Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  You’re a paid servant, Talia. He’s a client. Get over it.

  “You should get back to your friends, and I need to get back to my table,” I say like it’s no big deal and like I rub elbows—or is it rub shoulders?—with rich CEOs all the time.

  “I thought you could join me and my friends for a bit.”

  “I don’t think so. Not tonight. A bunch of men drinking, and … I work for you. I don’t think I should since I’m someone on your … personal staff.” I didn’t intend for it to sound mean, but Adam blinks once and says nothing for a few seconds.

  “I understand,” he says. “Go back to your friends. I’ll see you in a few days when I’m back in town. We can discuss what you need for the dinner then, or you can certainly email or call me at work.”

  “I doubt your secretary is going to let me call you at your firm. I’ve had a few of them turn me away when I tried to contact my clients at work.”

  “My assistant has you on my approved call list. You can call me anytime.”

  He makes these kinds of arrangements all the time. It’s business.

  “Good. I’ll talk to you soon.” I bow my head slightly, then turn and walk away as gracefully as possible, wading through the standing crowd and the servers.

  I never look back at Adam. I’m trying to mix business with pleasure. It seems to be much like the Titanic—people are dancing in the ballroom as the band continues to perform while the boat is most definitely sinking. And that’s what I can’t decide. Should I keep dancing, thinking something is happening with Adam? If Aleska was in this situation, she’d ask Adam directly and not waste time with trying to interpret every little thing the man says or does.

  I have become such a coward.

  As I squeeze back into my seat between Imogene and Jess, Cooper places a pint of beer in front of me. “It’s a Hofbrau Dunkel,” he says as if it means anything to me.

  “Well, what did the stud want?” Imogene inquires.

  Thankfully, Carson interrupts by handing her two platters of food to pass around. They’ve ordered everything on the menu and are passing it around the table family-style.

  Imogene pushes a dish in front of me. It’s loaded with kielbasa and sauerbraten. She scoops my favorite currywurst onto my plate, but I don’t have much appetite. I watch Bash’s staff prepare these foods every day and enjoy sampling everything until my stomach protests, but tonight, my stomach is jittery and I don’t think I could keep down even the lighter appetizers. When a plate of Bavarian pretzels is passed down, I grab one, hoping the bread will help settle my nervous belly.

  Bash makes a walk through the dining hall to see how the food is going over with the crowd. As he passes near our table, he raises a hand and smiles as if he’s relieved to see me sitting with my friends. I take a small bite of the chicken pâté and give him a thumbs-up. He looks pleased. The restaurant is packed and the food is being enjoyed. He heads toward the kitchen, and I return to sipping my beer and playing with my food.

  “Is he the chef?” our friend, Kimberly, asks as she approaches our table, a little out of breath as if she couldn’t make it to us fast enough. She points at Bash’s back as he disappears into the kitchen.

  “Yes, that’s Bash,” I reply.

  “I thought so!” Kim fans herself with her hand.

  “Simmer down,” Imogene says. “What are you so excited about?”

  “I saw him at the gas station once and wondered who he was, and then I saw him with Peyton outside Swill a couple weeks ago. Wow, he’s cute. How did I not meet him before tonight?”

  Imogene and I share a smile.

  “I think you need to go into that kitchen right now and introduce yourself, missy,” Imogene says.

  “Oh, I’m definitely going to. But first, I want to run an idea by you guys. Do you think Peyton would let me host an auction here to raise money for the library we want to build?”

  “He better,” I say. Kimberly is the most enthusiastic librarian in the county, and Hera could use its own little library. I also picture it being the perfect place for my mother to work if we can ever get her out of the house. She loves romance novels and thrillers, and working the circulation desk would be a great job for her, if she can be persuaded to join the human race again.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s the closest property to Swill, so when that dumpy old house is renovated into a charming new library, it will also improve Swill’s curb appeal,” Jess says.

  “Did someone mention something about a fundraiser for the new library?” Lois shouts from the other end of the table.

