The redhead’s cheeks flushed pink as she exchanged a glance with his mate, seated across from her. Ian’s attention was drawn back to the band, seemingly oblivious to Connie’s request, his head swaying slightly to the beat of the bass and drumline. She felt her teeth dragging over her lower lip as an ache began in her belly, pleading with her to oblige the man.
Evie wanted to be closer to Connie more than anything, longed to be back to his flat. As he mouthed the word, ‘please,’ that perfectly sculpted cupid’s bow was too much for her to handle. She made her way back into his embrace, despite her inhibitions about public displays of affection.
The heat of Connie’s hands mapping her backside was both enticing as it was shocking. The mischievous Scot whispered in her ear, “You have the roundest arse I’ve ever seen. I can’t keep my hands from tourin’.”
Although the compliment ran a thrill up and down her spine, his roaming hands made her feel acutely aware of Ian’s presence. It just wasn’t right!
Connie’s pawing stopped long enough for him to reach forward and grab a shot glass. He drew it upwards, encouraging her and Ian to join in. When they both declined, the man threw the drink back, and then hers and his friends. The empty glasses cracked down on the tabletop one after the other, making Evie increasingly uneasy. When his hands returned to roam her thighs, Ian grimaced and turned away.
Evie could stand it no longer. The night was shot.
The redhead made to stand. Those biceps she so admired clamped down, holding her firmly in place.
“Connie, please,” she scolded, no longer fooling around.
“We’ve only just started,” his voice was dark and guttural, warm against her cheek and fetid with whiskey.
“No,” she hissed back, struggling to free his vice-like grip, “you’re drunk, and I don’t want this. Not in front of Ian.”
Evie felt a moment of panic before the snubbed Scot scoffed and released her. She scrambled off his lap, relieved to be free. When the heel of her pumps hit the floor, her ankle—unaccustomed to wearing such footwear—twisted. She let out a stifled yelp, and it was Ian that saved her from doing any damage. Ian let her go the minute she had her balance.
Connie downed the last three shots on the tray, ignoring them and the incident. Evie wasn’t sure how much more his liver could take, but she wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
“I’m sorry, Ian, but I think I’m going to go.”
Ian handed her the cape and offered to walk her to the door.
Evie turned back to say goodbye to the sulking Scot, pecking a chaste kiss on his lips. He begged her not to leave him. The waver in his voice made her resolve crack, making her want to dive back onto his lap—a hopeless addict! Connie had sounded so wounded, so remorseful, and so haunted. However, her common sense prevailed. Evie worked in the morning, and she was not about to do it with a nasty hangover just to spend a few more awkward moments in Connie’s drunken embrace.
Ian helped her escape the cramped confines of the busy pub before Evie changed her mind. As they walked up the stairs to the street, she was relieved to have the fresh air. It cleared her head and her thoughts.
“I hate to be a right arse, but are ya okay to get yerself home?” Ian asked, a look of consternation crossing his features.
“I’ll be fine. My place is just across the canal.” She reassured him.
“Oh, good,” he sighed.
Ian turned to leave, and Evie stopped him. “Please make sure he gets home safe.”
The man’s mouth curled up at the corner, as he winked at her, “What’s yer idiom? This ain’t my first rodeo.”
His attempt to copy her accent was pretty good.
Evie laughed, correcting, “That’s probably more American than Canadian, but because I have used that saying, I’ll let it fly.”
They shared a chuckle before parting ways.
◆◆◆
“I love this!”
Evie smiled to herself, still so proud to hear her patient’s trill with exuberance over Connie’s designs.
The young girl was from the bakery next door. She had spotted the bright frames on one of their other recent inductees who had purchased cinnamon buns after picking up their new glasses. The blond was a student at the art college, and was delighted by the collection. She kept making breathy exhalations and little squeaks of glee as she tried on frames.
