by Elise Noble
“Take the day to rest. Tomorrow’s Monday. A fresh week, a fresh start.”
“What time do we need to be at work?”
She grimaced. “Six. That’s the worst part of the job, especially as I don’t wake up until six thirty.”
“I’ll cope with the mornings.”
Mom had always been an early bird. All through my childhood, the smell of breakfast drifted up the stairs at five thirty, and Mason and I would race each other to the kitchen. It was only as I got older that I’d claimed the night as my own.
“We’re gonna make a great team. I’d suggest going out to eat this evening, to get to know each other better, but I have to work.”
“At the restaurant?”
She nodded.
“What kind of food?”
“All that fancy nouvelle cuisine. Big plates, tiny portions of weird stuff. I can’t even pronounce half of the stuff on the menu. But the tips are good, and Jean-Luc, the pastry chef, always gives me the leftovers to bring home.”
She blushed as she said that, and I wondered if I’d be hearing more about Jean-Luc and his goodies.
“You like him?”
“He’s got a girlfriend.”
The good ones were always taken, weren’t they? And his kindness sure beat my waitressing experience.
“I worked at a diner once, and I was lucky if I got soggy cigarette ends or a piece of chewed-up gum at the end of the night.”
She gave a tinkly little giggle. “Oh, sweetie, you sure do pick ’em.”
Yup. I sure did.
CHAPTER 11
WORKING AT JAVA turned out to be a lot better than The Daily Grind. There wasn’t a coffee-bean outfit in sight, and the suited-and-booted clientele must not’ve been keen on coins rattling in their pockets, because they dumped them all straight into the tip jar.
Imogen and I got into a good rhythm, with me working the register while she made the coffee from six till twelve.
“Another day, done,” she said on Tuesday when we got home and collapsed on the sofa.
“Do you have to work tonight?”
“Day off. You wanna go out?”
“I’ve got court tomorrow, maybe.”
I still didn’t know. One of Oliver’s minions had telephoned to tell me my presence was required at Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell from eight, but he wasn’t sure whether I’d need to take the stand. The uncertainty was worse than a definite “yes.”
“I can’t believe they’re messing you around like this. It sucks.”
As did Oliver, in more ways than one.
“The faster tomorrow comes, the faster it’ll be over.”
“And going out for dinner will make the time fly by. Come on; we won’t be late back.”
I hesitated. Honestly, I wasn’t in much of a party mood.
But Imogen turned her smile on me. “And there was plenty in the tip jar today.”
“Oh, go on. Just dinner, nothing else.”
“Espresso?” Imogen asked.
I raised my head from the wall in the break room, and the pounding started again. “Quadruple.”
“Coming right up.”
I checked my watch. An hour and a half until I needed to be at Oliver’s beck and freaking call. The good news was, I didn’t lie awake last night like I thought I would. But that was only because after happy hour we’d gone to a burger place, and at the burger place we’d met a group of guys, and the group of guys took us to a club, and the club offered two-for-one cocktails, and I passed out rather than fell asleep at three o’clock this morning.
Imogen levered me out of bed at five thirty. I threw up once and brushed my teeth twice, then tried to crawl back under the duvet. She wouldn’t let me.
“I thought you were my friend,” I whined.
“I am. Which is why I’m going to make sure you get to where you need to be instead of leaving you here unconscious.”
At the moment, sweet oblivion seemed like a far better option. I’d changed out of my party dress now, but the blouse and pencil skirt didn’t do much to hide the fact I was trashed. By a quarter to eight, I wanted to puke again and caffeine had wired my eyelids open. Imogen, my so-called friend, shoved me out the door of Java because my feet didn’t want to go of their own accord.
“It’ll be over before you know it.”
Quite possibly. My brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly right now. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”
“It’ll help put Carter away, and that man’s a monster.”
I sighed. “Yes, I know. I’ll see you this evening.”
