by Chelle Bliss
Dale’s gaze shot over Johnny’s shoulder to look right at me. He didn’t answer. Instead, Dale shifted the corner of his mouth, and his expression cleared as he watched me. He had nothing to say to Johnny—that look alone told me as much.
“Why are you here?” I asked him, sidestepping my boss.
I didn’t need a bodyguard, not from Dale. Especially not from Dale. When the man only watched me, the scrutiny too quiet, too focused for my liking, I looked away, nodding at the crew. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us and no time for drama.”
“I’m here to work.” His voice was low, a deep, gravelly tone as though he’d either just finished an all-night drunk or hadn’t yet shaken off his sleep.
“We got a full crew.” Johnny looked back at me, not waiting for my confirmation before he glared back at Dale. “You can go.” Then he poked Dale’s shoulder once.
I groaned, knowing if I didn’t defuse the situation before it started, things would get messy.
Dale looked down once, right at the spot where Johnny had touched him, glanced up, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring, though he didn’t utter a sound. But I noticed the way he worked his throat. How he swallowed once. How he curled one fist at his side. How the knuckles there grew white.
I immediately stood in front of him, shaking off Johnny’s hand when he tried pulling me back. “Give me a minute.” I didn’t bother to look at Johnny.
“Bella…”
“Johnny, please.”
He backed away but didn’t leave us space enough for any real privacy. That didn’t bother me as much as Dale just showing up on my set, no matter how damn good he looked.
“Why am I always repeating myself with you?” I didn’t expect him to answer. I waved him off when he opened his mouth, and I held up my phone. “I’m giving you five minutes,” I said, just like I had the night of Kit and Kane’s wedding. I slid a thumb across the screen until I found the clock app and set the timer to five, showing him the screen when I hit the “Start” button. “Explain yourself.”
“Don’t need five,” he said. To demonstrate his confidence, Dale took off his shades, tucking them into the neck of his shirt, seeming to want a better look at me.
I wished he hadn’t. One look at his eyes told me he hadn’t had an all-night drunk. He was tired. I’d know that look anywhere. The man wasn’t sleeping, probably hadn’t been for a while.
As quickly as the worry inched into my head, I pushed it down. I reminded myself that I was supposed to be in the city forgetting this man. Forgetting everything that was and would never be between us.
“Four and a half.”
“You look good.”
I shook my head, letting my temper cradle me, heat me up from the inside.
Dale’s mouth twitched. He shot a glance at Johnny but didn’t seem too concerned by the way the other man cleared his throat or how he’d moved half a step closer. “Gotta say, that was a hell of a gut punch you landed back at the reception.”
“Okay, now it’s three minutes.” I waved my phone at him, emphasizing my point. I didn’t need a reminder of the out-of-nowhere kiss Dale had planted on me or how pissed off it had made me. I hoped that jab to his gut had burned like fire. “Why the hell are you here?”
Dale exhaled, digging into his back pocket to produce a slip of paper. “Told you. I’m here to work.”
“You don’t work for me.”
“No, I don’t.” Dale waved the paper at Johnny but kept his attention on me. “I work for Carelli Enterprises. Hired last night, in fact. Nice meeting I had with Mr. Carelli.”
“Figlio di puttana!” Johnny cursed, grabbing the paper from Dale. He tore through it, reading the letter before I could make out more than the Carelli letterhead on the top of the page. “You have some brass fucking balls,” he told Dale, standing inches from him. Angelo held Johnny back.
I grabbed Dale’s arm, though it wasn’t necessary. The SEAL didn’t move, did little more than watch Johnny, his expression unimpressed, a little bored as my boss glared at him.
To the director, David, Johnny snapped, “Take an hour, get the crew sorted. I’m going to have a conversation with my father,” before he and Angelo left.
Dale watched them leave, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“He’s not happy.”
“He’s not the only dang one.” I pulled Dale’s attention away from Johnny and down at me. The half smile fell from his face.