“It suits you very well,” Evie explained, “the square of the front thins the face and opens up the eye structure, so we can really see their colour. The green gives your eyes this beautiful earthy-tone, and the blue on the side evens out the skin tone. You have such nice skin, you should show it off.”
The girl nodded her agreement fervently. She glanced down at the chunky plastic frame that she had worn in and frowned.
“The last bloke I bought glasses from had said that these frames were all the rage, but, honestly, I think it just made me look tired. I’m a student! I am tired! I dinna want to look it.” Her accent was light and airy, with a melodic quality to the lilt and pattern that Evie envied. It made everything she said sound beautiful and sincere.
The blond lifted her chin and assessed her reflection again. She drew a fingertip down the length of the temple. “But maybe I dinna want this colour…”
“Well, the frame suits you beautifully, but you are not stuck with this combination.”
Evie showed her the other combos, explaining, “The designer has made all the hinges the same size, so it allows us the ability to interchange parts. We can make you a completely customized frame, based on you: your hair colour, your eye colour, your skin tone.”
“That’s brilliant!” she gave an exhilarated shout, as her face lit up like a firecracker.
They decided on the same model but with a lavender front and bubble-gum pink temples. As Evie changed the arm, her mind wandered—worrying about her designer.
Connie hadn’t surfaced yet.
Evie knew that Ian would have made good on his promise and gotten Connie home. But the desire to race up to the flat and check on him nagged at her heels. Of course, she couldn’t. She was running the store alone and couldn’t leave. Plus, since the disagreement with Mara over the frames was still raw, the optician needed to keep her head straight and her nose clean. She had to get her mind off that Scot—off her boss—and back on her job.
The head of the screwdriver chose that moment to slip off the screw’s top, puncturing a hole clean through the pad of her finger. The girl sucked in a sharp breath as the piercing pain faded into a dull throb. A red pearl beaded from the wound. Just what she needed, and she was only halfway through the morning.
Evie grabbed a tissue to staunch the blood and continued with the screw. From behind, she heard a startled gasp. She turned in time to see a dark-headed zombie. In nothing but a scruffy green bathrobe, Connie trekked through to the store to the front door.
What was the mad man thinking?! Of all the bloody times for the spectre to appear! Right when I am about to make a sale.
Bemused, the blond asked, “Was that Connie?”
Of course, she would know who he was! He was in the bakery damn near every other day buying sweets.
Covering for the ass, Evie lied, “Poor guy’s been sick with a terrible head cold all week.”
“Och, the poor thing,” the student whined, pitying the behemoth, “that’s why he was’nea by for his usual.”
Evie hoped that meant sweet confections, as a jealous surge flared up the ridge of her spine at the thought of any other kind of connection between the Scot and the pretty art student. Evie made an effort to remain professional, as she brought over the new frame combination. While the blond assessed the glasses in the mirror, Evie reconsidered the store’s downward spiral—and where the blame may well rest.
Seeing Connie trudging through the store in nothing but a housecoat was just as bad, if not worse than Mara’s self-righteousness. Equal in damage as their public arguments. No wonder the store was suffer
ing.
How had one heated argument with his ex so desolated the Scot? Evie recognized the curve of the man’s shoulders. It was the same way she had found him on her first day, cowed by the woman’s omnipresent dictating. What kind of power did Mara hold over her ex-husband that she could tear down in five minutes what had taken Evie days to build?
The girl felt her cheeks grow hotter still, as a spark kindled into a flame. Perhaps she pitied the man too much, but she felt personally slighted now. The optometrist was working to undo the man, and in the process, was harming her own livelihood. If Connie was going to be successful with his frames, he needed to get out from under Mara’s shadow.
Easier said than done.
Without a storefront to sell the frames, the designer would have to sell to other dispensaries, which meant travel, time, and money on top of the initial production costs. It would require start-up capital, and it was not hard to conclude that this was in short supply.
“Done!”
Evie was startled out of her own thoughts.
“These are the ones! I have to have them.”