Head down, I shuffled off along the street. Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell was four blocks away in a high-rise office building that dominated the skyline. Unsurprisingly, they had the top three floors with a view out over the city.
The receptionist in the atrium handed me a visitor’s pass, and her once-over didn’t escape my notice. No, lady, I’m not on drugs. Not illegal ones, anyway.
The elevator rose smoothly to the twentieth floor, and when it dinged, I tripped over the edge and half-fell out. Right into Oliver Rhodes. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.
His cool, assessing eyes scanned me up and down, and his mouth hardened into a thin line. “My office. Now.”
“You’re not my boss.”
He raised one eyebrow, and I shuffled in the direction he pointed.
I’d never been in his office before, but the furnishings were exactly what I’d imagined. Wood panelling, leather seats, a huge penis-extension of a desk. Not that he needed one of those, but I guess he had plenty of cash to spend. The corner windows gave him a view over downtown Richmond in two directions, and me plenty of options if I decided to throw myself out. Paintings of crusty old men in suits glared down at me from the walls, adding another layer of disapproval to Oliver’s radiating anger.
I pointed at the closest, a grey-haired man who looked as if he’d had a stick inserted up his rectum at birth. “One of your ancestors?”
“We’re not here to talk about my décor. How in hell did you get into this state?”
“Did you know, when you’re pissed, your accent sounds a tiny bit English?”
He clenched his jaw, and the edge of it ticced. “Stefanie, perhaps you don’t understand. Today, I need to go to court and get an indictment against the man who killed your friend. If I don’t, he walks. His lawyer’s a demon, and he’s got the advantage of a guilty client, so I need all the help I can get. Help that does not include you showing up at my office at eight in the morning still drunk.”
“I’m stressed, okay?” And I also felt a tiny bit guilty for being difficult when justice for Chrissie was at stake. “Why is having a guilty client an advantage?”
“Because Carter knows every detail of the crimes he committed, so he can pre-empt my arguments,” Oliver said. “Why are you stressed? I’m the one who’s got to stand up in front of the judge.”
“Because I have to stand up in front of you,” I mumbled.
His eyes softened infinitesimally, and he took a step towards me.
“Leave me alone.”
I opened up the distance between us again and looked out the window instead. Was I still drunk? Maybe, just a little. A bird soared past, and I envied its freedom. Birds didn’t need to worry about rent and bills and overbearing assholes.
Oliver’s hand on my shoulder made me jump, and I swiped it away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Look, I’ll only call you if I need to. Come and sit down. You can sleep this off on the couch.”
Why was he being nice? I didn’t know how to deal with him being nice. “I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
I heard the sound of a cupboard door opening then closing again, and a few seconds later, Oliver’s breath whispered over my ear.
“I have to go to court. There’s a blanket on the couch, and my assistant’s outside if you need anything. Do me a favour and don’t vomit on my furniture.”
&n
bsp; “Why exactly am I here?”
“Because if I have additional questions, I need to be able to get hold of you in a recess, not spend my time worrying whether or not you’ll answer the phone.”
“What about the others? I’m not the only witness.”
“Ethan and Caleb are in one of the conference rooms, and Dan, Emmy, and Bayani are already at the courthouse.” He plucked his coat from an old-fashioned wooden stand and shrugged into it. “I’ll see you later.”
Great. I couldn’t wait.
Despite what I’d told Oliver, I collapsed gratefully onto the sofa once he’d left. It was upholstered in a deep-chocolate leather, and when I leaned back on it, surprisingly comfortable. The blanket matched, a soft fleece, and I pulled it around myself for extra warmth, although I wasn’t convinced my shivers were entirely down to the cold. More the man.
And the blanket smelled of him. When I inhaled deeply, his musk snuck into my brain and memories of that night assaulted me again. Exactly what I didn’t need this morning. I threw the blanket to the side and curled up on the seat. I’d rather freeze to death than be wrapped up in Oliver Rhodes.
