Page 8

Charlie

I cannot escape.

Blue eyes, blonde hair, perfect fucking smile, sexy fucking laugh . . . Bailey was everywhere I went before. Now, she’s at work, too.

She follows Marybeth around, doing whatever she’s told and otherwise avoiding me all night. Not that I mind. After she basically ratted me out to Andi and Dad, I had to use all my willpower to walk out of the office rather than show her what I was really thinking of last night.

I shake my head, willing the same sick, perverted images out of my head and focus on the customers at the bar. It’s been a busy night, with tourists coming into the city left and right. Brett, the other bartender, is working, but we barely talk to each other over the buzz around us. There’s just no time.

I finally manage to sneak out back after nine to smoke a cigarette. There are stars in the sky, for once, but you can barely see them through the haze of the city. I pull out my phone, checking through my messages and see one from Mario.

Mario: Sure you don’t want back in? Getting a big shipment from down south next week. You know what that means.

Big payout. I know exactly what that means. While the offer is tempting, I don’t see myself returning to that life.

Charlie: No man. I’m good. Thanks for the offer, though.

Mario’s father, Santino Vazquez, runs one of the biggest drug peddling operations in the city. I was lucky enough to fall ass backward into a friendship with Mario when Mom was sick. I never told anyone how I got the money to take care of her hospital bills and no one asked, either. I knew Dad had some idea something was going on, but he didn’t push it past one sentence that’s haunted me since.

You can’t keep her here, Charlie.

A shiver coasts up my spine as I reach in my pack of cigarettes, realizing I left my lighter in the office.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath.

The door swings open and Bailey walks out, her eyes find me instantly and narrow. Without a word, she turns on her heel to go back inside.

“Do you have a light?” I ask, desperate to smoke the one cigarette I have left in my pack. She stops, eyeing me like she’s debating whether or not she wants to bother with me.

Finally, she lowers to the top of the picnic table across from me and holds out a lighter. I take it, watching her pull out a cigarette from her own pack.

“Those will kill you, you know?” I say, handing the lighter back to her.

She rolls her eyes as she lights the end.

“One in four years, I don’t think that will hurt anything will it?” She coughs and I stifle a laugh. “What are you doing out here in the dark on your own? Waiting to scare some passing children?”

I draw long and hard on the end of my cigarette. Like Bailey, I quit smoking after Mom’s funeral, but picked the habit back up in the last couple of days. What can I say? There’s just something about little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls that irks me.

“Come out here to spy on me some more?” I taunt, gesturing to where she’s sitting on top of the picnic table. I sit beside her, careful not to get too close and it’s a fucking mistake. I can smell her perfume. I’ve never been a man that cared what a woman sprayed on herself, but there’s something about whatever Bailey wears that I can’t ignore. It’s infuriating.

“Maybe you should have gagged your victim if you didn’t want me to hear through those paper-thin walls.”

I smirk. “Would I have to gag you, princess? Or are you one of those that just lays there and doesn’t say a word?”

“See, I knew you were thinking of me the whole time.”

“Not the whole time, no.”

Her eyes flash and her lips part, surprise coloring her cheeks. She shakes her head at my smirk and looks away from me.

“You know,” Bailey states, matter of fact, “I think that if you weren’t such an asshole all the time, we could actually be friends, Charlie. ”

“And why would you think I would want to be friends with you?”

If it hurts her, she doesn’t show it.

“Well, I have a great sense of humor. I’m unmatched in Solitaire and I can make homemade bread — sort of. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with me?”

“I couldn’t care less about Solitaire. I can make bread myself and I haven’t heard a funny thing come out of your mouth yet.” That last part was a lie, but I refuse to give her even an inch to use against me.

“Wow, you can make homemade bread? And here I thought your mastery lied in the art of being a raging douche bag. Tell me, have you choked any puppies lately, Charlie?” she asks, batting her eyelashes like she’s innocent.

I find it disturbing how much I like when she argues with me. Sure, it pisses me off, but there’s something else there — something primal, like the urge to shut her up.

“Is that what you like? Choking?” I ask, my voice dipping lower. I can tell this time that I’ve gotten to her. Her cheeks flame and she tries to hide it by climbing down and tapping her butt out on the side of the building before tossing it in the smoker’s can.

