by Kahlen Aymes
“No one hit on me while I was waiting, so maybe it’s better than average.”
“Hmmm,” Becca said as she pulled out a chair and sat down, watching Angel as she did. “Jesus, girl, you always make me look like such a slog. You had to wear Chanel?” Her eyes skirted over Angel’s fitted black suit and lime green blouse. The skirt was a few inches above the knee, the jacket angled in and ended just below the black leather belt that cinched in her waist below the flowing silk of the blouse.
“I came straight from work, and I had court today. I mean, look at this spinster hairdo!”
Becca was in jeans and a cute top, her long blonde hair tossed as she huffed at her friend. “Right, Angel. Is that why that sleaze at the bar is looking at you like he could eat you?”
Angel’s hair was in a loose knot at the top of her head, soft tendrils flowing around her face, a rosy blush rushing over her cheeks. “He’s harmless.”
“Agreed. Creepy fucker, though. But look, there’s your boyfriend,” Becca giggled, nodding in the direction of another table behind Angel. “He’s practically drooling.”
Angel smiled, already knowing that when she turned around she’d find someone completely opposite of anything she would normally be attracted to and probably downright offensive. It was a game they played often. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to keep a straight face to find a short, rotund man dressed in a business suit openly gaping at the two girls. His mouth was hanging open, and he was obviously taken with them both.
Angel bit her lip to keep the laugh from bursting out of her throat but couldn’t help a soft chuckle. She looked around, locating a tall, gangly man on the other side of the bar. He was keeping to himself, staring down into this glass, his head covered in a grotesque corkscrew comb over, he looked in his mid-fifties.
“So what?” She giggled. “He’s yours.” Angel’s hand was hidden by Becca’s body so she was able to point slightly in the man’s direction before she picked up the drink that the waitress brought over. Becca giggled and wrote down a song choice on one of the slips supplied in a pile on the table.
They were both in a fit of controlled laughter when the waitress brought their drinks. “So, Angel, will you sing for my birthday?”
Angel wrinkled her nose. “I haven’t picked up a real mic in over two years.” Her fingers played with the rim of her glass as she contemplated her past. It had been a great part of her life, but it was over. Her eyes lifted and she smiled. “I’m here to listen to you.”
“Eh, it’s like riding a bike. Maybe we can do a duet?” Becca’s eyebrows wagged and a smile split across her pretty face. “Besides, gotta give our boyfriends a show. Let ’em know what they’re really missing.”
“Mmmm...” Angel shook her head at her friend’s silliness. “I forgot to tell you, Darian called and needs to talk to me about something for the show. He said it couldn’t wait, so he’s stopping in here for a one drink. I hope you don’t mind.”
Becca’s mouth quirked a little. “Sure, but he’s coming all the way out here? Shit, maybe you’re getting fired.” Angel grinned at her friend’s teasing. “Is he hot?”
“Oh, God, Becca. Just go sing, already!” Angel was exasperated. As if dealing with this shit for four hours on Friday nights wasn’t bad enough, now she had to deal with Becca’s perpetual state of manhunting.
“No, really. Is he?” The blonde girl persisted, eyeing Angel with a small amount of skepticism.
“Yes, he’s attractive, and no, we aren’t involved. If you’re interested, you should go for it.”
Becca flipped open the binder to the exact section of the song menu that Angel had predicted: Christina Aguilera. She perused the songs while Angel sipped her drink and tried not to pay attention to the stares they were getting. Even the women were checking them out. Becca read her mind. “It’s bad enough when the men hover like vultures. Is my left tit hanging out or something?”
Angel burst out laughing. The woman on the stage was just ending an excruciating version of Katy Perry’s Hot and Cold, and Angel leaned over to see what Becca was writing down.
“You are serious about teasing these hacks.”
“Well, go big or go home, right?” She grinned at her friend and then pushed her chair back to take the request to the DJ. It was early so there wasn’t a waiting list, and she got right up on stage as the first bars of Candy Man started to play. Angel laughed and settled in to listen as her friend dove into the song with gusto.
“Sweet, sugar, Candy Man!” she whispered into the microphone as the big band horns joined through the speakers. Angel was smiling so hard her face hurt as the music filled the room.
Angel couldn’t help the small pang drawing her toward the stage. After all, old habits die hard, and those had been some of the best times of her life.
Angel sighed as she let the good memories of Kyle and the guys permeate her thoughts. The band… They started it with a few of their friends the second semester of sophomore year. Angel minored in classical piano, and Kyle had been a bad boy majoring in music. They used to jam in the music conservatory on a regular basis. They were good, and it seemed a natural course to form a real band and try to make some money. Kyle was incredibly talented, and they dated for a couple of years. So many of Angel’s happy memories revolved around music, but it all crashed and burned her senior year.
Angel was roused from her thoughts when something touched the sleeve of her jacket.
“Are you going to sing for us, beautiful?” He had a low, raspy voice, clearly caused by years of smoking. His cologne was sickening and overpowering in an attempt to hide the reek of still lingering cigarette smoke, but he was dressed well and screamed money. Angel stiffened; her back straightened in a ridged line. She recognized him as the dark-haired man with the jungle of chest hair who had leered at her when she’d first come in. Her eyes fell pointedly at the hand resting on hers in silent demand that it be removed.
