by Hart, Staci
I turned on Will. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I growled, slamming the drink back on the table as I stepped around it and toward him.
He took a step back, the superior look on his face washed out, leaving him stupefied.
“Get out,” I said through my teeth. “Get the fuck out of my bar.”
Annie hooked her arms in one of mine and pulled, “Greg, stop!”
I whirled around, arching over her.
She shrank under the weight.
“Don’t,” I ground out from behind clenched teeth. “Do not.”
“Listen—” Will started.
I whirled back on him. “You gave a drink to an underage girl in my bar. I don’t have to listen to a goddamn word you have to say. Get the fuck out. Now!”
He jumped at the impact of the last word and glanced at Annie, reaching for her hand.
When she moved to step around me, I moved with her, keeping my body between them.
“She is not going with you.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” she shot.
I turned, pinning her with a glare I felt into the depths of my chest. “You are on the clock. And if you leave with him, you’re fired.”
Color rose in her cheeks, her eyes shining with angry tears. “Oh, so now you want to be my boss?”
I didn’t respond, only held her still with my glare.
“Goddamn it, Greg,” she whispered but didn’t move to follow.
“Let her go,” Will said, his shoulders square.
“No.”
His eyes darted to her. “Come on, Annie.” He extended his hand.
“I’ll call you later,” she said miserably.
Fury flashed across his face. “If you stay here with him, we’re through. You don’t need this fucking bullshit minimum-wage job anyway.”
“Watch it, asshole,” I warned.
“You’re both assholes!” she shouted, tears clinging to her lashes. “Screw both of you, and screw your ultimatums.”
“Annie—” he started, but she cut him off.
“If that’s how you feel, then go. I’m through with this, through with you. Through with your jealousy and through with the arguing. I’m through.”
She took a furious breath that shuddered in her chest, a sob fueled by betrayal and hurt, a sob that sent a flash of rage through me, tightening my fists at my sides.
“Get out of here, Bailey. Because if I put my hands on you to make you, I swear to God, I won’t be able to stop.”
Will stood very still, his eyes on her, then me, then her again, as if weighing his options. When he came to his senses, it was with a tug on the hem of his vest and the straightening of his back.
“Your loss,” he said, his cold eyes on Annie.
“Do not show your face here again. If you walk through those doors, I will have you thrown out. Do you hear me?”
After a long, strained stare, he nodded once and turned.
The only people who had heard were those adjacent to us, and the party went on undisturbed but for our little island of blame.
When I turned to her, tears spilled from her accusing eyes.
“I cannot believe that just happened,” she spat. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
Every muscle in my body was flexed and furious. “You can’t believe? Do you realize we could lose our liquor license? Did you happen to forget you were on the clock and working? I should fire you on the spot.”
“Well then, why don’t you?” she cried, her voice full of contempt.
“You and I both know why.”
I turned to walk away, and she didn’t say a word more.
The rest of the night was a blur. Somehow, I managed to get back behind the bar and spent the next few hours in a haze marked by automatic movements—smile, pour, nod. And then it was last call, and the night wound down.
The crowd thinned, then emptied, leaving only the employees. Ruby bussed her tables while Jett and Annie cleaned up their things, running the box of name tags and dance cards and tablecloths back. We were breaking down the bar when Annie appeared in front of me, the bartop between us.
“I’m finished,” she said quietly but not gently.
I didn’t look at her. “Good. Clock out and sit down.”
She took a breath through her nose, the sound frustrated. “I would like to leave, please.”
“You will sit and wait for me to finish. We have things to discuss, and when that’s done, I’ll put you in a cab.”
“I am not a child!”
“Then stop acting like one.”
I looked up when she made another sound, this one somewhere between a gasp and a sob. The hurt on her face was nearly the end of me. Because that hurt written in the soft curves of her cheeks, the brackets on either side of her lips and the furrow between her brows told me she felt every bit the child I’d accused her of being.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stormed out from behind the bar with Beau and Harrison watching me, exchanging glances when I rounded the corner. The second Annie was in grabbing distance, I did just that, hooking her upper arm with my hand to drag her into the back.
What I had to say didn’t need an audience.
I let her go once we were in the depths of the store, my chest heaving as I looked down at her. “I cannot fucking believe you did that. I cannot believe you put me in that position.”
“It was just a drink!”
“Jesus Christ, Annie. One drink could cost Rose tens of thousands of dollars in fines and the store’s license. And you don’t even drink! This was his doing, not yours. And don’t you dare lie and tell me that was your idea.”
More tears. So many tears.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I just didn’t think it would be a big deal. He said no one would know, and I’d never had a drink, and—”
“This isn’t you. None of this is you. It reeks of that son of a bitch.”
“Greg, you banned him from the bar, and you kept me here, held me hostage when you should have let me go. It wasn’t right, how you handled things. It wasn’t,” she said, angry sobs hiccuping in her chest.
