I didn’t lose my cool last night, and I won’t lose it in the future.
Her finger tapped the send key before her lady parts had time to protest. The tram pulled up in front of her and she climbed up the steps, her eyes glued to her phone’s screen.
There’s a first time for everything. I’m sure you’ll get over it.
Her lips quirked. So he wanted to smack-talk, did he?
Eventually.
Paige’s fingers flew across her phone’s screen.
I’m not sure what kind of women you’re used to dealing with, but we country girls are made of tough stuff. Your hot air has no effect on me.
Lies. Last night he’d set her underwear alight in record time. The rate at which he could turn her from a sensible adult with her head screwed on properly to a quivering mess was terrifying.
And wholly too intriguing.
It’s not my air you should be worried about.
What should I be worried about? Unless you think that answering my questions will help me win…
The bubbles containing their message stared back at her. Three dots blinked at the bottom, taunting her. He was taking his time responding. Paige’s lips curved into a wicked smile. Throwing the ever-cocky Noah off his guard shouldn’t have been so damn fun.
The tram came to a halt and Paige saw First through the window. She was five minutes late for the start of her shift and she had to change out of her interview clothes into something more barista-appropriate. She stepped onto the pavement and jogged as best she could in her stilettos across the road.
First looked busy—people streamed in and out of the door, and she had to squeeze past three men in suits to get inside. The line for the register snaked around the bar, and the waiting area near the espresso machine was three deep.
Shit.
She hated being late. Paige muttered a stream of apologies as she pushed through the crowd to the opening at the end of the bar. Noah’s hard expression caught her off guard as he raked his eyes over her outfit.
“I need you now,” he said, nodding toward the growing stack of white paper coffee cups beside him. “You can change in a minute.”
Guilt knifed through her. Blisters or not, she’d work until the crowd shrank to a manageable amount. For once she was grateful for a punishing pace. Keeping busy meant her mind would be occupied by something other than the gorgeous guy working an arm’s length away…and how much she desperately wanted to kiss him again.
Chapter Nine
Damn Paige.
And damn that little black skirt that taunted him with every smooth swish of fabric. It was the same one she’d worn to her interview. The same one that’d been tucked up into the black lace underwear and had given him nightly hard-ons ever since she’d sauntered into his life. He couldn’t get her freckled skin out of his head.
Now, thanks to this weekend, he had something else to add to the fantasy—the smooth, honeyed taste of her lips. When he’d kissed her, it was with everything he had. It wasn’t the kind he used to reel a girl in. Not his signature kiss, which involved the gentle brush of his thumb over a woman’s jaw as he dipped his other hand to the curve of her lower back.
He’d learned that after being forced to watch chick flicks with his sisters. He called it The Hollywood. Romantic, smooth.
Strategic.
But there was nothing strategic about the way he’d pulled Paige to the dance floor last night. She’d ripped all sense from his head the moment she’d tossed that sharp little “harem” barb at him. The way her lips had pursed and her cheeks had flushed, indignation written all over her gorgeous face…well, fuck. He’d been lost.
Why did she have to bet him? Noah had been making bets his whole life—betting whether the next family would be “the one,” betting how long it would take before he heard how he’d screwed up again. Betting was what he knew.
He watched as Paige handed yet another perfect cappuccino to a customer, her smile bright and sunny. She took a little too long making each drink, but the care with which she presented each coffee kept the customers smiling. Quality was her mantra.
He caught her wincing and noticed the slight limp in her step. “Go out back,” he said, his eyes raking over the area in front of the espresso machine. They’d whittled down the line and there was a small break in the flow of customers. “Get out of those ridiculous shoes.”
“They’re not ridiculous,” she replied, but it was hard to take her seriously when it looked as though she couldn’t even stand still without causing herself pain. “They’re just not meant to be worn for this kind of job.”
“What about the skirt?” His eyes flickered over the spot where her hem ended above her knees. “I recall you having a little trouble with that item of clothing, too.”
She huffed. “You should save space in your brain for more important things.”
“That visual is plenty important.” He chuckled when her nostrils flared. “Go get changed. The crowd will be back any minute.”
Paige shuffled past him, her head held high while she did her best not to limp. But it looked like the back of her heel was all cut up from the punishing shoes. As the office door clicked shut he scratched his head, trying to remember where they’d stashed the first aid kit.
He located the white tin on a shelf near the sink, and pulled out a few Band-Aids of different sizes. When Paige reappeared, he handed them to her without a word before disappearing into the back office to do the work he was supposed to be taking care of in Des’s absence.
He needed to get his head out of the clouds and back to business.
Des would only be gone for another three weeks, and in that time Noah had to decide what to do. Truth was, Noah was happy where he was currently. His job was enjoyable, and he loved working with the new staff. There was a bit of responsibility, but not too much, because ultimately the buck stopped with Des. Which left Noah with the knowledge that he could leave at any time. Not that he wanted to…but knowing he could was important.