“Great,” Evie replied, gesturing towards the dispensing tables, “Let’s get those ordered for you.”
The door dinged again, making Evie cringe.
Connie came through the door, with a half-devoured lemon Danish. His dark unruly whiskers were dusted in a coat of fine white icing sugar as he shoved the last half into his mouth. To top it off, an impish gust of wind charged in as the door closed, catching the hem of the robe. The Scot was put on display in all his glory—earning a startled exclamation from the student that was considerably more enticed than shocked.
Evie’s teeth gnashed her lip. This certainly wouldn’t help the store’s reputation.
The optician’s concern shifted, the minute she noted the way the blond’s eyes fancied the man’s backside, as he trekked on his merry way, ignorantly oblivious. Glaring at the art student’s flush, Evie’s convictions solidified.
This time, Evie would fight for what she wanted. No more rolling over and playing dead.
11
“Well, you certainly seem distracted,” Becca commented to Evie, as they sat at Winger’s and shared good food and better ale.
Evie tried not to look surprised, but Becca was bang on again. The optician was bone-tired after finishing up another Saturday shift walking on eggshells.
Becca held her gaze, as she pointed a wing at Evie and guessed, “Work?”
Evie shrugged. She was half-right; work weighed on her always.
“That bloke you’ve been snogging?” She said this like it was a scandalous secret.
Serena cracked a grin and nudged her flatmate, a pestering elbow.
Evie shrugged again and sighed. Becca had it right now. It was both.
Evie couldn’t stop thinking about the designer or his frames. Her mind was continually developing a business case and searching for start-up capital that would launch Connie’s designs from in-house to international. The problem was, she lacked the business knowledge to go beyond thinking about it. This frustration was compounded by the Scot’s absence.
It had been a stressful week at the store. Evie’s wingman was MIA, and Mara seemed bent on communicating as little as possible. The exam schedule had doubled, and those patients wanted to buy. Not the stocked designs, but Connie’s frames. Evie had sold more of the man’s designs than anything else that week, despite everything.
The sales were high, which also meant that her work was piling up. She would be stuck in the back with Edgar and Tracy every spare moment in the coming week once all the lenses came in. Without anyone to man the front, she worried that they may lose potential sales. Evie wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be in both places at once.
“C’mon, Evie,” Serena whined, gesturing at her plate of untouched wings, “you’ve been quiet and mopey all week. You love wings. I thought this might cheer you up.”
Evie gave a wan smile and gave the two girls an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. The wings are great. It was a really nice gesture…”
“But not what you needed.” Becca finished, interpreting precisely what Evie did not intend to voice.
The redhead sighed again and nodded.
“You need to get it out,” Becca pressed, “We’re your friends. We care about you. And I think we can help.”
With a firmness that belied her soft, sincere outer appearance, Becca forcibly demanded, “So, which is it? Work or Mr. TDH?”
Evie’s mouth quirked. Of its own accord this time. “You’re calling him that now too?”
A little deflection never hurt.
The brunette let out a hearty laugh as she saucily shook a finger at Evie. “How can I not? The man is literally—and I do not use that term lightly—literally…the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. I insist on calling him nothing less. He has a name no longer!” she declared, in a phoney British accent that was loud enough for half the pub to hear, “He shall henceforth be known for all eternity…as Mr. TDH!”
The girl had rolled the ‘r’ on mister like it was a drum roll preceding a prophetic announcement. It made Evie’s quirk turn into a grin, as a bubble of laughter escaped her.
Still using the British accent, Becca demanded again, “So which is it?”
“It’s both.”
“Both? At the same time? How do you have time for all this drama?” the brunette croaked, her button nose screwed up in a comical-manner, as she darted a glance between her girlfriend and Evie.
“Oops,” Serena giggled, trying her hand at a British accent of her own. It was higher and more nasally than her girlfriend’s, as the pair continued the charade, “I suppose that I forgot to inform you of all the facts. Miss Evangeline works for Mr. TDH.”
