by Nikki Wild
“I’m… not following, sir.”
Was he talking about that ass-hat Marine?
Arnold sighed briefly. “I’m going to be frank with you for a moment. I don’t know why you were late earlier, and quite honestly, I don’t care. But it pains me when this happens…”
I braced myself.
Am I getting FIRED?
“I knew our crowd was going to be either incredibly polite and restrained, or a bunch of wild animals. Military types tend to go one way or the other. I have it on good authority that you comported yourself with grace tonight, and I wanted to commend you for your professionalism.”
“I’m afraid I’m still not following.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“One of your guests, the, ahem, other tardy party,” Arnold clarified. “A few members of his table apologized to me on his behalf, and another server clarified that he had been engaging in harassment against you. I wanted to tell you that I appreciate your care in representing us under that kind of attention. I hate to put you people in a room with crude animals like him.”
“Oh. Why, thank you,” I replied awkwardly. I’d already kind of moved past that, and didn’t honestly expect that it would wind up in his ear.
“Try to not be late again, Clara,” he told me, a sincere smile on his lips. “And thank you. I value your contributions to this team, and I want you to know that you have premiere call for future events. I’ll be adding you to the mailing list when I’m in my office tomorrow morning.”
The way Arnold handled things was to organize catering or serving events, then blast out an email of the week’s openings every Sunday morning. Premiere call was his phrase for the four or five servers who were able to cherry-pick shifts in advance on Saturday, before the other forty servers had any clue of the coming work opportunities.
This meant better shift opportunities, and as much work as I could possibly want. It was a distinction for only the most veteran or competent servers, neither of which I thought were particularly applicable in my case.
“I… thank you, sir. I appreciate this.”
“Keep up the good work,” he nodded kindly. “Anyway, that’s all. You’re dismissed.”
With a quick, respectful nod, I excused myself from his presence. What a weird turn, I thought to myself. But it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d taken that attitude. Arnold could be a huge stickler for presentation and rules, but he took care of his crew, and he didn’t tolerate mistreatment of his staff.
Still, this freed me up for another hour, and I decided to celebrate the occasion. While walking to my car, I thought of the bar just down the street. I’d been a few times and liked it, even if they had the occasional shitty bartender.
With a small grin on my face, I quickly changed into a shirt and hoodie I’d brought along. Figuring the parking was going to be awful, I left for the time being, strolling casually towards the bar with a bounce in my step.
I had no idea that destiny awaited.
3
After ditching the banquet once the food was done, some of my Marine buddies briefly considered strolling to the nearby bar for an after-party. When they all pussied out, I decided to go on without them, prowling around and scoping out the women. I hadn’t been to the local spots in this part of town before, so I was paying closer attention to the details than my usual approach.
That was how I spotted her.
It was after my third or fourth round of pool that I noticed Clara stood at the bar, dispassionately pushing strands of her hair back behind her ear. Although she had traded in her waistcoat and bowtie for a jacket and graphic tee, it was still unmistakably her.
The world smiles down on me, I thought to myself quietly as I casually sauntered that way. There was an open chair beside her, and I was determined to make use of it. So much so that I glared down some greasy snake of a guy who was just placing his hand on the back, eager to sit down beside the little vixen.
Not today, motherfucker, my eyes subtly communicated. Without a word between us, he got the message and backed off, off to chase other tail.
“Lousy service, huh?” I asked Clara, leaning against the counter beside her.
When she glanced up at me, her beautiful eyes were filled with surprise. That didn’t last long, as they quickly turned defensive.
“Little bit,” she replied coolly.
I nodded towards the bar. “What are you having? It’s on me.”
“I’m a big girl. I can order for myself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I shrugged apathetically. “Just being friendly.”
“Just like earlier, right?” she muttered, rolling her eyes. When she turned back, she narrowed them, smiling sweetly at me. “Why don’t you go be friendly somewhere else?”
I smiled inwardly. The game is on.
“Prickly little firecracker, aren’t you?” I chuckled. “Sorry to say, I happen to like my women on the sharp side. I thought you could handle it.”
“Is that so.” Clara glanced over towards the bartender again, growing visibly frustrated. When he clearly wasn’t noticing her, she started looking around – choosing an escape route.
“Your name was Clara, right?”
The server sighed. “So you can remember nametags, but you can’t pick up obvious social cues. Why don’t you get lost? I’m way too tired to deal with your shit right now.”
“My shit, love?”
“Don’t call me love. I’m not your love.”
“It’s an English thing, love,” I grinned cockily. “Can’t help it. You have your Sir and your Madam, and I have my guv’nah and my love.”
Clara gave an exasperated sigh. “This is just my night. One long, miserable banquet, I get some good news and I get to leave early… and now I’ve got this walking fucking stereotype, pulling from the shittiest book of pick-up lines in print…”
I made eye contact with the bartender, flashing him a look with my eyes. Between that and realizing the girl beside me had been here for possibly ages, he immediately flew over.
“Whiskey neat, Jameson,” I commanded. “And for the lady… long island iced tea.”
“Coming right up.”