“Um, no. I don’t think so.”
“I bet you have a beautiful voice. You sound like an angel when you speak.” He pulled out the empty chair on her right and sat down without an invitation.
“Listen, I’m here to celebrate my friend’s birthday, so if you’ll excuse me,” Angel began as the man made no attempt to hide his glances down the deep V of her blouse. It was ruffled and elegant, showing just a hint of cleavage.
“Come on, honey…” he persisted.
“I said take your hands off me!”
* * *
The two men just entering the bar drew some obvious attention, both of them tall, and carried themselves with a strong sense of assurance. The women all stopped and did a double take. Darian was more aware of the attention than Alex, who had enjoyed it when he was younger, but had long since become immune. He was well award that he was attractive to the opposite sex and while he’d used it to his advantage on multiple occasions, he didn’t feel the need to preen or prance under their observation.
This was the first time that either had been to this particular establishment so, no doubt, the regulars were wondering about them. Both were very striking men, one of them almost embarrassingly so, oozing confidence, power and quiet swagger. Commanding in his presence, Alex scanned the room.
“This is nicer than I expected, man. I didn’t know you were a singer. If you’re hoping to be discovered, I’ll front the money to produce you. All you have to do is ask.”
Darian’s eyes scanned the bar, looking for Angel’s slight form as he responded to Alex. “Ha, ha, Alex,” he stated dryly. “You’re fucking hilarious, but that’s not why we’re here.”
Alex ran a hand through his hair and tried to ignore a chubby redhead to his immediate left, staring at him from her seat. The tight polyester material of her electric blue top was cut low and showed way too much of her overly ample tits. She nodded at him and smiled boldly t through brightly stained lips. Christ. He smiled politely and then broke eye contact hoping she’d take a hint. “Then what are we doing here?�
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His friend nodded toward the stage, and Alex’s eyes followed the path he indicated. A pretty blonde was doing a decent job of singing and was having a very good time doing so.
“Do you know that woman?” Alex asked.
“Not that one. Look there.” Darian pointed toward a table in front of the stage to where a young woman was being approached by a greasy-looking, older man. Alex stiffened involuntarily at her obvious discomfort. The man was a little too flashy to be taken seriously, but he obviously had money.
The woman’s back was to him, but Alex could tell by the elegant way she held herself—the upswept dark hair above the graceful slope of her neck and high fashion clothing—that she had a great deal of class; very polished and chic.
She turned angrily against her agitator, the words rushing from her mouth in protest to the man’s hand on her arm. Alex caught sight of her profile and a long expanse of leg above a sexy stiletto shoe, and instantly he knew who she was. She was flawless, and his breath caught in his throat, his memory rushing back to that day six months ago in the Home Depot. This had to be fate.
Unthinking, he moved forward, and Darian spoke up to stop him. “Alex, she won’t want us to intrude. She can handle herself.”
Alex paused briefly. “Is that Angel?” His eyes narrowed at the realization of their real purpose being here. Darian gave a slight nod, though Alex didn’t really need confirmation. “I’m not going to stand here and watch that bastard manhandle her,” he said firmly and continued his trek toward the table.
“Listen, Oscar Meyer, I don’t have a wit of interest here. I would suggest that you take your hand off of me immediately, or I’ll be forced to waste this perfectly good drink by dumping it all over your sorry ass!”
Alex smiled because he couldn’t help himself. That voice. And even though Angel was pissed and on the defensive, she was incredibly funny. Her breathtaking features were bored, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.
“Come on baby…” the man whined, still not willing to give up. “Just one drink? What do you have to lose?”
“My self-respect, and quite possibly, my lunch,” Angel retorted, her anger finally filtering into her tone as she forcibly lifted the man’s hand from where it rested on her sleeve.
Alex pulled the chair out on her left, and when she glanced up at him, he finally had full view of her face.
Jesus fucking Christ, she is beautiful! he thought.
Porcelain skin, deep red lips, high cheekbones, delicate nose, and those eyes… he could drown in those eyes and be completely happy to do so. The one time he’d seen her when her warm chocolate eyes left their indelible stamp on him, she wasn’t made-up, but still amazing. Now… Holy hell, he could barely breathe. He’d never been so intensely or immediately affected by a woman in his life. Based on Darian’s description, he reluctantly acknowledged she’d be stunning and more. Before he ever laid eyes on her, he’d known that she was going to shake him to his very core, and now to realize she was the one image he’d struggled to forget and who most likely made distancing from Whitney inevitable.
Angel’s shocked eyes widened as she looked into his beautiful face and recognition shot through her. What was he doing here? His dark green eyes were mesmerizing as they locked with hers; a soft, confident smirk on his masculine mouth; his wild mane of hair was lightly mussed, like someone had run their hands through it a hundred times. The top buttons on his white shirt were open and there wasn’t a tie, but he was dressed in a navy blue suit. Armani, if Angel’s trained eye pegged it. He was tall like she remembered, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist shown off by the expensively tailored shirt. Based on the home improvement project, his appearance now was certainly a conundrum. Something inside Angel stirred at his nearness and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Her mouth dropped open to speak just as Alex gathered his composure and sat down next to her.