That was the problem—saying yes to one thing meant saying no to something else. Being responsible meant he couldn’t take off when he felt like it, he couldn’t say “fuck it” and get some air when people were relying on him. And he knew how it would go—how it had always gone: people might be impressed in the beginning, but they would quickly see that Noah was all charm and no substance. If he said yes to this job, how long would it be before his best friend regretted his decision? How long would it be before it ate away at their friendship?
Doubt niggled at Noah the second he sat in the chair. There were so many numbers to deal with, so many calculations, and so much thinking. It wasn’t his forte. He did better with touch and instinct. He could tell if the milk had been frothed correctly from the weight of the steaming jug in his hands, from the level of heat that radiated into his palm, and from the curl as he poured the milk into a cup. None of that could be taught with numbers and formulas.
This wasn’t his comfort zone. And Noah had no desire to be uncomfortable right now.
“Hey.” A voice accompanied by a swift knock interrupted his thoughts. “How goes the big bad boss?”
Paul sauntered into the room, a cardboard box in his hands. It looked heavy from the sound it made plonking down onto the desk next to him, crushing a draft roster beneath it.
“Excuse you.” Noah said with a shake of his head. “How am I supposed to do my job with you putting your crap everywhere?”
“Ahh, but it’s your crap, too.” Paul grinned and opened the box. “Presents from Mama Chapman.”
Noah peered into the box. “Did she make sauce? My stash is running low.”
Paul and Des’s mother was something of a saint, in Noah’s mind. The woman was the very definition of what he thought an Italian mama should be—curly dark hair, cooking that made your taste buds weep with joy, and a personal warmth that could keep an entire village from freezing in winter. The woman had saved his life once.
“I’ve got sauce,
lemons and zucchini from the garden…” Paul unpacked the box. “She made some biscotti as well. There’s a box of cannoli here, too, but I promised them to Libs.”
Noah shrugged. “I take what I can get.”
“You need to come around for family dinner soon. She’s been asking about you.” Paul said it casually, as though it were a throwaway comment. But that was his way of checking up on him.
Paul and Noah didn’t do deep conversation. They much preferred to argue about the footy over a few beers—especially since Paul and Des were die-hard Blues fans and Noah wouldn’t give up his black-and-white stripes for anybody. But that didn’t mean his best friends wouldn’t see how he was doing. And whereas Des would come right out and ask, Paul knew Noah needed his space.
“Yeah, it’s been a while.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I caught up with the girls last night.”
“How are those little troublemakers?” Paul leaned against the desk and crossed one ankle over the other. “Last I recall, Megan had moved to the country or something.”
“Yeah, she’s living with her boyfriend somewhere past Shepparton.” He shook his head. “Sounds like it’s in buttfuck nowhere if you ask me, but she seems happy.”
“He treating her well?”
“Yeah, he’s cool. We had a chat before she moved.”
Paul chuckled. “Ever the protective big brother. I’d hate to be one of the guys dating your sisters.”
He shrugged. “Megs has her head screwed on properly. She’s making good life choices. Ginnie’s off to Sydney for work soon. Some internship at a fashion magazine.”
“And Amanda?”
Noah cricked his head to one side, trying to squeeze the tension out of his muscles. “She couldn’t make it.”
“Couldn’t make it or was too busy getting high to remember to show up?” Paul’s expression soured. He had about as much respect for Amanda as Megan did.
“Watch it,” Noah said, narrowing his eyes.
“Hey, where she’s concerned it’s a legit question.” Paul held his hands up to show he meant no malice. “Rehab didn’t exactly do her any good the first time.”
“It doesn’t always work right away. But she’s been attending a support group, got herself a sponsor and everything.”
He didn’t add that Amanda had stopped responding to his calls about two weeks ago after he’d mentioned the get-together with Ginnie and Megan. She knew her sisters were still furious over what she’d done to Noah before her second rehab attempt, and Amanda’s usual mode of dealing with issues was to shrink in on herself. He couldn’t blame her. The kid had been through a lot. And he hadn’t stuck around when she’d needed him most.
But tracking down a girl with no fixed address and no job wasn’t exactly an easy task. All he could do was wait and trust that she’d come to him.
“That’s good. I hope things change for her.” Paul picked up the box with the remaining items from his mother’s house and backed up. “I’ll text you the next date for dinner. Ma would love to see you, okay?”
“Sure.” He bobbed his head and turned back to his work.
But his concentration had been shattered—between worrying about his sister and all the stupid games with Paige, he felt like there was little brainpower left over for his job. Which was exactly why he preferred not to tie himself to any commitments.
…
Paige let out a sigh and slumped against the counter as the crowd finally died down. First ran a roaring trade, and the hustle and bustle of her parents’ café back home was nothing compared to the steady stream of city workers in need of caffeine. Unrelenting pace aside, Paige found herself enjoying the work. She could make coffees with her eyes closed, which gave her a chance to share a word or two with the customers and her colleagues.
South Melbourne boasted a diverse culture. She’d met businesspeople, artists, families, students, hipsters, and even one person who she was sure had starred in Home and Away at some point. Already she felt as though she belonged in this vibrant place—whereas at home she’d felt stifled by the sameness of small-town life. Here, she could be anyone…if only she could find her feet. And a proper job.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Pip suggested. “You haven’t had one yet, have you?”