Clara glanced up at me with mild amusement. “How’d you know I liked long island iced teas?”
“Lucky guess,” I chuckled, withdrawing my credit card. I handed it to the bartender between two fingers, keeping my eyes on Clara.
“And your ID, miss?”
He took it, briefly scanning the card with his eyes before returning it to her.
“Open tab?”
“Of course.”
As soon as he was out of earshot, I chuckled and shook my head at her. “He’s a terrible bartender. That’s the fakest card I’ve seen in a while.”
“Excuse me?” Clara muttered.
“Your ID card, it’s a fake. You’re definitely not twenty-one years old. Hell, I don’t honestly think you’re a day over nineteen.”
“Flattering, but no, the card’s real.”
I reached out the same two fingers, wiggling them briefly. “Show me.”
With a disgruntled sigh, Clara handed me her ID card. Of course, I didn’t really think it was a forgery. I just wanted more information on her. She was distracted, so I figured I could get away with the request.
Clara Renee Campbell, I observed, pretending to fiddle with the edges of the card as I scanned her identification. I checked out her address, noting that it probably wasn’t more than maybe ten minutes from my rental house. Convenient…
As I handed her the card back, my thumb slid along the stony glare of her photo, and I smiled with validation. Well, what do you know…?
“You’ve got a corner of this card slightly peeling up, and there’s a subtle laser engraving on your name at the top,” I chuckled. “I’ll be damned, it actually is a fake!”
“Say it a little louder for the people in the back, why don’t you?” Clara snarled as she slipped it into her pocket.
&
nbsp; She opened her mouth to follow that up, but the bartender returned with our drinks. We gratefully accepted them, turning to regard each other carefully.
“Cheers,” I grinned cheekily, clinking the lip of my tumbler to that of her highball glass. It had been a bold move, but it usually worked… and I was surprised to actually sniff out a fakery. Ballsy girl, I thought to myself.
“Cheers,” Clara disdainfully replied, watching me coolly as she took a large sip from the straw. It was clear that she was attempting to sum me up.
“Why don’t we get a table?” I asked, motioning towards the various high-tops. “I’d like a little more room, honestly.”
“I’m actually waiting on somebody,” Clara chirped up. “Boyfriend’ll be here any minute.”
“Boyfriend,” I nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s right. Big guy. Bigger than you.”
“Is that so? Is he a former Marine, too?”
“Oh yeah, definitely,” Clara smiled. “He’s way more handsome too. Doesn’t need to try and win me over with cheesy pick-up lines or anything.”
I grinned playfully, taking another sip of my iced whiskey. “Hey, I almost take personal offense to that one, love.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“And I told you that it’s a cultural thing,” I reminded her. “It’s just how we greet beautiful women. Part of the deal.”
“You’re starting to lay it on thick.”
I began to retort, but it turned out that she was half telling the truth. A moment later, another young lady about Clara’s age strolled up to us, brushing long blond bangs back to expose expensive gold earrings.
“Hiya, Clara. Who’s this guy?”
Oh good, here comes the cavalry.
“Just some guy from the Marines’ banquet I had to work tonight. He’s kind of a total misogynist jackass. Where’ve you been, Nat?”
“Sorry, girl! I was tied up with Jared for a hot minute there!” She smiled unabashedly, leaving zero subtly in the implication. Her smile faded as she turned to me. “You can go ahead and leave, though. I’ll take it from here.”
“Classy,” I grinned. “Tell your friend you’re late because you were riding dick and dismiss me in the same burst of air? What else can you do with all that lung power?”
Nat, as Clara had called her, planted her hand on her hip and gave me that classic simmering bitch face that I knew all too well.
“Look, Tiger, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree if you’re trying to bring my best friend home tonight. She’s already got enough to worry about without some smarmy, arrogant fuck bothering her.”
Just to send the point home, she waved lazily at me with a wrist in the dismissed motion. “Now, piss off.”
I laughed, taking a swig of my whiskey. “I’m sorry, I just thought we let our friends make their own decisions… Clara, if you want me to go, just say the word.”
She turned to me with a sweet grin. “I’ve told you to buzz off a few times now, remember?”
I grasped at my chest. “You’ve wounded me.”
“I’m sure you’ve experienced worse than that… Marine.”
For a brief moment, I had a flashback to a knife fight in the Afghani dust. Within seconds, I could practically taste the dust in my throat, blinded by the hot, unforgiving sun as a foreign voice shouted indecipherable taunts. I could feel the hard rubber of the hilt in my hand, and knew what I had to do…
“Well, I was in combat zones for a few years, so that’s fairly accurate,” I replied angrily. “Thank you for reminding me of my wonderful, feel-good time in the bloody, blistering desert. Now then, ladies, if you’ll excuse me…”
I stepped away from them, swallowing the fury that curled up in my throat like encroaching flames. What was THAT? I’d never really experienced any heavy flashbacks like that before, and to do so now of all times…?
Warm skin fleetingly brushed against my arm. Turning on my heel, Clara was at my side, looking at me with eyes filled with concern.
“Are you ok?”
I snapped out of it, shaking my head and looking down at her sparkling eyes.
