by C. J. Duggan
Dean scoffed, and that cocky, gorgeous smile reappeared. ‘Well, that’s something I’ve never been called before.’
‘You are; I would totally date the shit out of you,’ I said with a laugh.
Dean’s eyes rested on me, serious and penetrating. ‘Is that so?’
I cleared my throat, cursing my poor effort at a joke, another one that had backfired; I really just needed to shut the hell up sometimes. I squirmed under his heated scrutiny.
‘Well, I was . . . just saying that I . . . was trying to –’
‘Construct sentences?’
I glowered. ‘Funny.’
‘Wow, a funny, dateable saint: I really should change my business card.’
‘Yeah, change it from smart-arse.’ I smirked, ready to leave this time for real.
‘So I’ll tell Lord Ballantine that you seek an audience with him then?’
Oh my God. I spun around so fast I almost knocked the stool over, much to Dean’s amusement.
Shit-Fuck-Ballantine! How could I have forgotten?
‘Yes!’ I said, a bit too high-pitched. ‘Absolutely.’ I nodded, my chest filling with air as I resisted the urge to dance on the balls of my feet.
Dean grabbed his clipboard. He stood, towering over me, but seemed somehow less intimidating than he had in the past. ‘All right, I’ll get Sherry to let you know when he’s on a break,’ he said, his no-nonsense businessman facade slipping back into place.
This seemed to be his normal modus operandi: stern, aloof, distant.
‘Wait.’ I reached out, grabbing his upper arm – his solid, muscled arm. His brows rose as he looked down at my hand on him. I flinched back, blushing at how hot his skin felt.
‘Um, do you think you could do me a favour?’ I grimaced, biting my lip.
Dean turned, his full focus on me now, a spark of amusement in his eyes. ‘Another favour?’ he asked, shaking his head. ‘So needy.’
I really hated to ask what I was about to, hated to reveal my petty side, but what the hell.
‘When Ballantine takes a break, can you get Lucy to come and let me know?’
I waited, and instead of walking away, he laughed, actually deep-bellied, earnestly laughed.
‘What? What’s so funny?’
Dean rubbed at his stubble, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I thought you didn’t want her to spit on your food.’
‘Well I don’t but –’
‘All right, I’ll happily pass on to Lucy to let you know. But remember one thing, Lexie Atkinson.’
How did he know my last name?
He stepped closer to me, so close I had to strain my neck to look up at him. I wanted to make a point of holding my ground, to not shy away from his smart mouth that creased into a smirk.
‘What’s that?’ I asked, lifting my chin, attempting to stare him down.
‘I always call in my favours,’ he said darkly, a heat lighting his green-brown eyes, one that was full of promise – or something.
I hated how my chest was visibly rising, giving away how not in control I was.
Instead of letting him get to me, I smiled sweetly. ‘Saints don’t call in favours.’
Dean smiled, his eyes searching my face. ‘Maybe I’m the devil in disguise?’
Chapter Forty-One
I splashed water onto my face, flooding my cheeks with the coolness I so desperately craved. Clasping the edge of the basin, I took in my flaming complexion, praying the dull lighting in the bar would hide it from the others.
I ran my fingers through my hair nervously – excited Ballantine was here and wanted to see me. I made my way back to the bar. I was relieved that Dean was gone – probably up to his lair, I thought, as I glanced up to the office with the one-way glass. I pictured him sitting on a throne-like chair, watching his minions.
Sherry swooped in, silently raising an eyebrow. She wasn’t much of a communicator.
‘I think I’ll have a raspberry tonight, I’m feeling kind of dangerous.’
‘Can you pay for it this time?’ she deadpanned.
I smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I can.’
She nodded, plunging a glass into the icy recess.
I wondered where Ballantine was. He was obviously out the back in the kitchen doing . . . what? Chef’s apprentice? Dish boy?
‘Hey, Sherry, what does Ballantine do here?’ I asked.
