence, he turns his gaze in my direction. I quickly look away and hurry toward the break room to sign in.

  I barely make it ten feet before I hear my name.

  “Emily.”

  Damn. Could he give me a breather for a couple minutes? I’m not ready to go another round with him.

  I draw in a deep breath, fix my face—faux smile in place—and turn to face him.

  “Yeah?”

  Four strides and he’s standing in front of me, bristle shadowing his jaw. “I need to talk to you. Let’s go to my office.”

  Oh my god, I’m living Groundhog Day. This is déjà vu at its worst. “My shift starts in a few minutes.” What can he possibly have to talk to me about now? I’m still recovering from the last time we “talked”—where talking meant being accused of doing something I didn’t do.

  “That’s okay. They can do without you for ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes? That long? But it’s not as though I have a choice.

  I reluctantly follow him to his office. At the door, he stands back and motions for me to precede him in. I do, ever conscious of him behind me. Where I can’t see him. I ignore the chair in front of his desk, choosing to remain standing, eager to make my escape the second I can.

  “Have a seat,” he says and shuts the door.

  “I’m good.”

  “God, would you sit down already, Emily. I’m not going to bite,” he says, an impatient edge to his voice.

  Am I supposed to be put at ease by that? But because it’s simply not worth fighting over, I do as he says. Plus, the sooner we get this over, the better.

  He drops into his chair. Tipping his head slightly back, he stares at me from beneath veiled lashes. After a few beats, he pushes forward and props his elbows on the desk. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that. And I should’ve spoken to you in private.”

  Hope springs eternal but the last part makes it clear that someone—most likely John—put him up to this. One of the other employees must have heard him chewing me out and said something to him, and this is the result.

  “Okay.” I nod, hoping that’s it. Apology delivered and accepted. Fait accompli.

  He stares at me expectantly as if waiting for me to say more.

  “Is that all?”

  He clears his throat and holds up his finger. Hold on. “No, one other thing.”

  That’s what I get for asking. When am I going to learn to keep my mouth shut?

  “When I was talking to my mum, she said that I don’t know what you went through to get the charges dropped. What did she mean by that?”

  Ugh. I really wish she hadn’t said anything about that. It’s not that I don’t want Graham to know, but the answer to that comes with a slew of bad memories. Memories I don’t want to dredge up.

  “Graham, that was a long time ago.”

  His gaze grows more intense and unwavering. “Not that long.” After a pregnant pause, he says, “When the charges were dropped, I assumed it was because you refused to cooperate. But I recently found out that they didn’t necessarily need you to go forward with the case. And that got me thinking about what my mum said.”

  Is this simple curiosity on his part or something less charitable? It’s hard to tell from his expression. The number of times he’s looked at me with anything short of annoyance are few and far between, which is why his attitude now is disconcerting.

  “Do you really want to go into all this right now?” And I’m not talking about the fact that my shift started a few minutes ago.

  “I’m giving you the chance you’ve been asking for. You wanted to talk about what happened, go for it. Tell me what happened.”

  “Can this wait until later?” If we’re going to do this, I don’t want to be rushed. I also don’t want to have this talk and then have to spend seven hours working with him.

  With the tightening of his lips, his expression says, Let’s talk about this now. I’m surprised when he says, “We’ll talk after work then.”

  On a mental sigh of relief, I spring to my feet with such speed I’m rendered momentarily light-headed. I fast walk to the door half expecting him to call me back.

  Thankfully, he lets me go.

  Chapter 13

  I should call it off. The talk I’m supposed to have with Emily after work. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. Who cares what she did to get the charges dropped? It sure as hell doesn’t make her any less culpable, and it won’t change the way I feel about her.

  How do you feel about her?

  I blow out a breath and answer the irritating voice in my head. How the fuck do I know. I know I don’t want to like her. I don’t want to feel anything for her but apathy. I thought I was at that stage until I saw her again. Seeing her did something to me beyond simply dredging up shit I want to forget.

  Fucking Emily!

  You know you want to, the voice inside my head taunts.

  Fuck you! I meant it in the pejorative sense.

  Sure you did.

  Grrr. Sick and tired of being alone with my thoughts, I exit my office and head back out to the bar. At half past eleven, the kitchen staff has left for the night and the dining room area has been cleared for dancing.

  Loud music pours from four large strategically placed speakers, filling the room with a song heavy on bass and the top forty rotation list. A large group of girls and many couples bounce and gyrate on the dance floor. Those surrounding watch—the men appreciatively—with drinks in hand.

  I’m not searching for anyone in particular but then my gaze lands on Emily and stops. Just stops. She doesn’t wear as much makeup as she did when I first met her. Probably because she doesn’t need to now that she’s actually an adult. I hate to admit it to myself, but describing her as beautiful doesn’t do her justice. There’s something about her looks that go beyond her delicate nose, large hazel eyes and cupid lips. She possesses an air about her that suggests a cautious reserve. Or perhaps a vulnerability. For women like that, attracting men is as easy as breathing. I should know, I’d been attracted once. Infatuated. In lust. />
  Emily had conned me good.

  My attention is caught by the dark-haired man touching her elbow as he tries to capture her attention. He’s one of the six customers at the table she’s serving, a mixed table of men and women who, by appearances, fall in the upper end of our clientele age range. The man smiles up at her, his expression unabashedly sexual in his admiration. Emily takes a discreet step back, dislodging his hand, her friendly smile remaining in place.

  My jaw clenches. She’s young enough to be his daughter.

  But you know what? It’s none of my business. Emily can take care of herself. I’ll only step in if he touches her again. Guys who harass female employees or customers are escorted out. This hasn’t risen to that level…yet, but I’m going to keep an eye on him. And not because it’s Emily. I’m the same way about all female employees.

  Suddenly, I’m blinded. Soft hands cover my eyes, breasts are pressed up against my back, and the familiar scent of Chanel perfume surrounds me.

  Liane.

  Shit. Liane.

  “Guess who?” she asks and I can hear the smile in her voice.

  I turn around and her arms encircle my neck as she pulls my head down to hers. Her kiss is sufficiently passionate given how brief it is. I’m at work. I prefer my public displays of affection out of the workplace. It has nothing to do with Emily being here.

  Speaking of Emily. As inconspicuously as I can, I shift positions. That way I can keep an eye on her. I need to know where she is at all times. At least until Liane leaves. For obvious reasons, I don’t want my girlfriend to know I’m working with the woman she thinks is my stalker.

  I look down into Liane’s beaming face. “What are you doing here?”

  We hadn’t solidified plans, but I assumed she was driving up next weekend when I’ll have Friday and Saturday off.

  Her arms tighten around me and her voice goes husky. “I couldn’t wait another week to see you, so here I am. What do you think? Do you like your surprise?”