  “Oh God, not Lois,” Kim mutters. “That woman.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jess and Imogene say in unison.

  “You should get to Peyton before Lois does,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you’re right.” Kim looks around. “I’m going to ask Peyton about the auction, and then I’m going to go compliment the cute chef. Wish me luck.”

  “You go get ’em, girl.” Imogene pumps her fist, and then we watch Kim dodge past Lois’s waving arm.

  “She certainly doesn’t waste any time,” Aleska says. “She sees what she wants and goes for it.”

  “I’m not brave like her,” I say. The temptation to check out Adam’s table is strong, but I don’t look.

  “Are you going to tell us what Adam wanted?” Aleska demands, and both Imogene and Jess look at me.

  “It was indeed a neighborly offer. He gave me a catering jig,” I reply.

  “Gig. It’s a gig, not a jig,” Imogene says testily.

  “Does it matter? I made a big ta-da about him texting me, thinking he might be asking me out. I was wrong.”

  “It’s a fucking to-do.” Imogene slams her hand on the table.

  “Will you stop, or I’ll to-do you,” I tell her.

  “Oh, now I’m scared,” Imogene shoots back. “It sounds like you’re threatening me with sexual favors.”

  Aleska and Jess laugh.

  “It’s nice that he offered you a job,” Jess says in that tone friends use when they are trying to cheer you up.

  “Oh, please,” Imogene says. “She’d rather to-do him, or even ta-da him.”

  “It has been a while since I did any to-do-ing with anyone.”

  The women laugh, and I choke on my sip of beer with a giggle.

  Groups of men and women keep entering the restaurant, and we get caught up in people-watching and gossiping. It’s a welcome change from the isolation I’ve been experiencing the last few months. I forgot how much I missed my friends or being around lively people, in general.

  The noise level is high. I can’t hear what Dylan and Emma are saying at the far end of the table, so I pretend to listen intently to Jess and Imogene drone on about a killer yoga class I have to try. They explain it’s a cross between yoga and acrobatics, and the yogi, Anima-Christi, teaches the most grueling sessions. Personally, I think it sounds awful. And physically, I’m in no position to be airlifted into handstands.

  It’s not until they both gasp and say, “Wow!” that I pay attention.

  A gorgeous, exotic woman enters the restaurant. Tall and curvy, with an ample bosom and long, dark, flowing hair. She walks into the great dining hall as if she owns sex. Her smoky, dark eyes search the restaurant, dismissing everyone she sees until her gaze lands on Peyton, who’s at the bar, talking to one of the bartenders. When he notices the beautiful bombshell, there’s recognition in his expression, so I assume this incredible woman must be Flora.

  “Look at her,” Imogene says.

  “I am,” Jess replies.

  She is dressed in black leggings with high-heeled, thigh-high boots, making her look like she has ten feet of leg. I would look like a little troll standing next to her. A cute troll.

  Her top is maybe a size too small, but it’s the kind of snug, formfitting blouse that looks good on sexy women with large breasts and tiny waists.

  I’m hiding behind my big, fat, Bavarian pretzel. I keep it against my face like a
n eyeglass, peering through the pretzel twist like a child as I watch Flora make her way to Peyton. I grab my beer and take a quick swig, and then I take another. The bitter liquid does not go down smoothly for this non-beer drinker, but I’ll do anything to keep busy so I can spy on Peyton without being obvious.

  “What are you doing?” Imogene asks.

  “Watching Peyton and his girlfriend. She’s more glamorous than I expected,” I say.

  “She’s a stunner,” Imogene adds. “But I’m pretty sure she’s his ex-girlfriend. It’s a hunch, but my hunches are usually spot-on.”

  “Interesting. Well, you definitely notice her walking into a room,” Jess says.

  “It looks like they’re arguing.” Imogene smiles. “This is like a soap opera. I love it.”

