by Elle Berlin
“No,” I shake my head. “I mean, kinda, but—” I push off the side of the building and point down the terrace to the people waiting by the entrance. “I mean, right now probably isn’t the right time to get into the minutia. But we’re in business together and I made a promise to tell you anything that would affect this business, and I swear I will honor that.” I walk around him to the side door and open it. “Can we just get through this evening first, please?”
“Arie,” Simon’s hand juts out and grabs me. “You know you can’t start sleeping with your employees, right?”
“Yes, Simon!” I shake his hand from my wrist. “I’m well aware of what a conflict of interest is. But—” I swallow hard and just say it. “I also can’t change things that happened before we hired him, okay?”
“Uh … What?!”
I grab Simon’s shoulder and as calmly as I can, I say, “It’s a long story, I told you that already. But I promise I’ll tell you everything. Later.” I take a deep breath. “I just had a panic attack, okay? And I’m trying really hard to be honest with you, because that’s the deal and I’m going to honor it. But can we please, please, try to make it through this night first? Can you do that? For me?”
Simon’s jaw tightens, his eyes still wide with questions, but he nods. It’s a small concession, but I’ll take it. And later, if this night doesn’t end up in a flaming ball of Arie-insanity, I really will tell him everything.
27
Connor
We’re about halfway through the soft open and things are going relatively smoothly when Mason saunters up to the bar, smirking. I roll my eyes as he makes a show of looking around and pretending to be shocked by the shi-shi quality of everything. It was probably a mistake to invite him, but I’m actually pretty impressed with what Arie’s put together and maybe it’s selfish to want Mason to see that I didn’t abandon him for nothing.
Mason pretends to brush off the shoulders of his old sports coat (which only half-hides the raunchy Hawaiian shirt underneath, but at least he tried. You can take the boy out of the Gin n’ Lava, but you can’t take the Gin n’ Lava out of the boy.) He whistles, leaning up against the bar and pointing to the drink I’m mixing. It’s a brandy and coconut tulip dusted with cinnamon and topped with a skewered, rum-soaked marshmallow that I’m currently roasting.
“What is this place? The one-percent’s version of a campfire party?” Mason quips, nodding at the drink I’m finishing. “Glamping get a new demographic?”
“Try one of the cocktails and you might feel differently,” I say, handing the drink off to one of the waitresses, before pulling out two snifter glasses and setting them up in a smoke bath.
“Is that so, garçon?” Mason says indignantly.
“We aren’t a French restaurant,” I say dryly as Mason looks around the dining room like a man who’s never seen crystal before.
“No? Are you the bend-me-over-and-ream-me-twice kind of restaurant? What exactly will a fancy s’more-in-a-cup cost me in a place like this?”
“It’s worth every penny,” I say, tossing him the drink menu as I add Black Grouse Whisky and bitters to the glasses I’ve just smoked.
Mason quirks an eyebrow at me, not even looking at the menu, pointing at my suit. “She got you in some kinky role-playing scenario now?”
“Who, Arie?”
“Whatever you call that red-headed devil who stole you out from under me and decided to play house with this James-Bond-turned-chemistry-teacher Ken doll I see before me.”
“You could just say ‘you look nice in a suit, man,’” I say, tossing a flaming rosemary sprig into the drinks and passing them off to the waitress.
“Why yes, Barbie,” Mason mocks. “I can give it to you shaken, stirred, and lit with my wide assortment of alcohol-soaked everything.”
“How’s the Gin n’ Lava?” I deflect, starting on the next drinks as Mason glowers at me.
“Like you care Mr. Secret Service Agent. You do realize you look like a stripper, right?”
“Any more than I did when I served drinks at the Gin n’ Lava?” I toss back at him, which makes him snatch up the menu and frown even more, realizing he walked right into that one.
“Just pick something,” I nod to the menu, “and get the stick out of your ass. The drink’s on me.”
“Jesus!” Mason drops the menu like it’s burning. “Those are some steep prices for a cocktail!”
“Well,” I nod to his dusty coat jacket. “You’re not exactly the target clientele.”