She looked at me as if she wanted to be anywhere else than here exchanging small talk. She had a rather intense ‘kill me now’ kind of body language. ‘He’s a dish pig. Two-fifty,’ she said in a no-nonsense manner.
I scoffed, totally unsurprised by her answer. ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking my drink and handing her a five-dollar note. ‘Keep the change,’ I said, giving her my own deadpan expression as I made my way back to the bistro.
I had just sipped the bubbly excess off the top so it wouldn’t dribble over the edge. Which didn’t help in the slightest because I didn’t see the upsweep of a set of menus until they hit me, dumping raspberry lemonade all down my white top.
I froze, arms outstretched as I looked down at myself, stained like there had been a massacre. My eyes locked with Lucy’s, who stood before me with her hand covering her mouth in feigned horror.
‘Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you coming.’ She blinked innocently. ‘Boy, I hope that doesn’t stain,’ she said, grimacing.
‘Oh my darling.’ Aunty Karen’s heels could be heard a mile away, clicking quickly towards me. I appreciated that she saw it for what it was – an absolute fucking disaster of biblical proportions. She dabbed at my top with a scrunched-up serviette.
‘Oh, we need to get some club soda right away.’
‘I think it’s too late for that,’ I said, pulling out my shirt, trying to prevent it from sticking to my skin.
‘I am so sorry, Mrs Burnsteen, I just didn’t see her coming,’ added a fake, yet still visibly upset Lucy. Oh she was good, really good.
Aunty Karen turned to Lucy, and for the first time ever, I saw the bright sparkle dim in her blue eyes. ‘Oh, make no mistake, Miss Fell, I saw exactly what happened and I know what a nasty piece of work you are.’
A shiver ran down my spine, partly because I was wearing my drink but also because when Aunty Karen turned on her badass, wow, she really turned it on.
Lucy’s cheeks reddened as deeply as the raspberry I was wearing.
‘I’m sure Grant would be very disappointed in you, Lucy,’ came my uncle’s voice from next to my aunty.
‘I–I’ll get some soda water,’ she said, quick-stepping out of the room, tears visible in her eyes.
‘Don’t bother,’ Amanda called after her, before cutting me a pitiful look. ‘Can’t take you anywhere.’ She shook her head.
‘Oh, honey, do you want to go home?’ Aunty Karen’s eyes took in my dismal state; it was then that I glanced around the restaurant and noticed every table was looking at me.
I breathed. ‘No! We’re here for a nice, family dinner. I won’t let someone like Lucy Fell-on-her–,’ I paused. ‘Um, I mean I’m not going to let her get the better of me.’
‘Good! Because I am freakin’ starving,’ said Amanda, heading back to our booth.
I smiled at my aunty and uncle. ‘It’s okay, there’s a hand dryer in the toilets,’ I said. ‘Back in a minute.’
I had a sense of déjà vu heading back past the bar, and funnily enough, there was no Lucy fetching me any soda water. She was nowhere to be seen.
‘Hey, you!’
I stalled, looking to where Sherry was standing behind the bar. She looked over my drenched clothes with disdain, before pointing towards the stairs. ‘You’ve been summoned.’
My eyes glanced up at the one-way glass window.
Oh great.
‘What does he want?’
She shrugged, going back to serve a customer.
I sighed. He was probably worried I was going to sue him or something, and then I thought how quickly news travelled in this place
. As I made my way up the stairs, feeling sticky and gross, I was in no mood to have to explain the reason why Lucy was a massive bitch – and why he clearly hired staff who had zero personality, except Ballantine, of course.
I made it to the top of the landing and knocked on the door, deciding that if he didn’t answer within five seconds, I would be hightailing it back down the stairs.
‘Enter.’
Damn.
I twisted the handle and gingerly pushed it open.
There wasn’t a vulture on his shoulder, or even a throne; instead, he sat behind a very normal desk, in a very normal office, with a couch, filing cabinet and little kitchen area. It all looked very civilised. He even had a framed black-and-white poster of The Beatles mounted on his wall. My eyes drifted out the window through the glass, which had an impressive view over the bar, but did not extend into the bistro. My eyes wandered to a wall of monitors that covered all of the other parts of the building as well as one showing the bar. BINGO!