  “We shouldn’t watch,” I say, but all three of us keep watching, and I’m absolutely enthralled with Peyton and how hot he looks tonight.

  Together, he and Flora make quite a beautiful couple, another reason I think he’s better suited to a flashy lifestyle. Hera isn’t flashy, which is why wealthy city dwellers are buying up country homes here, but not Peyton. He wants to be a part of a restaurant empire and travel from one big city to another, and he’s going to want a high-end girlfriend to go along with that lifestyle. Apparently, he doesn’t need to love her; he’s not looking for that. Sex and a superficial relationship will suit him just fine.

  Listen to me, sounding bitter and disappointed. Itch that—no, scratch that! I sound bitter.

  I’m only partially listening to the conversations around me. Lauren and her husband, Leo, have arrived, and they’re going on and on about how the grandparents compete to babysit their little toddler, Maisie.

  I wish I had such problems. Even if I’m fortunate enough to have a child someday, they would soon get bored of visiting Grandma Mila and her little prison of a home.

  Oh, I am bitter!

  I gulp down some more beer and raise my glass when Cooper makes a toast to the group about their great investment.

  I haven’t finished my beer, but someone takes my glass and replaces it with another. It’s a different color with a long German name that sounds like a witch’s incantation when I try to pronounce it. Imogene laughs because everything is a tongue twister for me.

  And then another swig of beer tells me I’m tipsy. I haven’t had anything to drink since my diagnosis over three months ago. I’m not on any medication, and I was given the go-ahead to eat and drink what I want, but it’s odd not to have Marko babysitting me, getting me drinks and telling me when I’ve had enough. I always used to take his monitoring as concern for my welfare and not control over my choices and behavior.

  The beer is giving me a new perspective, and I think I like this tipsy Talia who is a little less polished and likes eating slouched over a table with greasy fingers. Marko liked me made-up, and it used to make me laugh when he’d say, “That’s not very ladylike of you.” It never bothered me at the time. I thought he was bringing out the best in me, when he was really doing it for himself. It makes me furious to think I was stupid enough to agree with him and change my behavior, my clothing, my posture, and my language, for his approval. If he could see me now, he’d really disapprove, and that makes me a little happy. It’s a little taste of freedom.

  My second beer is mostly full when someone removes it and passes around little shot glasses of all the varieties of beers on tap.

  “More samplers!” Eleanor shouts from the other end of the table, and I wonder how a woman in her sixties can outdrink me and still walk and talk.

  “You’ve had less than one beer,” Aleska says, watching me, trying to assess the quantity I’ve consumed.

  “I guess I’m a light … a light something. A lightsaber? A light …”

  “Lightweight,” Aleska says.

  There’s so much going on in the restaurant, between the live music and the table-hopping customers, but Peyton and Flora stand in the middle of it all, having a heated argument. I’m probably the only one who is watching for any sign of affection between them, silently hoping they walk away from one another.

  Flora doesn’t seem to be short on words, and she’s gesticulating and flailing her hands and arms everywhere. Peyton looks as though he’s trying to calm her down by using firm, terse words. It’s not working. Flora seems to be the type who will say whatever she wants and doesn’t care who’s watching. Me—I’m watching. But I’m a very small person in Flora’s world. She takes up a lot of space and air and demands attention.

  Peyton listens to Flora’s rant with a resigned weariness, then crosses his arms as if to ward her off. Flora gets in the last word, then storms past all the dining tables, with every man and woman watching as she heads down the hallway toward the restrooms.

  Feeling fairly brazen with the alcohol surging through my bloodstream, I extricate myself from the table, ignoring Jess’s questions, and walk over to Peyton, who is already in a new conversation with Zander, the brewmaster.

  “Looks like you’ve got big trouble in a little town, mister,” I direct at Peyton.

  Zander leaves, and I step closer to Peyton, teetering in my heels and trying to strike a natural pose, even though my feet are in agony from the pointy boots.