“Listen…Gin…” He at least had sense enough to look ashamed.
“You can save it.” I waved off any explanation he might have had. I headed back into the apartment and away from my former best friend. The skeleton crew focused on the work outside since there would be no rain today and the temperatures would be mild. I’d set up a small design studio in what would be the dining room while Jess, the designer I’d hired to help focus my ideas, came up with sketches, finalized the plans for the next few weeks’ shoots. That was where I intended to hide from Dale, hoping he’d get the hint and leave me alone.
He knew my temper.
He knew when I needed my space, but it seemed a year apart had done something to Dale and his memory of what I needed and when I needed those things.
The bastard followed right behind me. “I didn’t traipse halfway across the damn country to see you just so you could tell me to fuck off and hide out in…”
“Fuck off.” I threw a middle finger over my shoulder as I bypassed one of the producers in the living room.
“That any way to talk to one of your crew?” He sounded like an asshole with that small, teasing laugh in his tone.
I stopped near the kitchen to turn and glare at him. “You are not, not, not a member of this crew.”
“Carelli’s daddy seems to think I am.”
“What did you do?” I watched him.
Dale wasn’t friendly. He didn’t get along with other people. He wasn’t all that charming.
So how the hell did he manage to slink his way on to Johnny’s pet project without anyone knowing?
I hated how handsome he was. Hated more that he likely knew just how damn handsome he was. He was likely betting that I was still attracted to him to get on my good side. But I didn’t think I had a good side anymore.
My good side probably died a good year ago.
“What?” He moved close, stretching a hand to brush back the bangs from my eyes.
“Oh my God,” I said, the realization coming to me suddenly. I swatted at his touch. “You got Kiel to talk to his father-in-law.”
The asshole shrugged with a cocky grin. “I took a bullet for him.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“In fact, Gingerbread…”
“Do not call me that.”
He didn’t pause but twisted his mouth to press his lips together before he spoke. “Took a bullet for you, too.”
“That’s not saying much. You’d take a bullet for anyone,” I told him, ignoring the small grunt in his voice I knew was forced.
Dale didn’t beg. He didn’t do sympathy, but if he wanted to get his way, he wasn’t past reminding you of favors he’d done for you. Leave it to that asshole to remind me of the night I’d spent a year trying to forget. Still, him taking a bullet didn’t carry much weight, and we both knew it. I turned toward him when I reached the dining room table.
His shades were hanging from the collar of his Navy tee as Dale’s eyes narrowed for a second like he needed a small pause to squint at me. He gave me a once-over to see if I was messing with him before he shook his head. “Well, that fucking stings.”
“Please. It’s written into your DNA.” I suppressed the small twinge of guilt I felt at insulting him. “It’s in the training.”
“Three-hour surgery.” He looked down for a second before he stared at me again, not the least bit contrary or ashamed that he seemed to be milking the I’ve-been-shot sob story a full year after it happened.
I matched his pathetic attempt with one of my own. “T
wo-night bender on my sofa.”
Dale went quiet then. He seemed surprised by my dig over the weekend he’d been kicked out of every dive bar in Seattle because Trudy had left him for some asshole. Dale wanted to drink away reality, and I let him finish the job on my sofa.
“Fair enough.” His tone held less bite, but I knew he wasn’t finished comparing wounds that had been inflicted on him. “But you did leave without saying goodbye.” He flattened his mouth into a line, like just the memory of my exit from Seattle was a personal insult despite the fact that we weren’t speaking at the time.
When I cocked my eyebrow at him, thinking of the last time I left, after the wedding, Dale’s jaw clenched, and the muscles in his neck flexed.
“Twice,” he muttered.
I couldn’t deny that, much as I wanted to.
“And all I want is a chance to say I’m sorry. I just want a chance to make amends.” He didn’t ease the tension in his face. He didn’t relax at all, so that rugged swagger that always had him looking scary and fierce intensified. It was hard for him to beg. He never did that. “If I’m desperate enough to crawl into bed with a criminal and ask his daddy for a job, don’t you think that means I’m desperate to get my best friend to talk to me again?”
