by CC MacKenzie
"And Nico pays for this?" Olivier's question was aimed at Danni.
"Yep, he works through me now, because when left to her own devices Ana never spends her allowance. When I choose her clothes, it saves everyone a lot of time and pointless debate."
Now Olivier turned to Anastacia.
"Danni and Nico manage your wardrobe?"
Before answering the question, she paused as her huge burger and a small mountain of fries were placed on the table. Anastacia ignored the wide-eyed looks from her companions as she dived right in dipping her fries in ketchup. God, she was starving. T.C. tossed her a napkin to catch the sauce running down her chin.
Anastacia cleaned her face, her fingers, balled up the napkin, and turned to watch Olivier eat his grilled chicken salad.
"Yeah, it's not a big deal. Danni knows what works for me and what doesn't a lot better than I do myself. I'm too busy to be bothered. And because I couldn't be bothered, I clashed with Nico. This way, I focus on work and dressing me like a doll keeps Danni happy and Nico happy."
The rest of the meal passed without incident and she noticed that her friends appeared to have paired off with the footballers.
Danni and Chris were chatting quietly. Chris, nudging six foot, wasn't as tall as his friends, he was fair skinned with dirty blonde hair and shy big brown eyes. And he appeared a nice and genuine guy. Anastacia frowned when she saw Danni pick up her cell to check a message, go pale, and then switch off her phone. And what was up with that? Danni never, ever, switched off her phone.
Meanwhile, T.C. and Fabio were looking at each other with googly eyes. And Anastacia wondered how that relationship might pan out since T.C. was not over fond of men who were too smooth and too charming. Two characteristics that it appeared Fabio had in spades.
"Still hungry?" Olivier murmured in her ear. His deep voice made her whole system go on a state of high alert. And all thoughts of her friends faded away.
She looked down at her empty plate and had the grace to blush right to the roots of her curly hair. And she noticed that he noticed the heat in her cheeks, too. He was studying her as if he was both intensely fascinated by her and fiercely attracted. Both of which set alarm bells ringing nice and loud in her brain.
This was so not good.
She'd had a taste of working with a man who'd found her fascinating and attractive before. The love affair had not ended well. And she'd no intention of repeating the experience. It was important to nip this thing, or whatever it was between them, in the bud once and for all. She also wanted to nip in the bud the jumpy nerves she had dancing in her belly every time she was around this man. So she pinned her very best smile on her face as she peered up into his, patted his hand and told herself to keep it all nice and friendly.
"Look, Olivier. You're a nice guy. I get that. But I'm pretty sure I made myself clear last night. Please believe I'm not stringing you along or trying to be cute or playing hard to get. I do not want or need a relationship with you while we're working together. It's nothing personal."
His dark eyes went watchful as they studied hers.
He nodded when he saw that she was deadly serious and his eyes never left hers.
"Si, but that does not mean that we cannot be friends?"
His hand covered hers and his thumb rubbed around and around in a soothing motion.
Unfortunately his touch did anything but soothe.
She slid her hand from his to reach for her wine and all the while his eyes held hers.
"What do you mean by friends? Friends might cover many things I'm not prepared to give, like friends with benefits."
That wide grin flashed and so did the dimple.
God, he was absolutely gorgeous.
"You do not trust me, Ana?"
Did she?
Since the answer to the question wasn't forthcoming, she deflected.
"I don't know you well enough to trust you, Oli," she said, using his nickname in retaliation for him using hers. Only people very close to her got away with calling her Ana. In her professional life she was known as Anastacia Morgan, and she made sure anyone who tried to use her moniker, in an attempt to intimidate or provoke, were shot down without mercy. "And that's Anastacia to you. Make sure you use it, especially when we're working."
He took the hit right on the chin.
His smile flashed, dimple, too.
"More rules, Anastacia?"
"You betcha. We're keeping this on a strictly professional footing, Olivier. Better get used to it."
He nodded, but all the while his gaze studied her hot face, the way her foot tap, tap, tapped under the table.
"I seem to remember telling you that I only play by my rules," he said now in something like an Italian purr that made her teeth ache.
Why wasn't she surprised he was challenging her?
And that was even before they'd begun working together.
The sudden energy dip told her that she was tired and it was past time for her to leave.
She refused to get into a debate of his idea of his rules, whatever the hell they were.
This discussion was over.
She stood, grabbed her bag.
Her friends looked more than surprised, but they rose, too.
Girly night rules were girls that met together, left together.
A surprised looking Olivier rose and moved into her personal space, but she didn't give him time for a farewell kiss.
"Well, it's been nice meeting you," Anastacia said to the two men still sitting at the table with their mouths hanging open due to the way the evening had been cut short without warning. Obviously, they were not used to women walking out on them. Maybe it was time they got used to it. She turned to Olivier, sent him a quick smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've had a long day. Good luck with the final, Olivier. I'll see you when you return to London."
She turned and headed for the exit.
As the girls shoved through the throng at the bar to get to the entrance, T.C. waited until they were in the street before grabbing Anastacia's arm and whipping her around to face her.
"What the hell was all that about? Why the big rush to leave?"
