“I’ve known you work here since you entered my game,” he said matter of factly as if all his extensive knowledge of my life should not still freak me out. “But I don’t know your schedule because you haven’t given it to me yet. So this was coincidence.”
“Oh,” I breathed, feeling silly for thinking he searched me out.
“But I can’t deny that I chose this place hoping I would find you working tonight,” he smiled crookedly at me, innocent and a little embarrassed.
Ok, I wasn’t feeling silly anymore. I was feeling a thrill of pleasure. No, that was wrong. I was feeling a flare of panic because he was obviously stalking me and it was obnoxious if not a little scary.
“So we could exchange numbers,” I hedged.
“Yep.”
That was way too casual. I looked down at my phone, deciding to ignore him and went about changing Fin Hunter to Econ Tutor. I smiled a little at my inside joke.
“What did you just do?” he demanded and plucked my phone from my fingers before I could stop him. “Econ Tutor? Why don’t you want my name in your phone?”
Did he sound hurt?
No, obviously not.
“I have three brothers that routinely go through my recent calls and text messages. I really don’t want them finding out about any of this.” I tilted my chin defiantly when something flashed in his eyes. Not anything like hurt, because then I might have felt bad. It was more like challenge, possession. And those were emotions I did not feel equipped to defuse.
“Are you…. embarrassed of knowing me?” he asked like he didn’t really want the answer.
“What? No, I’m embarrassed of being in this stupid situation. Of owing you money I don’t really owe you,” I explained in a rushed whisper when more customers came through the door. “Now go away, you have my number and I have to get back to work.”
“When are you going to finish the rest of your hours this week?” His eyes flickered intense black and then softened to that deep, melty chocolate I wanted to gaze into for hours at a time. He slid his hands forward so that his fingers were only an inch from mine, his palms tipped downward. One subtle movement from either of us and our fingertips would be touching.
“Um, it will have to be Monday,” I whispered hurriedly, anxious to get him away from me. “I work the next three days here.”
“You’re four hours short this week,” he reminded with an authoritative edge to his voice.
“Well, the only time I am not working this weekend is Sunday morning and afternoon and I have things and homework to catch up on,” I hissed in reply.
“You could work for me instead of going for your Sunday run,” he suggested deviously.
“How did you-“ I shook my head. Of course, he knew way too much. “I’m not giving that up. You can wait till Monday. I’ll put in extra hours next week. My schedule here is lighter anyway.”
“You’re breaking our arrangement already,” he pouted, but his expression was steely, determined. He was actually concerned about this.
“Ok, I owe you a total of fourteen hours next week?” I asked and he nodded. “I’ll get some of the background work done this weekend so you won’t feel like we’re behind and then I’ll add a couple hours to my time next week. Alright?”
He thought it over for a few moments while the waiting guests stood patiently behind him. They probably assumed he was a costumer, not a bizarre stalker bargaining unfairly for more of my time.
“Alright, but I determine how many extra hours,” he countered, wagging a playful finger in front of me.
I grabbed it, holding it firmly in my grip. Sounding as annoyed as I could, I pled, “Within reason.”
When he didn’t answer right away I tugged on his finger, as if in warning, but really there was nothing behind it. This earned another smug smile from him and he looked down at me from under his thick lashes like he withheld a secret from me, like he would concede to my demands but only because he had something else up his sleeve. I gave a soft, exasperated sigh and then realized I was still holding on to his finger.
I dropped it immediately and then turned my attention away from him to the waiting customers.
He started to walk by me with a bemused expression on his face when he stopped suddenly as if remembering why he was talking to me in the first place. “Oh, I logged you into my Facebook and Gmail account so you can multitask.”
Whipping my head around to glare at him, I said, “You’re awfully demanding, when I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.”
“So bill me,” he shrugged his shoulders and walked on.
I was left to force myself to smile and welcome the young couple to Bailey’s when all I wanted to do was scream in frustration. And not only because he assumed I would just work constantly for him and he could just write this off as part of my unfair debt, but also because I kind of wanted to. This was really interesting to me. I liked judging people behind a wall of anonymity, I liked secretly delving into their lives and finding out pertinent pieces of information only to weigh it all against them.
I walked the couple to their table, letting them get situated before I launched into my practiced spiel. I shook my head hard and finished going over tonight’s specials with the couple before I headed back to the host stand. Britte was waiting for me practically salivating at the mouth for juicy details I couldn’t give her while there was even a chance Fin could overhear us.
“You’re going to make me wait for this, aren’t you?” she asked before I had a chance to explain.
“How did you know?”
“You have that ‘not-a-chance-in-hell’ expression on your face, the one I think Fin Hunter is getting really familiar with,” she laughed, watching Fin’s table over my shoulder.
“Why would you say that?” I demanded, bristling at her innuendo. On top of pathetic and desperate was I also somehow frigid and closed off.
“Because you have higher standards than what he’s used to. As if a few nice smiles and godlike muscles were enough to get you naked and in his bed!”
“Exactly,” my ego was soothed.
“No matter how he’s staring at you,” she murmured as if nice smiles and godlike muscles were all that it would take for her.