No wonder news travelled so fast.
Dean leant back in his chair, taking in my attire. ‘Red suits you,’ he said.
‘Yeah, well, who should I send my cleaning bill to?’
‘I’ll trade you,’ he said, getting up out of his chair, heading towards the top drawer of his filing cabinet, opening it and pulling out a black square of material. He then threw it over and I caught it clumsily.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, unfolding the material to see it was a black tee with ‘The Wipe Out Bar’ scrawled across the back, and the same insignia that was on the beer coasters printed on the front.
‘Am I being inducted as a staff member?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he deadpanned.
‘Oh, do you doubt my skills?’ I asked, interested in his disinterest. Surely I could do what Lucy Fell could do: be fake and pour drinks on customers.
‘Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, Lexie Atkinson.’ He brushed past me, reaching for the door handle, amused; my gaze followed him.
‘How do you know my last name?’ I asked, curving my brow.
Dean shrugged. ‘Apparently some chick called Lexie Atkinson is shagging the owner of the Wipe Out Bar,’ he said, grinning as he opened the door.
I tilted my head. ‘Ha ha.’
‘Get changed in here if you want; sink’s over there.’
I turned to see where he was referring. ‘Oh, umm, I don’t know. I’ll just –’
‘Relax, I’m leaving.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he said with a pointed look, before stepping out and slamming the door closed.
I breathed out, taking a moment to lift up the shirt, knowing it would be too big, but what did I care? Free top! Although, with Dean Saville, maybe nothing was ever free. I smelled the fabric: clean and crisp. I made my way over to the sink in the corner. Setting the t-shirt aside on the back of the chair, I washed my hands and arms with hot, soapy water, removing all traces of the sticky mess. I glanced at the screen, noticing that Dean was behind the bar, no doubt ordering his staff around. Knowing he was safely downstairs, I made quick work of removing my top. Plunging it in the sink and dowsing it with water and soap, I knew that there was no salvaging it. I looked at my reflection, grimacing at the pink tinge in the middle of my bra. I glanced back to the bar on screen before removing my bra and adding it to the sink. I took no chances, grabbing for my new top because somehow being half-naked in Dean’s office didn’t seem right at all, and just as I draped the material over my head, pulling down and turning myself into a piece of walking merchandise, I froze, hearing the door screech slowly open and a tentative cough.
I was no longer alone.
Chapter Forty-Two
I saw him in the reflection of the mirror first, but I didn’t truly believe it until I spun around to see Ballantine, standing in the doorway of the office. He stepped in, closing the door behind him, leaning against it, folding his arms and looking all cool and calm. The only giveaway was the deepset intent of his eyes that flicked from my bra hanging over the sink and then back to me.
This was not ideal.
Standing in Dean’s office with my bra and top in his sink, wearing his t-shirt. It was a definite mood killer. I scrambled to push them deeper into the sink and added more cold water to the pale pink mess.
‘I’m just trying to salvage these,’ I said, glancing at his still form in the mirror. ‘Bloody Lucy spilt my drink all over –’
‘I heard.’
I stopped scrubbing. ‘You did?’
Ballantine pushed off from the door and started towards the monitors, his eyes flicking over the black-and-white security screens. ‘News travels fast in this place.’
I abandoned my clothes to soak in the sink, brushing my hands on my jeans to dry them as I came to stand next to Ballantine.
‘I get it, but aren’t all these monitors a bit over the top?’
‘You’d be surprised what goes down in Arcadia Lane; it’s a full-time job dealing with all the freaks that can wander in at any given moment.’
‘And that’s not including the staff.’
Ballantine laughed. ‘Especially the staff.’
‘I mean, no offence,’ I teased.
‘No, you’re absolutely right. Why do you think I’m kept out back, chained to the sink?’
‘Why don’t you work in the bar? You’re old enough and I think you’d make a great barman.’
‘Because of my immense charm and irresistibility?’
