Abram was a big guy, even compared to a tall, curvy girl like myself. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and steeled my gaze up at him. “And what the hell was I supposed to do about that?”
“What I hired you to do!” he said. “You told me you could do this. You sold yourself as some street savvy siren who knew everything there was to know about running a nightclub. Where’s that woman, Ms. Bellamy? Because, from where I’m standing, all I see is some blubbering little girl making excuses!”
Before I could stop myself, my arm reared back. My hand flew toward him, ready to smack him in his smug, gorgeous face.
Instead of me hitting him, however, he grabbed my arm with his hand and held it steady in the air, staring at me with fierce eyes and flared nostrils. He was so close to me, his chest heaving against mine, that his breath mingled with my own. I sensed he was angry enough to want to do something, but I didn’t know what. He was a brute, but he wasn’t the type to hurt a woman.
He was the type to not completely control his temper, though.
“Maybe I should find a new place to work,” I said breathlessly, his hand still cupping my arm.
“Maybe you should,” he answered, his tone firmer than my own.
I tried to muster up some of that confidence I felt the first day I strolled—or rather fell—into this place. “Your club will never recover from this without me, though.”
His grip on my arm faltered a little, but he didn’t let go. “I guess we’ll see.”
For a few more moments, I stared at him, my breaths matching his. What the hell did he want from me?
I pulled my arm away and glared. Turning around, I huffed as I made my way back up the steps.
“The police tape comes down on Wednesday,” he said from behind me. “We’re open for business again the next day. Will I see you here?”
“I guess we’ll see,” I muttered, rolling my eyes and walking away.
***
As I drove back to Lulu’s, I tried shaking off thoughts of Abram, but it wasn’t all that easy. He was such an ass—such an absolutely infuriating prick—but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Did he hate me as much as he seemed to? And if he did, why did I care?
It was a stupid job. Sure, it paid well, but even if I lost it, I could get another one. It would probably be better, too, because I wouldn’t have to deal with a boss like him.
I jacked the radio up, but Florence and the Machine didn’t help. All the chords either made me think of how mad I was at Abram or how mad I was at myself for still thinking about how mad I was at Abram.
By the time I got home, I knew what I had to do. The only way to stop thinking about a bad guy was to start thinking about a good one.
I scrolled to Dalton’s name in my phone and placed the call from the driveway—only because it was sort of awkward to talk to someone you are hot for in front of their sister.
Lulu’s little brother. God, what was I thinking?
When he picked up on the other end, I actually grinned a little.
“Took you long enough,” he said. “I was beginning to think I lost my charismatic charm.”
“Remember that time you saw my boobs?” I asked playfully.
I practically heard him blush on the other end of the phone. “I do.”
“Well, usually a guy has to buy me dinner before he gets a look at the goods. It’s time for you to pay up, Big Boy.”
***
The next night at Luigi’s, Dalton was an entire forty-three minutes late. Still, when he came rushing through the door, a frazzled blur of apologies, he was carrying a bouquet of fresh white roses.
“An interrogation ran long. I would have called, but I was this close to a confession,” he said, coming tableside with his thumb and forefinger inches apart in front of him.
“Really?” I asked, taking the roses and setting them on the table. “How did it go?”
“Better than this date so far. Are you mad?” he asked, spying the placement of the flowers.
“Not mad, just hungry,” I answered.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Can we start over?”
“No,” I said. “You’re doing fine.”
“Am I?” He smiled and waved away the waitress before she could make it to the table. “Because you seem a little preoccupied.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Of course, I was preoccupied. I had spent the entire day fuming about Abram, counting down the hours to this date, and hoping that Dalton’s easy-going demeanor would help clear my mind. But here we were, him standing as though he was patrolling our dinner table, and me still unable to stop thinking about my boss.
But Dalton’s presence was melting away my stress. He was sweet. He was funny and charming. He bought me roses and apologized when he did something wrong. He didn’t scream at me and blame me for things that were beyond my control. He wasn’t Abram.
More importantly, we clicked. He knew me. We grew up together. He wasn’t some snide mystery man who pushed me away every time I got close to him. Why was I still thinking about Abram?