“Sorry I’m late, honey,” he said smoothly, a small smile gracing his full lips. “Rough day at the office.”
“Uh…” Angel just looked at him while his hand settled on the back of her chair. The other man, clearly taken aback by Alex’s presence, finally let go of her arm.
Alex leaned forward, closer to Angel, so he could speak to the man on her opposite side ,and she was assaulted by the clean, male scent of him highlighted by expensive cologne, even as her eyes were still unable to look away from his face.
“As you can see, the lady is otherwise engaged. I’m not amused that you’re hitting on my girl. Touch her again, so help me God, I will pull your balls out through your nostrils. Understand?” Alex’s tone was quiet and level, as if he were doing nothing more than ordering breakfast. He waited as the man’s mouth dropped open to speak, but finally nodding in mute silence. “Good. Please excuse us. Immediately.” His voice oozed over her skin like warm honey, and she felt a sudden familiarity. That voice. His tone was biting, but still like silk, and the monkey-man rapidly stood to leave them alone. Angel smiled and bit her lip, praying that she wouldn’t burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry. She never said she wasn’t available. You’re a very lucky man.”
Angel’s heart thumped in her chest as she listened, unable to move a muscle as the scene unfolded before her. It was completely ridiculous. This dark-haired Adonis was a stranger, simply stepping in to help her with an annoying problem, and nothing more… but there was a part of her that wondered what it would be like to really be his girl. She’d wondered about those green eyes on multiple occasions, but now to put that voice in this man… could it really be?
“Too true. If I were you, I’d learn that when a woman says ‘no’, that’s what she damn well means.” Alex’s eyes hardened and then softened when he looked back into Angel’s eyes as a giggle burst from her chest while the man retreated. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let that continue. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, still laughing softly. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I was about to throw my drink on him.”
“Yes, I heard. Very amusing. I almost let you, just so I could watch.” They sat for a few seconds, just looking at each other, neither one able to tear their eyes off of the other. “It would have served the bastard right.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Angel caught a glimpse of Darian just as Becca was coming back to the table after finishing her song, clearly checking out the two men. “Oh, I have to speak with…”
Angel stopped and looked from one man to the other, realization of why the voice rang familiar and who the man sitting next to her was, quickly dawning on her. Her happiness at seeing him again soured as his identity hit her square in the face. Her brow dropped and her mouth set into a firm line.
Fucking Darian. What the hell is he playing at? She was overcome with disappointment and fury.
“Hey, Angel.” Darian greeted her, but she said nothing for a few seconds, silently seething in her seat.
“Darian, you asshole!” she said finally. “And, Alexander, I presume?” she asked astutely. “Whitney’s Alexander?” Her mouth compressed further and the perfection of the last minutes evaporated into thin air.
“Not anymore.” Alex winked. “How could I resist the opportunity to meet the woman responsible?”
Angel’s mind cranked around the question… did he realize she was the girl from the paint department that day? If he didn’t, she wouldn’t be the one to point it out. The situation was already embarrassing enough.
Becca’s eyebrows shot up and her lips pursed. “Oh, shit,” she said as she sat down across from Angel. She searched her best friend’s expression trying to determine if she was going to stand up and walk out.
“Oh, let’s give credit where credit is due,” Angel scoffed angrily. “From what I understand, the ruin of the relationship rests solely on your pompous shoulders. I did nothing more than validate her decision to cut her losses. It’s obvious you only think of yourself. I mean, here you are, when I made it clear that I didn’t want
to speak with you beyond the call the other night, right?”
“Angel, it was —” Darian began but Alex held up a hand to silence him, shooting him a look.
“An error in judgment; nothing more.” Alex smiled slyly, which only infuriated Angel further. “I thought you deserved another chance.” She sat fuming as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and began slowly rolling them up, exposing a good portion of his lightly tanned forearms. Angel could easily see the strength as the material tightened over his muscular frame as me moved, and his authoritative demeanor made her pulse speed up.
Becca cleared her throat. “Oh, shit,” she murmured again under her breath, and Darian turned toward her.
“That’s an understatement. I’m Darian, by the way. Angel works with me at Kiss FM.”
Becca smiled, biting her lip as Alex and Angel continued their volatile banter. Darian lifted his arm to signal the waitress as a middle-aged man with a large paunch took to the stage and began rendering a painful version of New York, New York.
“Yes, I know who you are. I’m Becca James. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“I believe it is you, who had the error in judgment, Mr—?” Angel turned decidedly bitchy, her tone harder. She had certainly regained control.
“Avery, but please, call me Alex.”
“Well, Mr. Avery, thank you for your, um… interference a few moments ago but I believe I have some business to discuss with Darian.” Her eyes shot to the other man. “What the hell were you thinking bringing him here? Did you really need to talk to me about the show or is this some sick joke?”
Darian didn’t answer right away because the waitress was at the table, and he was ordering a round of drinks. When he did, his tone was blasé.