“No, clearly—” He points to my attire again. “This is obviously Mafia-Hits-R-Us and I need a suitcase of drug money to afford a virgin daiquiri.”
“We don’t sell that,” I say, putting a napkin out in front of him, then a chilled glass.
“No, with these prices, ‘Flame-Bay’ is a cover for human trafficking or some other high cash-flow money laundering.”
“Stop being a prick,” I say, mixing him something fruity and Hawaiian, before clipping a blood orange slice and lavender sprig to the side of the glass.
“Stop adding potpourri to my drink and I’ll think about it.”
I light the gloss of alcohol at the top of his drink on fire and push it toward him, not bothering to remove the garnish he so delightfully insulted. “The job is going well, by the way,” I coach. “Thanks for asking.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear this much clothing since you were in one of those Midwest snowstorms on the mainland.” He motions to my suit again before taking a sip of the drink.
“You know, Hawaiian eggplant patterns just don’t get the kind of tips you think they will,” I throw back. Mason almost chokes after he takes his sip—chokes on his words or the kick of alcohol that I didn’t water down—either way, he deserves it.
“What the fuck is this?” he curses, which is code for ‘holy shit, this is phenomenal, but I’ll never admit it’s worth the exorbitant price tag.’
“Company secret,” I jab, tossing another napkin at him. “You have to sleep with the owner to find out the ingredients.”
Mason shrugs as if that’s the only thing I’ve got going for me. “So, at least the pussy is good!” he claims in true Mason crass.
“Seriously, how did I ever put up with you for six months?” I look at the chandelier on the ceiling like I’m pretending to think about it. “Oh yeah, it was my brother’s idea and I didn’t have any other options. Nobody actually hangs out with you because they like you.”
“Fuck you! You love the Gin n’ Lava, not this charade you’re playing, or whatever it is. The pussy’s got to be pretty out of this world to see you put on a suit again.” He points at me before guzzling more of his drink. “Speaking of, where’s that red-haired succubus? I have a few choice words to give her concerning your—”
“Um—” I interrupt, my eyes catching the flash of red behind him and I almost laugh at the poisonous smile Arie’s wearing. “Madam Succubus is about three seconds away from cutting your head off, cauterizing the wound, and serving your brains for dessert.” I nod to where Arie is standing. The sheen in her eye warns me that she caught Mason’s little quip about enjoying her nether regions and I better start planning my apology.
“Mason …” She says smoothly, saddling up beside him and putting an arm around his shoulder. “How nice of you to grace us with your delightful presence, and oh, look at that—” she tugs on the collar of his sports jacket “—you even own a coat.”
Mason frowns, despite the fact that Arie’s deliberately put her tits in his face—all pushed up and mounding from that corset she’s wearing—and yes, Mason can’t stop staring.
“Did you say you have some choice words for me?” she continues to play with his collar, making him dizzy with the way it makes her breasts heave. “Of course, I don’t know if they’re going to be better than Mr. Fancy-Vocabulary-Retired-Lawyer over here, but … try me.”
Mason shoots a look in my direction, surprised that she knows that and I try to shrug
it off like it isn’t a big deal, even though most people I’ve met since moving here wouldn’t even guess I had a bachelor’s degree.
“You told her about Zariah?” Mason blabs, and Arie cuts a look at me that silently promises we’re going to talk about that little bombshell later.
“Not really,” I say bluntly, and Mason realizes his mistake, looking sheepishly at Arie peering over him.
“You know, Mason,” Arie continues, glossing over what she just heard like it didn’t happen, “this drink is so darn expensive …” She grabs a lavender sprig from the garnish and stirs it in his glass. “And that’s not because you can’t afford it. It’s because it tastes better than my pussy and it’s fucking worth it. Not that you’re ever going to taste my pussy—so, drink up!”
Mason glares at her condescension, looking over at me like I’m a full-fledged traitor. Yes, Arie’s hot, but she also just schooled him and ran his dick over. Everything in his glare asks if I’m really going to let her get away with it.