“You know, you would be a lot hotter if you didn’t speak,” she smiles, patting me on the chest.

Before I know what I’m doing, I grab her hand as she’s walking away, forcing her to stumble into me. She lets out a small gasp, but she doesn’t try to fight me. Her eyes lock on mine, the humor suddenly gone and replaced with an unreadable look .

I search her face, looking for even the smallest hint that I have any effect on her. Her tongue darts out to coat her bottom lip and my dick swells in my jeans. I follow that movement, tempted to capture her lips and do the same.

For a brief moment, she’s that same girl who tried to comfort me after Mom died — bright eyes, deep heart. I could get lost in those eyes.

“I have to go back to work,” she says quietly, like she’s afraid she’ll spook me.

I release her like she’s burnt me. What the fuck am I doing?

Without a second glance, she hurries back inside, letting the door bang shut behind her. I watch after her, the smell of her perfume still lingering. I throw my cigarette at the wall and run a hand across the back of my neck.

“Fuck, I’m losing my mind.”

By the time the night is almost over, I’m sick of hearing Bailey’s name. Bailey this, Bailey that. You would think the girl drops pellets of gold everywhere she goes.

She laughs with every table she gets, jokes around with the cooks in the back while putting in orders, and most importantly, she avoids eye contact with me for the rest of the night.

It’s driving me fucking insane that I can’t get her out of my head. My eyes follow her involuntarily after we close for the night. She jokes with Marybeth as they roll silverwear for the next day while I busy myself closing down the register at the bar.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I groan when I see Andi’s name on the screen.

Are you fucking kidding me? “What?”

“Can you walk Bailey home?”

Unease stirs inside me. That’s the last thing I want to do.

“You aren’t picking her up?”

“No,” Andi snaps, harsher than usual. “I’m busy.”

I grit my teeth, banding all the money together and shoving it in the bank bag. I push the empty drawer closed and lock it up for the night. “And let me guess . . . you can’t take time out of your busy schedule to come get your friend?”

“Listen. I don’t feel like talking about it, but I’ve had a bad night. I’m waiting for Tom to get home right now.” Fucking Tom. To think his entire world rested in the hands of such a small woman is absurd to me. I look across the room and I catch Bailey’s eye. Her cheeks flame and she instantly looks away, but I see that look.

She doesn’t hate me as much as she would like to let on.

“Fine. Go,” I grumble, tossing a used rag into the can under the counter.

“Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one.”

Damn straight, I think as she hangs up the phone.

“You’re coming home with me,” I tell Bailey, who pauses in the middle of her task to look up at me with surprised eyes. Mani, a guy we hired last week, leans against the bar beside her, a little too close to my liking. I shoot a searing look at him and he nods, hurrying off toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, cowboy. Not happening. ”

I steel myself, clenching my jaw on my crass remark.

“Andi can’t make it. I’m walking you home.”

Bailey straightens and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I think I would rather crawl home to California than spend ten minutes walking home with you.”

I catch the jab, but I don’t care.

“You want to walk home down Bourbon Street in the dark, by yourself, be my guest,” I snap, heading toward the kitchen door. I walk in the office where Dad is getting his things ready to go for the night.

“Long night, Dad?” I asked, worried about him. After his heart attack last year, I don’t want anything getting him worked up.

“Not as long as you had, I’m sure. Bailey did well, tonight. I’m glad she offered to stay and help.”

Here we go, again. I rub the back of my neck and lock the bank bag up in the safe, not answering him.

“You know, you don’t have to treat her like she’s the plague, son.”

“I’m not,” I argue quietly, locking the safe back tight.

Dad just chuckles. “Hard to believe she came all the way from California. Doesn’t seem like much of a Ram to me.”

Dad and his never-ending sports references.

“You need anything else? I have to walk her home. Andi had an emergency.”

Dad looks back at the camera.

“Really? Because she just left.”

“Goddammit,” I growl under my breath, swinging the office door open and following the trail of Bailey perfume out the back door. She isn’t in the back courtyard and a bite of panic shoots up my spine. I exit through the employee gate and find her just starting off down the road toward home.

I catch up to her quickly, as she’s walking slowly, taking in the sights around her. I never really thought about how this place would look to her, coming from a place like Malibu.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, my stride falling in beside hers.