“Look, that might have been a bit far. I’m really sorry… You just came off like a dick earlier tonight, and I was giving it back... You’re not going to give up on me now, are you?”
“You’re gorgeous when you open up like this, Clara.”
Clara blushed briefly, clearly caught off-guard. I could see her friend back at the counter, ordering a drink and looking over at us with confusion.
“I’m sorry… look, your name was Dalton, right? It’s been a frustrating night, and you had me a little off center… I was trying to forget you existed.”
“Well, I exist, and you got my name right,” I answered mechanically, trying to gauge where this was going. “I’m Dalton Cparlyle, of the 165th Steel Division in Afghanistan. Youngest member of the Carlyle Family of Southern England.”
“Sounds very distinguished,” she smiled. “Listen, would you like to get out of here, maybe? I could use some air.”
Ah, she’s remorseful now. Now she feels like she needs to overcompensate. I didn’t mind this particular trajectory anymore. Still, there’s the small matter of…
“Your friend,” I reminded, glancing over her shoulder again. Nat, likely short for Natalie, had affixed her attention onto flirting with the bartender as he mixed her up a cocktail.
“Oh, she’s probably fine,” Clara clarified, following my gaze. “Natalie knows I’m in a bit of a vulnerable position, so she’s always on the defensive for me… I mean… wait. Don’t read into that.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured Clara. “I’m English and a former Marine. It’s not really in either code of ethics for me to be anything less than a cordial gentleman… Tonight notwithstanding, at any rate.”
“What, do you get a manual or something?” Clara teased playfully.
“With the Marines, yes, something of a field handbook. For the British side, it’s more of an ancient, leather-bound tome, really…”
“Kept in some dusty old monastery?”
“You’ve seen it, then,” I chuckled. “Surprised the Elders let you through, usually you have to submit to a thumb-prick to establish proof of your bloodline…”
We shared a brief laugh, redirecting ourselves to a nearby bar top. While making brief small talk, Clara drank over half her beverage and I finished off my whiskey.
“So, what do you do? Besides the banquet serving, I mean,” I asked her.
“That’s pretty much it. Thrilling stuff,” Clara answered with a noncommittal shrug. “I start school back up Monday morning, and that’s going to suck away all of my free time.”
“The university here in town?”
“None other than.”
“I see. I’m enrolled for the semester, too.”
“No kidding,” Clara raised an eyebrow.
I noted that she was going through her drink kind of quickly... an interesting observation.
“Would have figured you to be already done. I mean, you’ve gotta be twenty-four, twenty-five, right?”
“I’m twenty-six,” I replied with amusement. “I did eight years. Two back-to-back enlistments, and now I’m getting back to reality. How old are you, now that I know that you’re not twenty-one?”
“Don’t worry, I’m eighteen,” she smiled, taking another long sip from her drink. “Sounds like Uncle Sam’s working out pretty well for you, then. What brought you to the States?”
“My father,” I told her. “He’s a chemical engineer and his company sent us stateside to work on a collaborative project with an oil corporation here. I’m afraid I’m not privy to any more detail than that, but we’ve been here for about a decade now.”
“A decade?” She gasped with muted surprise, just as I knew that she would. “What kind of project takes a decade?”
“The kind that’s sort of ongoing, features a lot of internal bureaucracy, and involves this particular engineer d
eciding he quite enjoys the States,” I answered, watching her fight to keep her eyes glued to me. “But the details are not particularly important. All you need to know is that, here we are, and have been for quite some time.”
Clara nodded slightly. Just as I was observing that inhaling her liquor was making her more than a little tipsy, she popped open her gob, asking loudly: “Why the Marines?”
“It was supposed to straighten me out,” I chuckled… Didn’t hurt that I couldn’t spend much money if I was tied up in combat, and I knew that I could get a decent education pretty much anywhere in the country.”
There was also the small matter of the Carlyle Fortune, although I wasn’t interested in divulging the future multimillionaire aspect of my backstory to this admittedly attractive stranger just yet.
“Sounds like you made the right move,” she nodded. “You’re a smart man, Dalton. Pretty handsome, too…”
Clara slid towards me, a dopey smile crossing her face as she drew near. Instinctively, I reciprocated, drawing her into a delicious, liquor-stained kiss.
The room faded away from us, its bustling entertainment a complete afterthought. This young lady was ripe for the picking, blushing and starting to stumble over her words. She would be molding clay in my hands; with the right push, I could have her home with me, her fingernails clawing into my back or gripping my shoulders all night long.
But I had a rule.
They can only be slightly drunk.
I don’t bed drunk chicks.
There were two reasons she would have already started to feel a buzz this strong: either this girl was a lightweight, or the bartender had fucked up. He could have mistaken my smirk for make this drink strong or, somewhat more likely, he’d just fucked up the ratio of alcohols.
I suspected they were both probably true.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I pulled back. She was clearly toasty, grinning toothily and giggling a little.
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Never better,” I chuckled. My cock was straining against my slacks, but I quickly repositioned it and drew up from the bar table. “Listen, give me your phone. I’m gonna put my number in there. Can I have yours?”