  Peyton looks at me slowly, studying my face, then working his way down to my heels. “You should take those off. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “At the moment, I would love to go barefoot, but restaurants frown upon that.”

  “I’m the owner. I’ll let you.”

  “I’m assuming the woman you were fighting with is Flora. What’s the game with you two?”

  “You mean the deal with us?”

  “Sure, make fun of me.”

  “The deal is I disappoint Flora … a lot.”

  “I bet. All you do is work. You never have fun.”

  “I have fun,” he states.

  “When do you do anything besides work?”

  “First of all, I think my work is fun. Second, I had fun on the night drive with you.”

  “Then your life is almost as dull as mine. What kind of relationship is that … with her?”

  “It isn’t a relationship. I told you last night. Flora and I broke up when I moved here.”

  “So you said. But then, why did you let everyone assume you were still together?”

  “Because Imogene and Greer are always on my case about settling down. I decided not to tell anyone and let them assume what they want. This way, no one tries to fix me up, and I don’t have to get involved in Hera’s wild dating scene.”

  “Very funny. I wish there was a nightlife with a dating pool of men to choose from.”

  “And now I’ve created one,” he says. “Lot of guys here, Talia.”

  “So, why is Flora here? If you broke up ages ago, why is she here and why is she angry with you?”

  “We’ve stayed in touch. We’re still friends, in a sense. We talk on the phone and catch up on business. She’s here to support us, and she also wanted to give me a piece of her mind. That’s what Flora does best.”

  “Really?” I ask, feeling hopeful at the news of his single status.

  “Really. She’s dating a lawyer we both know, and she decided to tell me what’s wrong with me and all men.”

  “She looked pissed. Off. I was waiting for her to slap you.”

  “That’s how she is. Flora doesn’t have reasonable conversations, unless she has her lawyer hat on. The real Flora is emotional and high-strung. She’s angry because the guy she’s seeing was half an hour late to her apartment, so she left without him. That’s why she’s here alone.”

  “Oh,” I say, realizing I misinterpreted the whole interaction between them.

  “Are you having fun?” he asks, looking a little peeved himself.

  “I am.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me? Like why you’re interested in Adam Knight?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? What woman wouldn’t be interested in a man who’s s
uccessful and just bought one of the most fantastic homes in Hera?”

  “Maybe a woman who doesn’t want to be one of his many.”

  “Look who’s talking. You’re the one with a Playboy centerfold following you around.”

  “Flora?” he scoffs. “She’d punch you if she heard you say that. And she’s not following me around.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll bet she broke up with you because …”

  “Because why?”

  “Because you like having different women on your arm. Flora is gorgeous and smart, and you …”

  “I what?” Now he’s irritated.

  “Nothing. This isn’t worth arguing about.” I’m a little too tipsy to summon a good comeback.

  “I don’t have different women on my arm. I haven’t gone out with anyone since Flora. You have this image of me that’s both insulting and wrong.”

  “I remember you at Cooper and Imogene’s wedding. You were—”

  “I was dancing, like you were. I danced with different women, and you danced with different men. I drank and danced at a wedding, just like everyone else. Then, one day at a business meeting with our attorneys, I met Flora. We dated for nine months. And, by that, I mean we went out to dinner together and we slept together.”

  “If it was getting serious, what happened?”

  “It was never serious. But Flora wants to find someone older who’s ready to settle down at some point. I’m not that guy, and she’s smart enough not to waste her time on me.”

  “I’ll say.” I poke his chest.

  “And I hope you’re smart enough not to waste your time on Knight.”

  “I thought he was flirting with me. I thought he was going to ask me out,” I say, thinking about that moment that turned into a job offer and not a date.

  “What?” Peyton stiffens.

  “I hadn’t planned on telling you that. I thought Adam asked to speak to me privately because he was going to ask me out. I look pretty stupid now, don’t I?”

  Peyton doesn’t respond. His jaw tightens.

  “Well, he wanted to hire me. Not a date. It’s a work jig. Gig.”