Two women with large personalities, there were times when Anastacia and T.C. clashed. Their differences never lasted long, but sometimes when they blew up at each other they blew hot and fiery.
Now Anastacia jerked her arm free.
"Because Olivier is refusing the get the message. Plus I'm tired after a very long day. And I want to go home, if that's all right with you?"
Danni said nothing as her hazel gaze bounced between her friends.
T.C. nodded, but her baby blue eyes were sharp now as they held Anastacia's.
"Okay. But something tells me that Olivier's not the type to take any notice of your little hang-ups about bonking a client. He looks to me like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it."
All of that was perfectly true, but that didn't mean that Anastacia had to like it or to accept it. Plus she didn't need to justify how she ran her professional life to T.C. or to anyone else.
"You're only annoyed because you have the hots for Fabio," Anastacia shot back.
T.C. didn't even blink.
"So what?" she shot right back. "If I want to roll naked in a meadow with a hot Italian, what's that got to do with you?"
"You avoid his type like the plague," said Anastacia. And wondered why on earth she was having this stupid conversation right in the middle of the damned street.
"You mean the type that uses a women for a quickie and then walks away without a second glance? That type?"
Anastacia bit down hard on her bottom lip.
"I don't want to see you hurt," she said now.
T.C. nodded and her baby blues went wide.
"I get that, Banana. I do. But I'm not going to get hurt, because in order to get hurt I'd need to care. And since I don't care about Fabio, but I do want to jump him, I don't see the problem here."
The sound of
a man clearing his throat had both girls spin round to find Olivier, Fabio and Chris watching them with interest.
T.C. simply rolled her eyes.
"Fucking great," she said to no one in particular.
Anastacia knew that T.C. was more than annoyed with her that Fabio had overheard the last part of their discussion about him. And she had to give Fabio points for good manners, because he acted as if he'd heard nothing, grabbed her friend's hand and towed her down the street. Like a real gentleman, Chris offered his arm to a Danni who was more than happy to take it, and they walked away, too.
So that just left Anastacia with... Olivier.
A grinning Olivier who took her hand, turned in the opposite direction with her and she realized he intended to walk her home. Well, she wasn't having that. Not after last night.
"You're not walking me home."
"Si, I'm walking both of us home, since I am using Nico's penthouse apartment. The apartment in your building. We are both going in the same direction. It would be ridiculous not to walk together."
This whole night was beginning to feel farcical to an Anastacia who was a woman well used to being in charge of her life and of her destiny. She didn't feel in charge of either at the moment, and she hated it.
The quick jerk to release her hand didn't work, so she decided to go with the flow.
For the moment.
That didn't mean she was going to talk to the stubborn Italian.
Silence, as the song said, was golden.
Her mouth was sulky and her eyes were sulky, too.
And if she'd had her wits about her, she might've managed to avert the calamity that followed.
Chapter Ten
"Hey, mamma!" a voice from Eastern Europe said from behind them.
Anastacia turned to find two young men holding long and shiny blades, and then found herself scooped up and shoved behind Olivier.
"Nice bag. Hand it over and no one will get hurt," said the one who looked like a great ape.
Anastacia had had a very bad day.
To be mugged by two low-life scum-bags was just the cherry on top of the icing on the cake.
The contents of her bag included her MAC Book Air, her cell and her organizer and no way in hell was she going to hand it over to a pair of goons.
In her brain her temper was doing a nice snap, crackle and pop.
She elbowed Olivier out of the way as her face got into the flat Slavic face of the one who'd demanded her bag.
"Fuck off. Right now, and you'll not get hurt."
His response in her face was a loud and long laugh.
And then Anastacia found herself lifted off her feet as Olivier cursed her in fluid Italian and shoved her behind him again.
An Olivier who was even now bargaining with the muggers offering his watch, his wallet. The second mugger holding a knife was now edging ever closer to Olivier and all Anastacia could see was a bad situation getting out of control fast.
Anastacia didn't hesitate.
She swung her bag and connected with the mugger's jaw. And as he fell, in a move taught in her twice weekly Krav Maga class, her fingers poked him in the eyes and then her pointy shoe kicked him right in the balls. The agonized howl was music to her ears as her spiky heel nailed his hand holding the knife to the pavement. His scream rent the night air as he released the blade. She knew better than to touch it, so with her free foot she kicked the knife into the gutter. In the meantime, Olivier was in a hand-to-hand struggle with a man twice his body weight. The big guy had his legs spread, his hand on Olivier's throat while Olivier's hand gripped the meaty wrist of the hand holding the knife.
"Run, Anastacia!" yelled Olivier.
She did no such thing.
Instead she scowled at him.
Stupid man.
With a stomach churning sucking noise, Anastacia simply freed the pointy heel of her shoe from the flesh of the mugger's hand and stalked around behind the big guy grappling with Olivier. She didn't look at Olivier, since she didn't want to distract him. Instead she put all her weight on her left leg and used a kick-boxing move that ripped the seam of her dress and nailed the mugger in the nuts. The only sound he made was a weird high groan as he went down like a stone to his knees. By this time passers-by were taking videos of the fight on their cell phones and had called the police.