When I woke, the first thing I noticed was that the pounding in my head had eased a fraction. We’d gone from bass drums to maracas. The second thing I noticed was Oliver, or at least his scent. Was he here? I raised one heavy eyelid and realised I’d tucked that damn blanket around myself again. What was wrong with me?
The door clicked open as I began to unravel my limbs, and a dark shadow fell across my face.
“She wakes.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in court?”
Oliver dropped his briefcase beside his desk and took off his coat. “I’ve been to court. You’ve been asleep for eight hours.”
“All day?”
“Unless you’re working on a different timescale to the rest of the planet.”
I sat up fully, and my neck cricked. I worked it from side to side, trying to ease the pain. “The indictment—did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“So you dragged me in here for no reason?”
“No, I invited you to sleep off your hangover on my couch as a precaution.”
“Your couch sucks. My neck hurts.”
“I’d offer you a massage, but I quite like my testicles where they are.”
Of all the… I scrambled to my feet and looked around for my purse. Where did I leave it? Ah, yes, over there by the antique globe. Who needed one of those in their office? What did he use it for, planning his next vacation? I snatched the bag up and headed for the door.
“I’m going.”
Oliver, playing the part of the gentleman, held it open. “I’m not stopping you.”
“Good. And I’m not doing this again.” If he wanted me to testify at the trial, he’d have to make good on his threat to subpoena me. “I could have stayed at home in bed today and slept properly. Or better still, gone to work and earned some money.” I strode towards the elevator with Oliver following at my elbow, and when I reached it, I jabbed the button. “Hurry up,” I muttered.
“You got a job?”
“Yes, Mr. Moneybags, I got a job. It’s what mortals who aren’t stacked with cash have to do.”
“What kind of job?”
“None of your business. And I’m not wasting time in your office again or answering more of your shitty questions. Did you get a cheap thrill out of them?”
Oliver followed me into the elevator and the doors closed, trapping us together in a tiny metal box. I should have thought this through. Next time, I’d take the stairs.
Hang on. Not next time. There would be no next time.
“No, Stefanie, I don’t get a thrill out of asking you questions like that.”
“They were so intrusive!”
He moved towards me, and I backed away until I hit the elevator wall. Even then he didn’t stop until we were an inch apart, him caging me in with his forearms on the mirror behind.
His voice dropped a notch. “If you can’t deal with those questions from me, the defence will slay you in the trial.”
Oliver was so damn close I could feel the heat radiating from him. I tried to look away but his eyes held mine. I’d never studied him up close before, and now I saw the gold flecks in his deep-brown irises, the way his pupils widened slightly as he got near. I wanted to push him away, but I couldn’t move. My arms stayed limp at my sides as our breath mingled. Tension rose, pulled skywards by an invisible thread.
To this day I don’t know why I did it. Desperation, perhaps. Anything to break that impassive mask he’d worn since the night he left my bed. And stupidity. There was certainly an element of that involved.
I reached out my tongue and touched his bottom lip.
His dark eyes widened, a true expression of surprise from Oliver. I thought he’d move away, but I’d underestimated him. He leaned forwards instead and pressed his lips to mine in a hard, closed-mouth kiss. Then, before I could process that and push him away or pull him closer or kick him in the groin or kiss him back, the elevator doors opened and he was gone.
I must have stood in the empty car for a full minute before a bespectacled gentleman tapped me on the shoulder.
“Miss? Are you okay?”
No, I was far from okay. Say, if okay was in Chicago, then I was on the moon. Or Mars. Or in a whole different solar system. But I didn’t think the nice man would like to hear that, so I nodded and smiled and stepped out into the icy sterility of the reception area with its perfect blonde receptionist and its fancy umbrella holder. Ahead, the door opened invitingly, hinting at the sanctuary of the street beyond.
I craved air.
“Miss? I need your pass.”