And my own anger won over, bursting out of me in waves. “This is my bar, and I don’t want him here, not after tonight. You’ll do what I say because you are my employee. You’ll follow my rules because I am your boss.”
Her sadness shifted to furious accusation. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Because I don’t think this is about him so much as it’s about you.”
My breath kicked out of my lungs. “That is not what this is about.”
“You’re a goddamn liar. You would have found any excuse to kick him out and keep me here. You would have found any reason to keep me away from him. Well, it’s over now. Are you happy? Are you fucking happy?” Her voice broke, her face bent and shining with tears.
I rushed her, grabbing her arms, pulling her into me, desperate and overcome and frustrated beyond measure. “You don’t understand, not what you want, not what he wants from you, and not how I feel.” My breath trembled, my eyes searching the depths of her emerald irises, the ring of gold flashing. “You don’t see that he was hurting you, chipping away at you sliver by sliver. You don’t see that I”—need, desire, love—“want you. You can’t see it, even when it’s right in front of you.”
Her face softened with understanding and surprise, her lips parted, as if a thousand words waited somewhere just beyond her tongue, her hands on my chest and chin tipped up. And I felt myself leaning, felt her weight in my arms, felt her breath on my lips.
And I let her go. God knew how, but I let her go.
One step back wasn’t enough, and it was too much.
I turned and rushed out of the back and into the store, empty of everyone but Beau. When he looked up, I tossed my keys to him.
“Lock it up.”
He frowned as he caught them. “Shit, man, I have a date.”
“It’ll have to wait.”
“Wh
ere are you going?” he called after me.
“Anywhere but here.”
I pulled open the door, welcoming the chill, hoping it would cool my anger.
With every step, I knew I was just as wrong as I was right. With every footfall, I pictured her face, etched with pain by my own hand. I’d left her there alone. I’d treated her unfairly.
It only took a block before I came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been justified, but I’d been harder, crueler than I had to be. I could have let her go. I could have dealt with the whole thing tomorrow. And she was right; if it had been anyone but her, I would have handled it differently.
But it was Annie, and where she was concerned, I found I couldn’t be rational.
I turned around with a sigh and headed back to the store, my anger ebbed to expose the shores of guilt. When I reached the door, I found it still unlocked, though the store was abandoned, everyone gone except Beau. I didn’t see him, but I could hear him whistling.
My goal was singular.
Past the bar I went, past the hall where the office was and into the back of the building.
I found her in nearly the same spot as I’d left her, sitting on a stack of empty crates with her face buried in her hands and her soft sobs echoing off the concrete walls.
Annie looked up at the noise of my footfalls, almost immediately looking away, like she’d just been readying herself to leave. She swiped at her tears and sniffled, her eyes down.
And with a bruised and bloodied heart, I dropped to my knees in front of her and took her hands in mine, meeting her eyes with remorse and repentance.
“Annie, I’m sorry.”
Her chin quivered, the weakly tamped tears springing from her eyes again. “No, Greg, I—”
“Please, let me apologize,” I said gently.
She nodded once.
“You’re right—I can’t be reasonable when it comes to you. And even though I had to act, I didn’t have to act like that. I have a hundred excuses, but you know them all, and none of them matter. So I’ll only beg for your forgiveness. I never wanted to hurt you; I only want your happiness. I just haven’t been able to sort out how to balance your happiness and my own.”
“Of course I forgive you,” she said, though she still cried, an unending stream that pained me to no end.
“God, please don’t cry anymore. I don’t want to make you cry anymore,” I begged, reaching for her face, tipping it so she would meet my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded again. “So am I. I…I was wrong, and I screwed up b-b-bad. I’m so sorry.”
A sob broke out of her, and I rose enough to pull her into my chest, slipping my fingers into her curls.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” she said against my lapel. “I’ve ruined everything. Your friendship. My reputation.” She sniffled and pulled back. “Your coat.”
I chuckled and looked down. “It’ll survive. And so will you. And so will I.”
She tried to smile, her brows still together, but her tears were dry for the moment.
I stood. “Come on, let’s get you home. It’s almost three.”
She sighed and stood too, looking as weary and worn as I felt. “All right.”
We walked out of the back in silence, and when I stepped into the store, I stopped dead.
All the lights were off, and the metal gate in front of the door was down.
“No, no, no, no. NO,” I muttered as I hurried to the door to make sure that, against all odds, I wasn’t seeing what I was seeing.
Once confirmed, I turned to Annie with numb hands.
“We’re locked in.”
Did He?
Annie
A half an hour later, I was sitting behind Rose’s desk, gently spinning the chair from side to side.
The night felt like it had been a decade long; too much had happened and too much had changed for it to have only been a few hours.
As I watched Greg dial the phone again, his dark brows drawn with a frustrated furrow between them, I marked the swing of emotions I’d felt. Wonder when I put on the dress, the thrill when I took that cursed drink from Will, the fear when Greg stepped in, the guilt at the knowledge of his rightness. The betrayal by Will of my wants and wishes. The feeling I had as I watched him walk away.