Breathing heavily through gritted teeth, the big guy might be down, but he wasn't out.
He got to his feet, bellowed like a bull and headed straight for Anastacia.
And Olivier roared for her to run.
"In these shoes?" She yelled back. "Are you kidding me?"
So, bouncing on her toes she balanced and readied herself, fists up, and punched the mugger right in the throat.
Again he went down like a stone, but not before a flying fist caught her cheek.
The searing pain brought stars to her eyes as she staggered back.
All she heard was Olivier's shout as the police arrived and then everything went grey.
The last thought in her head was that she'd ripped her VB dress and Danni was so going to kill her.
The world went black.
An hour later, Anastacia, feeling very sorry for herself, was sitting behind screens in accident and emergency with her bare feet dangling over the side of a narrow bed. It had to be said that she was not looking her best. During the ambulance ride to the hospital, a chatty paramedic had taken her blood pressure and shone a penlight in her eyes. And all the while a very pale Olivier hadn't taken his dark eyes from her face. She eyed the bruises on his throat, but said nothing. He hadn't uttered a single word either. The too strained silence, along with his stink eye and clenched jaw, said it all. Anastacia received the message loud and clear. Olivier was beyond angry with her. Looking back, she had to concede that maybe he had a point. Maybe she had been a bit hasty wading right in to kick ass. But in these situations, the guys had knives after all, she'd been taught to go with her gut and her instincts. However, now she realized that perhaps she'd scared Olivier, just a little. Maybe he had good reason to be angry with her. A niggle of guilt wormed its way into her stubborn brain.
Despite the pain meds floating through her system, they made her feel spacey and light headed, her cheek still hurt like a bitch and her right eye was all but closed. She sniffed. Anastacia was not the type of woman to indulge in a bout of self-pity, but from time to time her eyes were prickling and she blinked frantically to clear them. The initial adrenaline high had leaked away, leaving her jittery and feeling sick to her stomach. She'd had her face X-rayed. Her cheek-bone wasn't broken. She was a very lucky girl, the doctor said. Yeah, right. No one would let her look in a mirror, which meant her face looked even worse than it felt. And to top it all her favourite shoes were ruined, too. The police had taken them for DNA evidence that was stuck to the heel. Ick. Her stomach rolled just thinking about it. In jest, a young policeman had winked at her and called her Lara Croft. Olivier's I-don't-find-that-fucking-funny stare had made the policeman go red and apologize. Her beautiful little dress was covered in blood splatter and ripped at the seam all the way up to her panties. To protect her dignity, a pretty young nurse had taken pity on her and draped a faded gown of hospital issue green cotton over her shoulders. The young policeman, who looked as if he wasn't old enough to hold a razor, had brought her a plastic cup of sludge that the hospital assured patients was indeed coffee. Now the policeman made himself comfortable in a skinny plastic chair and asked her if she was well enough to go over her statement... yet again. In the corridor, Olivier was giving his statement to a burly sergeant. A sergeant who was suffering from a severe case of football hero worship. Anastacia could tell by his stony face that Olivier was not a happy chappy.
And just to put another big fat cherry on top of the icing on this particular cake, apparently Nico was on his way, and Linda, too. Which was quite ridiculous because, apart from a couple of bumps and bruises (her hip throbbed like a bad tooth) Anastacia reckoned she was absolute
ly fine.
At the sound of T.C.'s strident voice demanding to know, "Where the hell is Anastacia Morgan?" Anastacia closed her eyes and a tiny whimper escaped from her throat. Then she heard the harried receptionist telling T.C. to take a seat. And of course, T.C. wasn't having any of it and making her feelings on the matter perfectly clear at the top of her voice.
Anastacia eyed the young policeman who'd cocked his head and was listening to the altercation with interest.
"You'd better bring her in, she's my sister," lied Anastacia straight to his face. Actually, Danni and T.C. were as close to her as sisters so it was only a little white lie, she assured herself.
The policeman rose and strolled down the corridor, his police issue boots squeaking on shiny grey linoleum. Two minutes later a wide-eyed T.C. barged into the cubicle. She was wearing her regulation blogger wear, low-slung yoga pants and fleece top the color of dark cherries and a pair of UGG ankle boots, black and covered in Swarovski crystals. Her blonde hair was tied up in a high tail. And her face was scrubbed clean of make-up. She looked about fifteen and gorgeous and worried sick.
"Oh my fucking God. You're trending again in Facebook and Twitter. How a tiny warrior took down two big bastards." The way T.C.'s hands were trembling as she grabbed Anastacia's chin and jerked it up to the light to check out the damage, made Anastacia's eyes sting. T.C.'s blue eyes filled, too, as her voice went hoarse. "Mother fuckers! Look at the fucking state of you."
The policeman entered and cleared his throat at the number of F-bombs being dropped in a public place and immediately T.C. turned on him.
"What's your problem? Can't you see she's been battered black and blue? Why the hell are you not out there keeping our streets safe from these bozos?"
Anastacia held T.C.'s wrists and squeezed.