The receptionist chased after me, heels clacking on the polished floor, and I ripped the damn badge off and threw it behind me. She could do whatever she liked with it and give me as many disapproving looks as she wanted. I didn’t plan on coming back to the offices of Rhodes, Holden and Maxwell. If Oliver wanted my testimony, he could talk to me in court.
CHAPTER 12
WHAT THE HELL just happened?
I walked home in a daze, the touch of Oliver’s lips still burning on mine. In fact, I walked further. I’d gone a block and a half past my new apartment before I realised where I was.
What on earth had I been thinking? I’d licked Oliver. Freaking licked him. And why did he kiss me? Another distraction? A way to stop me from complaining?
Well, it sure worked, didn’t it? I hadn’t just stopped complaining, I’d stopped thinking and breathing as well, and my heart continued to hammer even twenty minutes later. I replayed the moment over and over in my mind. The heat of his skin, the way he pressed into me, the taste of…
Stop it! How dare he? I’d made it quite clear I wanted no part of him, yet he still presumed he could take what I hadn’t offered.
Except in a way I did offer, didn’t I? My damn tongue had developed a life of its own when it touched his lips. I must have still been feeling the effects of the alcohol from last night; that was the only explanation. What had been in those cocktails?
After three attempts, I got my key into the lock and shoved open the apartment door. Despite having slept all day, I felt drained and in desperate need of something smooth, rich, and chocolatey. A vision of Oliver covered in chocolate sauce popped into my head. Freaking hell, had I gone crazy?
“How was court?” Imogen asked.
“I didn’t need to go in the end. I ended up waiting around at the law firm all day.”
“Oh, bummer. At least you missed the argument at Java. Some guy bought the last strawberry shortcake, and the girl behind him in the line went mental. Said it was the only thing that kept her sane in the mornings, and he’d ruined her life.”
“Over a cookie?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Did he give it to her?”
“No. The asshole ran out the door with his latte in a to-go cup.”
“
Harsh.”
“Yup. And Lance panicked and left me to deal with her while he made the coffees. I had to feed the poor girl two apple fritters and a chocolate muffin before she stopped crying. Apparently, it was the wrong time of the month, and she found her boyfriend in bed with another man yesterday.”
“Ouch.”
I guess that kind of put my Oliver issues into perspective. He may have been an arrogant asshole, but at least I didn’t care about him. I didn’t. I. Didn’t. And I hadn’t yet resorted to gaining my sugar fix by emotional blackmail.
“I made dinner,” Imogen announced. “Sort of. I mean, I bought TV dinners and I’ve heated them up.”
At least I didn’t need to cook. “Sounds wonderful.”
She laughed. “I’ll settle for edible. Come on, let’s put a movie on while we eat.”
By the time I woke up the next morning, I’d locked thoughts of Oliver firmly into the back of my mind. Okay, so they kept escaping, but each time one popped up unbidden, I shoved it away again. I needed to forget him and get on with life, starting with the 6:00 a.m. shift at Java. I felt slightly more human after yesterday, ready to face another day as I tugged on a pair of black skinny jeans and a white shirt. Waitress chic. And when I finished at twelve, I had three days off to look forward to.
Although at some point I’d either need to get more shifts at Java or search for a second job. Imogen was easy on the rent and right about the tips, but I’d never have any money left over at the end of the month. And that night out on Tuesday meant I’d be living on ramen noodles for a month.
But this weekend, I had free time, and I intended to make the most of it. Maybe I’d go for a walk, or read a book, or even look into expanding my social life. Goodness knows it needed help.
“Ready to go?” Imogen hopped out of her room, doing up the strap on one of her Mary Janes.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The first customer was already hovering outside as we opened the door, and trade didn’t let up for the first hour. I barely had time to blink in between noting orders, taking money, and putting cakes into bags. At that time in the morning, few people ate in, so at least I was spared from having to wait tables and wipe up spills.