“Well,” I jump in, even though I shouldn’t, “I wouldn’t say the drink tastes better than her pussy, but it’s pretty darn close, especially when she’s begging for you to …”
Bad move, Connor.
Bad fucking move.
Mason smiles, glad I’ve finally picked a side, but the daggers that shoot out of Arie’s eyes are downright savage. I’d be lying if it didn’t scare the shit out of me, and I’d be lying even more if I said it didn’t get me just as excited. When Arie runs red, she runs hot as a demon. And damn, my cock is more than a little perked up at the idea of going demon hunting. I may have been on Arie’s good side for about ten minutes when I helped her with that panic attack, but this seventh ring of hell roller coaster is just getting started.
“Is that a perk,” Mason asks, unable to contain himself, “of working here?”
“Mason!” I snap, silencing him, shaking my head at the fact that he can’t keep himself from poking the beast. Lamely, Mason hides behind his drink, and I know it was stupid to pick Mason for my allegiance, but Arie did poach me right out from under him.
Arie looks at me coolly, her dark eyes simmering. “I think you need a break,” she says, pointing at me as she rounds the bar. “I’ll take over here.”
“I’m fine,” I respond, but Arie is removing the alcohol bottles from my hands and putting them back on the countertop.
“It’s not a request,” she says, pushing me toward the exit. “And while you’re on your break, please do me the kindness of escorting your friend here to the elevator. This is the first— and last—drink he’ll be having at this establishment.” She reaches across the bar and plucks the drink from Mason’s fingers, deliberately spilling some across his chest.
“Hey!” he snaps, annoyed at her. “This is—”
“Your one good coat?” she snaps condescendingly. “I’m so sorry. I guess when my pussy gets wet and horny, I just like to ruin things. It must be a brash red-head thing.”
Mason’s about to blow a gasket, but I grab him by the arm and drag him off his stool. “Okay, point taken,” I say loudly, shooting a glare at Arie who’s smirking triumphantly.
“You’re going to let her treat you like that?” Mason shoots off, trying to shoulder out of my grip.
“Shut up, Mason.” I drag him toward the exit. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s go outside.”
Arie beams as I leave with my friend, the spark of anger and triumph in her eye reminding me that when the dragon wants to burn you, she will, and this dragon is just getting started.
28
Connor
Outside, I force Mason to back off and chill out. He’s still gloating as he lifts his paw up to give me a high five, to which I leave him hanging.
“What?” he hisses, as if it’s a personal affront that I’m over his charade. “Damn, that girl has you pussy-whipped.”
“That girl is my boss!”
“Who was more than happy to treat me like—”
“You were being an asshole, Mason!” I growl, pushing him down the terrace and away from the patio. Several patrons turn at the commotion to see what’s going on past the lanterns, but I move us closer to the elevator and to the corner out of sight. “Look man, I don’t care that you’re an asshole. Usually, I like that you’re an asshole. The whole schtick works when you’re at the Gin n’ Lava, but you can’t come here and—”
“Be myself?” Mason snaps indignantly. “Oh no, I’ve got to pretend to be some fancy schmuck who can make it rain with my stacks of hundred-dollar bills? Is that who I’m supposed to be?”
“Jesus!” I shake my head. “This isn’t about money, or status, Mason. I don’t really care about—”
“That suit you’re wearing sure says otherwise,” Mason interrupts, squaring off with me, venom in his eyes.
“It’s a uniform, okay?” I lift my hands up in frustration, furious that I have to deal with this crap. “Police wear uniforms, ball players wear uniforms, postal workers, janitors, waiters, doctors. You’re blowing this way out of—”
“Lawyers wear uniforms?” Mason jabs, and my jaw tightens. His eyebrows raise, catching my reaction. “Oh, that got your attention, did it? Last time I checked, you didn’t give a shit about being your brother—acting like him, dressing like him, playing the part.” He picks up the lapel of my suit and flicks it back at me.