The truth of that emotion was that it wasn’t remorse but relief. Because Will had demonstrated once more that he wasn’t the man I’d believed him to be, and he’d had enough chances to prove otherwise.
Will had wanted his way solely for the sake of having his way. Greg had intervened because he was trying to protect me, in his heavy-handed, ill-conceived way.
And when it all shook down, I found myself glad that Will and I were through.
I watched Greg, his face tight, phone pressed to his ear as he mashed another set of numbers and waited for it to ring.
He’d been so angry, so disappointed. So right. About everything.
When he kicked Will out, I was livid. I steamed through the rest of the night feeling stupid and confused and hurt. Angry because I’d been manipulated by them, backed into the corner I found myself in.
But when Greg took me to the back and tore me down like I deserved, when he reached for me, held me close, his dark eyes fevered and tortured, I only felt ashamed and sorry. I wanted to wipe his pain away, wash away what I’d done, tell him the truth of my feelings.
Greg slammed the phone back on the receiver. “Goddamn it,” he hissed and dragged a hand through his dark hair. “No one is answering their phone, and the extra key’s not in the safe where it’s supposed to be.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as a noisy breath left him.
“What about the fire exit? In the back?”
He shook his head and sat back in Cam’s chair, looking exhausted. “It’ll open without a key and put us in the alley, but the fire alarm will go off, and that, you can only turn off with a manager’s key, which Beau has.”
“And Cam and Rose.”
“And if they picked up their fucking phones, we’d be all set.” He scrubbed his hand over his face.
“What time will someone be here in the morning?”
“Cam will be here at eight. Did you text your sister?”
I nodded. “She won’t get it until the morning, but at least no one will freak out that I didn’t come home. They all knew I’d be working late—just not all-night late—so the good news is, they’re not waiting up and worrying.”
“Maybe I should try Cooper, the other owner. He’s mostly just an investor though. I’m not sure it’s even in his jurisdiction, if I could even get ahold of him.”
I drew a heavy sigh. “Don’t bother him. We can sleep here for a few hours until Cam gets here. At least there are couches.”
Greg groaned. “I am so sorry. I cannot believe that fucking bonehead locked us in.”
“Thank God you came back. Otherwise, I’d be locked in here by myself.”
He looked a little sick at the thought.
But I smiled. “If we’re stuck here, might as well make the most of it. Come on,” I said as I stood.
We made our way back into the store, and I turned on the candelabras again, so we had a little bit of light; it was too creepy when it was totally dark. I grabbed one, and Greg did the same as we headed to the romance side of the bookstore. A good-sized seating area sat in the middle; two velvet sofas faced each other, and oversized armchairs flanked them.
“Seems as good a place as any to rest,” I said, setting my candelabra on the coffee table in the middle.
“I’m sorry about Will,” he said from behind me.
“Are you?” I asked, doing a poor job of hiding the hope in those two words. “I’m not sure I am.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you. I’m sorry he didn’t treat you with the care you deserve.”
I turned to face him. “I’m sorry I didn’t see him for w
ho he really was. I didn’t see a lot of things, things I should have noticed and reached for. But I’m not sorry it’s over. The truth is, deep down, I’ve known for a little while that he wasn’t who I wanted.”
“You did?” he asked, narrowly winning the battle of keeping his emotion from his face and voice.
I nodded, looking into his eyes with my heart fluttering. “I kept comparing him to you, and he always fell short.”
I couldn’t wait for him to speak; I was too afraid of what he’d say. So, I made for the bookshelves, anxious for something to do with my hands. My eyes scanned the shelves until I found one of my favorite books and picked it up, smiling.
“You’re going to read?” he asked from behind me, his voice rough, but I could hear a smile on his lips.
I shrugged as I made my way back toward him, still avoiding his eyes. “I always read before bed. Plus, I love this book. She writes the best first kisses,” I said dreamily.
His smile fell but not into a frown. Something in him changed, the air between us changing with it. “Does it measure up?” he asked.
My face quirked in confusion. “Does what measure up?”
“First kisses in fiction to first kisses in reality.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
He took a step closer to me. “So…does it?”
“It…it was…” I paused, searching for a word that didn’t exist. “It was fine.” That tepid, cursed word left me before I could catch it and reel it back in.
“Fine,” he mused, taking another step, putting him so close to me that every molecule was full of him, of the smell of him, the feel of him, though he hadn’t touched me.
My only thought was the deep, thrumming wish that he would.
“Tell me, Annie,” he whispered as the candlelight danced across the strong line of his nose and the swells of his lips, “did he hold your face in his hands and understand what he had?” His fingers brushed my skin until they rested in the curve of my neck, his thumb in the hollow of my jaw, his palm soft and warm against my cheek.
He stole my breath along with my ability to move or think. All I could do was listen and feel, held captive by his hands, his breath, his words.
“Did he touch the softness of your skin and tell you how lucky he was?” His thumb shifted reverently against my fevered skin.