Paige shook her head. “We were busy.”
“Go.” She shooed her away. “We don’t get too many people coming in this late, so I can man the register and the coffee station. I’ll call Noah if we get stuck.”
The prospect of getting some fresh air sounded divine. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Paige grabbed her water bottle and ducked out of the bar area, taking a quick exit out the delivery door, which led into a quiet alley. Several restaurants and shops backed onto it, including a rival café that always seemed to have a group of young guys smoking outside it. That would never fly at First—or at her parents’ café back home. No matter how many mints or spritzes of aftershave were used, the stench of cigarette smoke always lingered.
Paige’s phone buzzed. A picture of her parents’ smiling faces flashed up on the screen, and she stifled a groan. She’d been dodging them for well over a week, ever since she’d taken the job at First. It wasn’t that she disliked speaking to them, but her mother had a hound-like ability to sniff out the truth. Paige feared they’d be onto her the second she said hello.
However, the texts and calls were increasing—both in frequency and in the worried tone of her mother’s requests for a return message.
“Hey.”
“Oh, Paige. I finally caught you.” Her mother sounded far more relieved that she should have. “I was having nightmares that you were lying in a hospital somewhere.”
For some mothers, it might have been a manipulative comment meant to induce guilt over the lack of communication. But not for Maisie Thomas. Given her views on the big bad city, the concern was genuine.
“I started to dream up all the things that might have happened.”
Paige could imagine the way her mother’s hand was fluttering at her neck, no doubt above a gauzy blouse in either pink or purple, as was her signature look. “I promise I’m fine. I’ve been busy.”
“I told you, Maisie,” her father’s gruff voice sounded on the line. Paige smiled because she knew exactly how they would be sitting—next to each other on the floral couch in the living room, each with their own cordless phone in hand. They still hadn’t worked out how to use the speaker function. “Paige knows how to handle herself.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Well, I’m glad we finally caught you,” her mother said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to answer a personal call during work hours.”
Paige cringed. “Oh yeah, well…it’s kind of quiet at the moment.”
If she could keep from uttering an outright lie, then maybe she’d be able to ease her guilt somewhat. Doubtful, but worth a try.
It’s fine, you’ll get another accounting job and they’ll be none the wiser.
“How’s work?” her father asked. “I hope they’re not keeping you there too late at night.”
“It’s fine.”
“And you’re not walking home on your own, are you?” her mother asked. “You make sure to stay out of parks and alleyways. That’s where a lot of those predators hide.”
Paige looked down the alley and caught the eye of a girl leaving a shop a few doors down. The girl offered a friendly wave and kept on walking.
“I’m safe, I promise.” She sighed. “It’s nice here. People are kind, and I’m starting to make friends.”
Well, sort of. How the hell should she classify her relationship with Noah? That conundrum aside, Libby was lovely, and Paul had been nothing but friendly. She wasn’t sure whether it would remain that way once she left First, but she hoped it might. She loved the people here.
“The drivers are a little crazy, though,” she admitted. “But I always look both ways when crossing the road.”
“Ah,
don’t listen to your mother. She’s got her head full of nonsense.” Her dad chuckled.
“It’s not nonsense.” Her mother harrumphed. “But we are proud of you, Paige. There was a little part of me that hoped you’d change your mind and come home. But you’ve always been destined for big things. And…I’m glad you’re chasing your dreams.”
They might not be singing the same tune if they knew what she was really doing—living like a freeloader and working a job she’d had since she was old enough to reach a cash register. Shame stabbed low in her gut.
That’s the perfectionism making you feel bad. You’re doing what you can to get by; nothing wrong with that.
Paige had been plagued by it since she was a kid. She’d been the type of student to rip up a whole handwritten essay if she messed up the last line. Or to fall asleep with her face in a book to make sure she was “on track” with her reading schedule. For the most part it had driven her to achieve great things.
But the dark side of it was the crushing guilt and shame at any little mistake, and a desire to hide the bad bits of her life.
“We were telling Nancy next door all about how well you’re doing,” her father added, the rare words of praise punctuated by the clearing of his throat.
“Thanks, guys.” She bit down on her lip.
“But you can always come home at any time, you know that, right?” her mother added. “Even if it’s only for a visit.”
“Stop it, Maisie. Let the girl be.”
“I’m just saying that there’s always a bed for you here, Paige.” She could practically see her mother shooting a reprimanding glance at her father.
She forced herself to smile so that hopefully her voice wouldn’t sound as gloomy as she felt. “I appreciate it.”
“What’s the name of the firm again?” her father asked.
Time to bail. “Sorry, someone’s calling me. I have to get back to work. I love you both. I’ll call again soon. I promise.”
She hung up before either one of her parents could ask any more guilt-inducing questions. They meant well, she knew that. But hearing the pride in their voices and seeing how misplaced it was only served to make her feel worse about her lack of progress on the career front. You’ve always been destined for big things was something they used to say to her brother.
Betting the Bad Boy (Behind the Bar) Page 9