He was. Very desperate.
I only wanted one explanation from him.
Just one.
After all this time, the fact that he’d gone all stupid and sweet over his ex-wife didn’t bother me so much anymore. I just wanted him to acknowledge what he said to me before he got shot.
I needed to hear the words.
But Dale was a stubborn man.
When he didn’t want to do something, he didn’t. It seemed to me, for whatever his reasons, things needed to be slow. He couldn’t jump in with explanations and promises he might not be ready to make.
I could wait. But I wouldn’t wait for long.
“Fine, but not here.”
He nodded but didn’t smile.
“There’s a diner around the corner from my hotel called Dakota’s. On West 57th.”
He nodded again, and the tightness in his face relaxed, though he didn’t smile. Dale never smiled outright.
“And don’t think just because I’m agreeing that I’m not pissed you’re here or that I won’t make you work for a living.”
“You ever see me not work hard?”
“Never.”
“Then give me a job.”
“Joe Gates is up on the roof, laying tar.” I smiled, not meaning it in the least when Dale flared his nostrils.
He hated tar work. That much I knew from all the times he’d set Asher on the job when we’d come across a building or two in need of it back in Seattle. Seems things hadn’t changed, but Dale didn’t seem inclined to complain.
I moved several manila folders around, not looking at Dale when I spoke. “It’s dirty, filthy work, but you can do it. I know you can.”
“I’ll get up there.”
He walked away, and I couldn’t help but watch him. He had swagger. No doubt about that. And an ass that filled out those Levi’s perfectly, but my view got interrupted. I tried to pretend like I hadn’t been caught staring when Dale abruptly stopped, glancing over his shoulder at me and called my name just a few feet from the door.
“Hey, Gingerbread? This suits you.”
“What does?” I pretended again to be interested in the folder in my hands.
Dale nodded to the apartment, moving his head to the materials and fabric lining the window seat. “All this…you…being the center of attention.” He smiled, shooting a wink my way I couldn’t pretend not to feel in the pit of my stomach. “It suits you.”
9
Dale
Johnny Carelli liked to pretend he ran things.
Maybe he did.
But from the meeting I’d had with his father, I understood a little better who was in charge.
The old man was just that, damn old. But when I sat down in front of him, I felt stupid and awkward, explaining that I wanted on Johnny’s new crew to get back into Gin’s good graces. The old man simply watched me.
No noise. No expression. No emotion.
Just cold, calculating eyes looking right through me as he watched me, getting the measure of me as he thought of things he didn’t seem inclined to share.
That shit suited me fine. But it took all my reserves of willpower not to tell the old bastard to speak up or cut me loose.
Until, finally, he did.
“My son-in-law says you were in the Navy.”
“Yes, sir.” The “sir” felt like dirt on my tongue. I knew the measure of this old man. I knew who and what he was. I knew the business he was in. Didn’t much care to be asking someone like him for favors, but for Gin, I’d do just about anything. “SEALs. Twelve years.”
His eyebrows went up then, and that confession got his attention. Turned out Old Man Carelli had been stationed in Vietnam back in ’72. He’d seen real action. He’d been on the ground, in foxholes and blazing temperatures, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, bleeding and half dying alongside them.
Gotta respect that level of service.
He seemed to respect my honesty.
“My son fancies himself a businessman,” he’d said, picking a grape from a bowl on the cart next to his chair. “He forgets the business our family has always been in. He forgets it’s not for the faint of heart.” Carelli leaned forward, his expression serious, cold. “He forgets we cannot bring the innocent into this world, and you, my friend, and your woman are innocent.”
That had landed me the gig. I guessed Old Man Carelli didn’t buy his son’s belief that the show would take off. He didn’t believe him when the asshole thought he could take Gin wherever she wanted to go, even if that meant his bed.