“How’s he staring at me?” My breath hitched and my shoulders tensed. I couldn’t turn around, I wouldn’t turn around. I knew how he would be staring at me and it would only make me feel-
“Like he wants to beat his chest, throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to his cave.” Britte was drooling over this, enjoying every minute of my shame and humiliation.
I wasn’t exactly unaffected either. Unable to stop myself I turned around and met those nearly obsidian eyes. “What would he do to me once he got me back to his cave?” I whispered before I could stop myself.
“Ravish you until you forgot your own name…. until the only name you could remember was his as you screamed it out over and over and over-“
“Ellie go home!” Ty demanded from three feet away in his most serious voice.
Britt and I jumped and squealed.
This was not a request. This was a demand. And when I realized I was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Fin, while Britte went on and on I decided I couldn’t blame Ty for kicking me out. I turned around to face five very entertained diners, all waiting to be seated and my face flamed the brightest red. Oh no, had they heard everything Britte just said? And did any of them know my brothers?
Ack. This was a mess.
Still, the need to defend myself rose strong and self-righteously. So while a nonplussed Britte sat the waiting patrons, I turned on Ty, “Ty, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Yes, but you’re not closing tonight so you’re the easiest to send home. Plus all of the problems seem to be originating with you, you little trouble maker. Now be gone.” He was not going to be argued with and I had to admit I was kind of relieved to be able to get out of here. I definitely felt like I was in a fishbowl of weirdness ton
ight.
“You’re going to regret this,” I tisked because I couldn’t help myself.
“Probably,” he said absently and then he attacked. “What did Hunter want?”
“Um, nothing really. He hired me to do some…. work for him and I forgot to give him my number. It’s time sensitive so he needs to be able to get ahold of me,” I rambled the excuse I practiced in my head just in case one of my brothers asked me the same question. Ty clearly didn’t need that much information, but the excuse came out in one, long practiced speech like I was helpless to change it up or improvise. I would need to work on that.
“He’s like a son to me,” Ty announced ominously.
After a long pause I finally said, “Oh, ok.” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, or if that was some kind of warning.
“And you’re like a daughter to me,” Ty continued.
“What? No I’m not!” I laughed, because seriously…. I mean, seriously…. If this was how Ty treated children then…. seriously, hopefully he was joking. And he should never have any real ones.
“Do you get what I’m saying, Ellie? If he’s like a son and you’re like a daughter? That would make anything between you incestual. Which is gross.” He actually shuddered. As if his messed up logic made any kind of sense.
I probably should go now. “Um, Ty, you have absolutely nothing to worry about between Fin and me. Promise. He’s no more interested in me than I am in being his next conquest. Also, incestual? Really?” Now I shuddered.
“Alright, Trouble, clock out and get going,” he shook his head at me and gave me a playful shrug.
I definitely had to get a handle on this whole Fin thing.
But even as I thought that I pulled out my phone while clocking out and checked his Facebook for updates on the potential gambling candidates I was following. Already the sleazy propositions were starting to come in for the evening and it wasn’t even six yet!
I finished with the computer, grabbed my purse from under the host stand and gave Britte a wave before heading out to my car. I had an hour before I was supposed to meet my parents and brothers for dinner and showing up early was not an option.
As I laid my forehead against the steering wheel to my Subaru Impreza I realized three things: I had an hour to kill, access to Fin’s surprisingly organized and accurate schedule and a desperate need to grapple back some control of my life in any way that I could.
Plus, he told me to multitask right?
Right.
So to Facebook I went. There was only one thing driving me crazier than this indentured servitude to Fin Hunter and it was these girls constantly messaging him! Plus I was going even more berserk, knowing that it was the girls and not the job that was making me so…. jealous.
No, not jealous.
Vindictive. Petty. And oh, so vengeful.
But not jealous. This had nothing to do with being jealous.
Chapter Six
Walking into the restaurant I avoided the main dining room and headed straight to the restroom. I changed in my car on the way from Baileys to The Freighthouse, shimmying out of my black dress pants and into a knee length, flowing pale pink skirt. I took the same tactic with the top, although I did pull behind a local bookstore before ripping off my polo and exchanging it for a creamy off-white cashmere sweater. I finished the look with my grandmother’s pearls, demure but expensive flats, and enough hand sanitizer and scented lotion to drown out the smell of French fry grease and melted cheese.
Even though my outfit was barely a passing grade to my parents and I was early, they were already waiting in the middle of the dining room. I needed a few more minutes to collect myself before I faced them. Plus I wanted to check the status of my Facebook conversations, which entailed me posing as Fin in an attempt to secure some booty for later tonight, or tomorrow night or Friday morning real quick before I/he had class.
I felt evil.
And I was starting to like evil.
In the bathroom I rechecked my makeup stalling for time and then pulled out my phone, unable to bear the anticipation any longer. A sinister smile lifted my lips when I realized all three fan club ladies had responded positively to “Fin’s” proposal. Albeit they were clearly shocked with his enthusiasm and willingness to comply, which kind of niggled against the inside of my chest. With the constant bombardment of enticing offers, I assumed he would be a regular yes-man to these never-say-no-women. But apparently…. he wasn’t. At least not with this particular crop of propositions.