She jumps, her eyes growing wide with fear for a moment before masking over with the same blank, cold stare she always reserves for me.

“Walking down Bourbon Street in the dark, by myself.”

Touché.

“Don’t go running off by yourself out here. It’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a draw on the cigarette in her hand. My gaze instantly goes to her lips wrapped around the end and my cock twitches in my jeans. I have half a mind to rip the cigarette out of her hand and stomp it out.

“Would you make up your mind?” she grumbles. “You’re exhausting.”

I look at her, dumbfounded. “I’m exhausting? Have you met yourself?” I ask as we cross Dauphine Street. A group of loud teens passes us, probably on some kind of senior summer trip by themselves. I can see they’re drunk, belligerent, but, somehow, still walking.

“Charlie, honestly,” she starts, an air of defeat in her tone. “I’ve had a long night and I just want to go home. If you’re just going to be an ass, feel free to fuck off.”

I pause, watching her. She doesn’t seem to notice and keeps walking, her earlier good mood seemingly gone.

“This job a little too hard for you, sweetheart?” I taunt, trying to lighten her mood.

“Just leave me alone,” she says, but I notice the crack in her voice.

Something else happened. There’s no way all of this came from me. I reach out, taking her elbow and pulling her to a stop. The corners of her eyes glisten with tears.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, suddenly cold. “Why are you crying?”

She blinks, looking away from me.

“Nothing. Just something stupid. I’m fine.”

“Bull. What happened?” I ask again, this time enunciating both words.

She rolls her eyes, catching a stray tear as it leaks down her cheek.

“Nothing. Just some stupid shit at work.”

That has me on edge. I stand back and cross my arms over my chest.

“Which one?”

“What?”

“You know I can just watch the cameras, right?” Perks of owning half the business.

“Look, someone grabbed my ass and it embarrassed me, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” Bailey starts walking again, faster now, as if she’s trying to run away from me.

She won’t get far, though, because now, I’m pissed.

“Who?” I snap, following after her.

We reach the house and she unlocks the gate .

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, stepping through, me following her.

She moves to walk toward the back of the house as I shut the gate, but I grab her, pinning her between me and the wall. I’m careful not to touch her. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, but I can’t say my cock doesn’t respond to her. Heat rolls between us and I imagine touching her, her skin on mine.

I raise my hand above her head and lean in.

“Who?” I ask darkly.

Her eyes grow wide, her breathing fast and shallow. I search her face for fear, but there is none. Her eyelids are heavy as she looks up at me through her eyelashes. She feels the heat, too.

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” she says, her voice soft.

“And I don’t want anyone putting their hands on you, so tell me, who?”

She sighs in defeat. “The cook in the back. I didn’t catch his name.”

“What did he look like?”

Something told me, but I wanted it to come from her.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, dark hair, a weird mustache.”

“When?” I ask, my voice dark.

“Right before I left.”

I surge away from her and yank the gate door open and move out onto the street.

“Charlie, no!” Bailey snaps, grabbing hold of my arm and doing her best to yank me back.

“Go home, Bailey,” I tell her over my shoulder .

“Please, don’t,” she begs. “I’m fine! I’m just tired. Your sister had me up at eight in the morning.”

“Go to bed. I can handle this.”

“Please don’t leave me here by myself.”

I stop.

I can hear the fear in her voice. When I turn to face her, I can see dark black streaks running down her cheeks.

“Fine,” I concede, angry enough to know that I shouldn’t seek out Mani tonight, anyway. “But first thing tomorrow, he’s done. We don’t tolerate that kind of shit.”

Bailey visibly relaxes and steps back in the gate. I follow her down the path, stopping when she unlocks the back door to the other house.

“You okay in there?”

She bites her bottom lip, searching my face with narrowed eyes.

“Yes.”

I open my own door and go to step inside.

“Charlie?” she says from the doorway. I meet her gaze, and there’s something different there. Respect, maybe? “Thanks for walking me home.”

I don’t answer. I step inside, but wait for the click of her door before I shut my own.

Jesus fucking Christ, this woman is getting under my skin. I need her out of my system before I do something drastic.

One thing’s for certain, though. First thing in the morning, Mani is a fucking dead man.