“I’m not—”
“Are you sure?” Mason butts in, looking past me toward the restaurant. “Because last time you got so fed up with the path your family laid out for you, you decided to steal a car to impress a girl! And, of course, also used it to give a great big middle finger to your big brother and daddy as you flushed your future down the drain. You get a second chance and what are you doing with it? Dressing up like them!” He flicks my suit again. “It’s like you want back in the club, only this time you’re doing it to impress some other chick that’s going to leave you high and dry just like Zariah did.”
I ball my fists up at my sides, trying not to wrinkle the suit, even though I want to take a swing at Mason and break my knuckles against his chin.
“I may be an asshole,” Mason continues, “but I’m always an asshole. I know who I am. You?” He motions to me with a limp arm that matches the disappointed shake to his head. “It’s like you want to play the part of being in Daddy’s little club and live in your brother’s apartment, and at the same time say ‘fuck you’ to them.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not—”
“Oh yes, you are. You’re trying to find yourself and all that bullshit, right?” Mason’s tone is thick with condescension as he makes gestures with his arms like I’m a trembling little girl who can’t handle the pressure of adulting. “Only you want to do it your way.”
“Do you want me to punch you?”
“Oh, but the crazy part is that you think this is it! Only, all you’re doing is playing guppy to some hot chick who can pull out a blow torch and char some shit. Oooh, fancy.”
“That’s not what Flambé is.”
“It is to this self-made nobody!” Mason pulls off his sports coat and throws it on the ground as if he can’t believe he even bothered to dress up for tonight. “This asshole,” he points to himself, “is happy slinging drinks for the everyday man. I don’t need your bougie fig slices charred with Himalayan go-fuck-yourself salt. You want to be the one-percent? Go work for your brother and stop spitting in his face like a whiny brat. At least when you worked for me you were being honest. You were yourself. But working for her, you’re telling your brother you want what he has, you just don’t want to be his brother and put in the work, be a part of the family.”
“My brother—”
“Is my best friend,” Mason snaps, getting defensive. “And he actually talks to me about the shit you do. So, trust me, all he fucking wants is his brother back.”
“I’m not like him. I’m never going to be one of—”
“Those suit-wearing schmucks
who take people’s money and sell them pipe dreams and dishonesty? One of them?” Mason looks at me hard, then nods back to Flambé. “She’s selling the same thing, only her version is wrapped up in great tits and chocolate.”
“You’re just angry because she—”
“Nope, I’m angry because you keep taking everything Ned does for you for granted. You’re happy to burn all the bridges in your family and call yourself a revolutionary. But there’s a point—and trust me, it’s coming—when even Ned is going to stop reaching out and helping you back up when you fall on your ass again. You want to play this rich-man’s game? Play dress up? Pretend? Then at least do it with your family, who’s got your back. That’s called blood, Connor. Loyalty. Honor.”
“Blood?” I frown, balling my fists and broiling from Mason’s tirade. “That so-called blood abandoned me the second I disgraced their name. Honor, right? They disowned me. They kicked me to the curb for not being their perfect little son.”
Mason nods. “I wasn’t talking about your dad. I was talking about the fact that you’d be in jail right now if it wasn’t for Ned. Ned, who got you that plea deal and let you come live with him. And you keep spitting in his face like it was nothing.”
“I thank him for that every day!”
“No, you don’t.” Mason drops his hands to his hips like he’s tired of this fight. “You don’t even know the half of it. You wouldn’t work here if you knew half the things Ned’s given up for you. Hell, you wouldn’t even work for me if you did.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Mason shakes his head and walks toward the elevator, done with me. “Fuck you, man. Maybe you should talk to your brother for once in your life and get your head out of your own ass.”
Mason punches the call button and waits for the car, pacing impatiently. I have a thousand things I want to yell at him, but I keep my mouth shut. What is he saying about Ned? Yes, my brother picked up my mess and fixed it. I know that. He’s an excellent lawyer, he does that sort of thing all the time. I don’t see how that’s a sacrifice. My foot hits Mason’s sports coat that’s been abandoned on the floor. I lean down and scoop it up, but by the time I head for the elevator to return it to Mason, he’s already slipped behind the doors and is gone.