At the same time I felt this out of place pride, I felt a careening spiral of guilt too. Was I being mean to these girls by setting them up with Fin when he could as easily turn on them as he did me the first time I met him? Or was it even possible, I felt guilty for messing with him?
Nope, that could not be it.
Look at how he was controlling my life!
This was merely payback.
Miniscule, but well-deserved payback.
Besides, he was after all a man. Surely, a man with needs. Gack. Shudder. Eye-roll. He would probably start thanking me. Maybe even let me get out of this whole debt completely.
By becoming his pimp of sorts? See, I knew it. This whole thing was about prostitution!
Besides, I was practically a stranger to him. Why in the world was he trusting me with his Facebook account? Weren’t these things supposed to be sacred or something?
Ok, enough obsessing over Fin. Seriously, enough.
I washed my hands for good measure and then found my way back to the dining room and large table where the rest of my family waited. The Freighthouse boasted the best steak in La Crosse, and rightfully so. But the décor left a little something to be desired. Everything was wood-paneled. Like, everything. The walls, the extensive bar, the floor, the ceiling, even the tables and chairs were in the same monotone rich wood color. It was a lot to take in.
We ate here whenever my parents came to visit us. They were satisfied with the food, and my brothers could put away semi-trucks full of all you can eat red meat, so they were also happy to eat here. I felt like this was what the inside of a crate felt like. It was not natural to be surrounded by this much…. paneling.
“Eleanor!” my mother cried, teary-eyed and emotional. She pulled me to her as soon as I was in grabbing-distance.
“Hi, Mom,” I said into her shoulder. My mother was tall for a woman, but not freakishly so. She had my light-brown colored hair that she kept short, refined and contained. Mine was admittedly wilder, and it had been at least a year since I dealt with any upkeep. Her eyes were hazel, while mine were my father’s blue. She was athletically built but had somehow grown more elegant with each year. While I was tiny and clumsy and…. me. She was a force of nature, head of every committee, staple of the community, model citizen. I invited criminals to live with me and then paid off the debt they originally stole from me.
“You’re gorgeous as ever,” she whispered into my hair. Even while I knew she really meant I was sloppy, unkempt and too thin.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and then wiggled out of her hug. I went to my dad next, who had his arms already opened and ready. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Come here, kiddo,” he said affectionately. He squeezed me extra tight and then literally deposited me into Lennox’s arms.
“Els, you’re late,” Lennox’s huge, muscly arms clutched me in a bear hug and instead of standing up for myself all I could do was grunt out some kind of concession as all the air left my lungs. “Miss me?”
“So much,” I wheezed sarcastically when he set me down again.
“I brought you something,” he smirked. From behind his back he pulled out a stylish bottle of some kind of alcohol. I had no chance of being able to read the label as it was in another language, and I had almost no experience with alcohol, but from the shape of the bottle and the wicked gleam in Lennox’s eyes it didn’t take a genius to figure out.
“What is it?” I laughed, knowing I would probably never drink it. He held it out
to me and I reached for it, admiring the elegant characters and raised detailing on the label. I carried it over to my seat, in between Beckett and Grayson, and sat down while still trying to make out the label.
“Sake,” he answered. “It’s a Japanese rice wine; you’re going to love it.”
“Lennox!” my mother gasped. “She’s not even old enough for that yet.”
“Soon though. Right, Els?” Grayson asked in his gruff voice. He was so burly. Maybe not burly, but he radiated testosterone and manliness. If my brothers were their own mob, he was the muscle. He put a meaty hand around the back of my chair, tapping his fingers so that it felt like my entire body was vibrating. I shot him a nasty look but he just smirked in return, knowing he was being obnoxious.
“One month,” I squeaked, kind of embarrassed that my brothers were counting down the days until I could be legally intoxicated.
“Oh, life just goes by so fast,” my mother was teary-eyed again. “My baby is going to be twenty-one.”
I blushed deeper.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it Cec?” My dad asked my mom. They reached for each other’s hands on the table, squeezing tightly and gazing at me tenderly. They were an attractive couple, with my mom’s perfect grace and my dad’s easy going smile. His hair was a little more salt and pepper than the last time I’d seen him, but it only enhanced his looks. His eyes had deep laugh lines fanning out, and his trim look proved how well he took care of himself.
“Oh, our little Eleanor is growing up,” Beckett cooed in an annoyingly high pitched voice. I turned to roll my eyes at him and he grabbed both of my cheeks tightly, pinching them until my eyes watered.
“Beckett!” I gritted out through puckered lips. “Let go!” I shoved at his chest and finally he let go with a laugh. I rubbed at my sore skin, completely and irreversibly tomato-red.
“Thanks for the wine, Nox. I’ll save it for something special.”
“Like your birthday,” he intoned, sounding more like a parent than a brother. “That’s why I bought it Els. I’ll be offended if you don’t at least try it. I made a special trip to Tokyo and everything.”
Bet in the Dark Page 8