“You what?!” Becca exploded, “You mean to tell me that you…you’re snogging your boss?”
This sentiment sent Serena into peels of laughter between them in the booth. Evie went wide-eyed in startlement and shame. It had never been put quite like that. Still, the fact was, she was irresistibly attracted to her boss. It was the truth, so Evie gave Becca a lopsided smirk and shrugged.
Serena found the strength to calm her cackling long enough to clarify, “And…he’s the ex-husband of the doc—her other boss!”
Evie’s humour iced over and her grin turned patronizing. Serena was just making a mockery of it now.
“It’s complicated,” Evie said in her own defence.
“That ain’t complicated,” Becca gave a dark laugh, picking up another wing that she used to point at the redhead again, “that’s messed up. But I can’t blame you! That man is a god!”
My Gaelic god, Evie thought possessively. She felt her face growing pink, as her friends’ laughter drew looks from the others.
“But,” Becca began, stifling her tittering with a delicate hand drawn to her buxom bosom, “all that aside. If it’s both, no wonder you’re distracted. If you really are shagging your boss, then you can’t really escape trouble at work.”
The Finnish girl had a point. Work made up much of her life and Connie and his frames were a huge part of that now. This was why she had always tried to keep her personal life separate from her work. With dread making an icy trail down the back of her throat to her stomach, the girl realized she had boarded a love-boat that was doomed to sink by a turbulent storm of her own making.
The redhead shook the thoughts off. This outing was supposed to be her escape, not a point and laugh rehash of her terrible decision making. Maybe it was better to laugh about it than to sulk.
Evie had tried to work through things with Andy, but the last couple of days, her confidant had been busier than usual. She expected that he was probably hitting the waves hard now that his parents were back, and he was free again. Some of his surfing destinations were remote, making for sporadic communication. He also seemed incredibly disinterested in anything Mr. TDH related.
When Evie pulled her head out of her own thoughts, she looke
d up and was confronted with the expectant faces of her two friends. The redhead blew out a breath and went for it. Better out than in.
“I just can’t stop thinking about the frames. I like Connie. I really like him.” Evie shared, “It crushes me to see him so defeated. I want him to succeed.”
“Aww,” Serena fawned, running a tender hand up and down Evie’s shoulder, “you have it bad.”
“One,” Becca started, forming a list on fingers, “as stipulated, we shall only refer to him as Mr. TDH. Two….frames? I need more information if I am going to decode this ticking time bomb for you.”
Evie gave a relieved sigh. Maybe they weren’t just interested in soaking up all her dicey drama. With nothing else to lose, the girl launched into a complete explanation of Connie’s frame conundrum, sparing no details. She told them about his divorce, about the hidden frames, about the argument with Mara, about the sales, and about the business case she wished to build to launch the entire venture.
The two girls listened intently, working their way through the basket of wings, as well as the cold ones off Evie’s plate, and when all the food was done, she had finished.
Becca chewed around the knuckle of the last wing, mulling the story over. Serena took a slug of her beer, and the redhead finished the rest of her cider, all while Becca sat and considered.
“You do have something there,” the brunette finally admitted, “It sounds like all you really need now is to find an investor.”
“Okay, but how do I go about finding one?”
“I think I can help you,” Becca replied, pausing to take a long draw on her bottle. After a loud sigh of satisfaction, she announced firmly, “But, I want in on it.”
“In?”
“I want in on the venture,” the brunette repeated. Becca screwed up her button nose again and incredulously asked, “You didn’t think I still worked at the museum, did you?”
Evie raised her hands in her own defence.
“I’m an event planner,” Becca proudly announced, quickly explaining, “I specialize in organizing big corporate galas, conventions, and launches. I’ve gleaned a lot about building a business portfolio for potential investors. Once we have an investor secured for the designs, then we plan a launch. An event designed to scout potential investors, markets, and clients that would benefit the brand and product.”
Seeing Colour Page 18