Next to me, Joe Gates slopped a last section of the roof with tar, and I finished the front. It was stinky, grimy work, nothing worse than I’d done before. Grunt work, to be sure, but Gin seemed to need her distance.
I spotted her as she moved below us. She pointed to a line of raised vegetable beds on the patio. Carelli stood next to her, hands deep in his pockets as the director, David, I think I heard Joe call him, motioned to the beds.
“What do you make of them?” I asked Joe.
The guy stood next to me, stopping to stretch his back and drop the mop next to the tar bucket. “Who?”
“Carelli and the woman.”
“The redhead?”
I nodded.
Joe shrugged, moving his head over the roof ledge to get a better look. “They’re not fucking. If they were, that guy would be touching her, stroking her back, or holding on to her waist, doing something to let every other asshole on the crew know she’s taken.”
My gut turned at just the mention of Gin and Carelli together. At just the idea that Gates had probably put thoughts of Gin naked into his head at all, but I shook off the whip of anger I felt. Wouldn’t do me any good to piss anyone off first day on the job. That shit would get me nowhere closer to earning her forgiveness.
The day had been a good five degrees hotter than it should have been, and the black tar reflecting the sun made it a hundred times worse. Joe had four empty bottles of water lying next to him. He was tall and had a good fifteen years on me, with brown skin and thin hair. He sat on the roof edge, wiping his face with a damp red bandana, pulling on a half-empty bottle of water as I offered him what I had left in my thermos. Least I could do was share what I had. My thermos was cold, still sweating. I’d bet it was more satisfying than what he’d been sipping on for the past half hour.
“You been on the crew this whole time?”
“Why you asking?” He eyed me like he wanted to know my angle before he answered me or took the water I offered.
“I got my reasons.” I grabbed his empty bottle when he dropped it. He watched me closely as I filled it from my thermos, like he wasn’t sure what I was playing at, giving him most of my cold water.
Dow
n below, Gin turned away from David, looking up at Carelli as he spoke to her. I caught her profile—still fucking beautiful. Perfect. Out of reach.
I blinked, the vibration of my cell pulling my attention away from Gin as I dug in my pocket to silence the call.
“All I know is Carelli is the money guy and spares no expense.” Joe finally took the water I offered him. “Whatever she wants, we get. That was the rule from jump. She wants marble, we get marble. She wants cedar for the raised beds, we get cedar and not treated pine. She wants organic plants, we get organic. Either that asshole wants to impress some studio with high-dollar shit, or he wants to fuck her.” He stood, and I rubbed my eyes to distract myself from the truth Joe spoke and I already knew. He stood next to me stretching again as he looked down at the crew below. “I ain’t never seen no man spend this much cash on pussy he ain’t had.” When I jerked my gaze to him, Joe lifted his hand, his gapped-tooth grin white and wide like he’d guessed why I’d asked about Gin and Carelli and my reaction had confirmed it. I’d been caught and didn’t bother making an excuse. “Hell, man, it’s clear enough. The way you act around her, the way you look at her, the way she looks back at you, I’d swear you’d had her before.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” I knocked off the man’s hand when he slapped my shoulder, ignoring how loud he laughed at me when I shot him the bird.
“I just call ’em like I see ’em.”
Joe’s laugh carried behind him as he walked toward the exit. I went on ignoring him. He didn’t know what he was talking about. I wouldn’t be likely to forget ever being with Gin. That was just not something that slipped a man’s memory. Not with a woman like Gin.
She was remarkable. I’d always known that. Everyone had. There were things about her I’d noticed even when I shouldn’t have. Even when I’d belonged to someone else.
Like that night back in Tacoma, just a few weeks before Trudy left me. Gin had her accusations. Truth was, I had my own suspicions, but I wouldn’t let my mind go that way.
It had been our first real fight.
Two weeks later, I’d crawled back to her. I’d begged her to forgive me because she was my only real friend in the world, but the bullshit had started at Lucky’s with her warning me of things she’d seen.