“We worked really hard on this!” I added, following him as he marched toward the hallway. “We worked our asses off for this stupid club, and now you’re just going to walk away because things got rough?”
“Is that what you think this is about?” He turned to me so abruptly that I took a step back. His eyes bore into me again, and I could barely catch my breath. “What’s happening here is dangerous. These disappearances, this murder, that howling thing in the woods—this is not pretend, Ms. Bellamy. This is not some dark fairytale you can dismiss or ignore. Real people are dying. Do you think I care about this ridiculous club, about these walls and floors? This was supposed to be a place they could go! A place where they would be safe while—” He bit his lip hard and looked at the floor. Looking back up at me, he added. “It was never about this place.”
“Then what?” I asked in a small voice. “What is it about?”
“Don’t you get it?” His brow furrowed, as though he was surprised that I didn’t already know the answer to my question.
“It’s about … the people?”
“You, Ms. Bellamy,” he said, softening his tone. “It’s about you, of course. Ever since you fell into my arms, ever since the moment I saw you, with that freckle in your eye and your take-the-world-by-storm nature, it’s been about you.”
My heart jackhammered in my chest, beating so hard I was sure it would shatter my ribcage. Was this actually happening? Was Abram telling me he had feelings for me? But that couldn’t be right.
“What are you saying?” I asked, too stunned to move.
“I’m saying there are things happening here that you don’t know about, that you shouldn’t have to worry about.” He set his jaw. “You need to leave this club, leave this town, and don’t ever look back.” He gave me a long stare—one that I might describe as longing if I was forward enough to believe it—then he added, “Your final paycheck will be in the mail by the end of business today. Have a good life, Ms. Bellamy.”
He turned and lumbered toward the back room. I followed after him just in time to watch him head through the ‘symbol door.’
He was not just going to say that and walk away! I rushed behind him and grabbed the handle, but it scorched my fingers. I yanked my hand back. What the hell? It was way too hot to touch, let alone turn.
I chewed my lip, eyeing the door, thinking about shouting at him through the hunk of wood to come back out here. But even the thought of doing that made me feel pathetic. I had come here to quit—to get away from him. And now I was running after him, on the verge of begging him to talk to me?
No, I couldn’t be that girl. But I certainly wasn’t going to be the girl who took commands from some man who didn’t even know how to work a damned ice machine.
Yes, there were things going on here. Things I didn’t know about, and things that I did. There were reasons for me to stay in this town. Dalton, for one, and for two, well … Abram.
Ugh.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall beside the symbol door, tilting my head back. I was here for Lulu. That’s why I came in the first place, even if most days it felt more like she was helping me. But I promised I would be here when she had her baby, and if for no other reason, that was why I would stay. I certainly wasn’t going to run away just because some asshole told me I should.
I moved back to the club’s main area, deflating as I surveyed the mess. Dalton aside, this club had been the only bright spot in my last few weeks. Fixing this dive up—making it a place people wanted to be—filled me with a sense of purpose that I hadn’t felt since Mom died.
That’s when I knew what I would do. Instead of telling Abram what I was thinking, I would show him. I would fix this entire place up and let him see for himself that I was stronger than whatever dangers he feared for on my behalf. He might have been ready to throw in the towel, but I wasn’t. We would worry about the rest later—add security, do a night of free admission to show this place wasn’t a murder barn … whatever necessary, we would do it. But Milan-be-damned, this club wouldn’t be left for dead.
Mom didn’t raise a quitter and, soon enough, Abram would know that, too.
Chapter 8
It took three phone calls and all of forty-five minutes to get help putting The Castle back together. I would have liked to give myself a huge pat on the back for proving myself to be a competent and effective manager (if that was even what I was anymore), but the truth was, for all the upper crust snootiness New Haven had garnered in the last decade, work was still few and far between—which meant the lowly middle class couldn’t turn away employment opportunities. Even if those opportunities happened to be at a murder scene.