‘Well . . . there isn’t a whole lot of that happening behind the bar right now,’ I said, focusing on the grainy black-and-white image of cyclone Sherry working the bar, expertly pulling a beer, dumping it in front of a patron, scooping up the money, then whizzing around Dean, who was standing in the way. He seemed intently focused on listening to a tourist couple at the bar with great, if not faked, interest. It amused me no end: he was trapped, trying to edge his way out politely but then the husband, who sported a snazzy-looking bum bag and trusty knee-high socks, pulled out a map, unravelling it over the bar. I watched on as Dean gathered patience and morphed from owner of the Wipe Out Bar to Tourist Information Guide; it was hilarious and I suddenly wanted a bucket of popcorn and to pull up a seat, the view was so entertaining.
I pointed to the bistro screen to where the image flicked onto our table. ‘Heads-up: avoid table twenty-two, my uncle’s here.’
I was trying to make light out of the insanity of the situation but Ballantine didn’t look amused, his serious gaze was set on the bistro screen.
‘What did my uncle say to you?’ It was the one thing that had haunted me since that night; as much as I’d like to think that my uncle had simply stormed back into the bar and ordered a tequila slammer to calm his nerves, I seriously doubted that was the case.
Ballantine breathed out a laugh. ‘Let’s just say he made his point very clear.’
Oh God.
I grimaced. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So, at a guess, I’m thinking he would not be very happy to know you’re up here talking to me.’
I watched on as our meals were delivered to our table, and interestingly enough, not by Lucy.
‘Um, no, he wouldn’t.’
I felt bad. I felt bad that Ballantine was probably being judged for leading the sweet, innocent farm girl astray, but I had discovered that anytime I was around Ballantine, I wanted to be anything but sweet or innocent. Maybe he brought out that side of me? It was a side I had never met before and it scared me. Actually, it excited me.
Ballantine sat down in Dean’s chair, setting his elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers together. ‘So, am I to be your dirty little secret then?’ he asked, a devious spark in his eyes as he swivelled from side to side in what was like a chair fit for a Bond villain.
‘Yeah. You don’t mind, do you?’ I teased.
‘Ignore me by day and have your way with me by night?’
‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’
‘What way can it be then? Tell me.’
Once again I glanced towards the screen. I studied the serious lines of my uncle’s face as he salted his plate, the scornful way Amanda ignored her parents by playing on her phone, the way Aunty Karen chatted, oblivious to everything that surrounded her. How could I fit Ballantine into my life? I didn’t want Uncle Peter watching me like a hawk or handing down ground rules so early on; I didn’t want Amanda to blackmail me or use my time with Ballantine as a bartering tool. Sweet Aunty Karen would probably be quite carefree and liberal about it all, but I’d give her less than a minute until she accidentally name-dropped Ballantine to my mum and then it would be game over. As much as I liked to think I had some control over my life, I really didn’t. I had one more year to ride out after this one – my last year of school – and then I was free, free to do and be with anyone I wanted. The very thought gave me hope.
My silence pretty much answered Ballantine’s question.
‘See? It’s the way it has to be.’
As much as I wanted to shout from the rooftops and be public and loved-up like Amanda and Boon were, I understood that we could never be like that; well, not right now anyway.
‘How depressing.’ I sighed, looking down at Ballantine. ‘Living a lie.’
Ballantine smiled broadly. ‘Believe me, there will be nothing depressing about it.’
I turned my back to the screens and leant against the lip of the desk. ‘So you’ll make it worth my while then? You know us country girls get bored very easily.’
Ballantine stood from his seat, placing his hands on either side of my hips, caging me in as he looked down at me with a cocky grin. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he whispered against my mouth, before brushing his lips against mine, grazing my bottom lip playfully with his teeth, causing my insides to churn with excitement.
‘Come on, you better go. Your dinner will be getting cold.’
‘Let me guess: you leave, then I leave?’
‘See, this is going to be easy,’ he said, backing away to the door. ‘Watch the bar screen and as soon as I’m around it, head out.’