Читать книгу His Permanent Mistress: Mistress Under Contract - Kate Hardy - Страница 11

You constantly monitor progress

DANIEL’S office had a sweeping view across New Zealand’s seat of power—the parliamentary buildings that stood across the road from the highest court in the country, and one of the finest law schools a quick step down the block. In that small radius, law was developed, made and upheld. And he felt right at home there. But today he could hardly wait to bust a move and head to the other side—where eclectic clothing stores lined up with funky cafés and hip clubs. Where the cool, cosmopolitan crowd from the film and fashion industries hung out—eating, drinking, dancing.

He didn’t get there anywhere near as soon as he would have liked. Meetings dragged and unexpected developments trapped him in the office. It was late into the afternoon when he finally walked down the main street towards the club. The sign said ‘closed’ but the door stood ajar. He heard Lucy’s voice as he climbed the stairs. He slowed so he could listen for a while before she was aware of his presence.

‘What I want is professionalism. I know things have been slack since Lara left but all that changes right now. You saw what happened to the old manager this week. You’ll be next if you don’t lift your game. Uniform—black. Make the most of whatever assets you have but not too unsubtle—we’re not a strip club. Look good but tidy. It’s all about attitude—but by attitude I don’t mean grumpy. We want to keep the customers happy, not turn them off with unsmiling, pouty looks. A little flirty is OK. This is a bar, people. Punters are here for a good time and a little action. Let’s get them in the mood by getting them their drink quickly, and with flair. And quickly is the most important. At the end of the day we want to make money.’

Attitude, huh? Well, she’d know all about that. He smirked at the grumpy comment. He wished the staff had seen her at the pool this morning. He reached the top of the stairs and turned into the bar. Four workers were lined up behind the bar and in front of them stood a selection of drinks—shots, cocktails, a pint of beer. He saw all that in a nanosecond. He couldn’t stop his focus closing in on her.

She stood on the punters’ side of the bar, legs slightly spread, weight evenly distributed. Jeans again—emphasising the curves that had Daniel fantasising. By all appearances she’d been putting them through their paces. Either that or they were all about to get blind drunk together. ‘Last example. Something for the drivers—lemon, lime and bitters.’

They moved at once getting glasses and mixing the drink.

The way she wore those jeans should be illegal. The combination of curvy and length was killing him. He wanted to peel the denim off her and wrap those tanned pins around his waist.

‘Always ask if they would prefer to drink straight from the bottle or in a glass. Many women like to keep the bottle and the cap these days.’

His ears pricked. An interesting point given the case he was working on.

He looked over the staff. Two men, two women. All of them good-looking. The buffest guy dropped the glass and it smashed on the ground. He threw Lucy a look of horror. Daniel’s lips twitched; she certainly had put the fear into him.

‘Sorry, L-Lucy,’ the buff guy stammered.

Lucy turned and saw he was watching. A sarcastic curl to her lips let him in on her secret laughter. He sent her a small smile back and tried to ignore the sweet feeling of conspiracy. He’d spent all his time so far verbally jousting with her and the idea of them sharing something other than conflict felt surprisingly good.

‘Don’t worry, Corey. It won’t take you long to get to grips with it all.’

Who was she kidding? The guy could hardly string a sentence together. Daniel’s hackles rose as Corey flashed Lucy a killer smile and she smiled right back.

‘OK, people.’ She turned and pointed to him. ‘This is Daniel—he’s the one who shut the place down last week and he won’t hesitate to do it again, leaving us all penniless. So let’s be nice to him and do a good job.’

Four pairs of big eyes warily looked him over. He stared back at them, poker-style. He’d spent too many days in court seeing off gang guys to feel much heat from a couple of beautiful bartenders. Lucy spoke again, giving more direction, and he took the opportunity to wander about and take in her changes. Every window was open and on the sills he saw some candles lit under oil burners. He walked over to one and sniffed. Yes. That was her—a warm, faintly exotic spice smell. He smelt it in her hair, her skin. He wondered if all of her was as delicately scented.

When he turned around the others were exiting, avoiding his eye. Lucy strolled over towards him.

He pulled his steamy thoughts in. ‘Thanks for the warm introduction.’

‘Someone has to be bad cop.’

‘I’d have thought you’d enjoy that.’

‘Oh, no. I’m always good.’

Sure she was.

‘You really think that guy’s capable of doing this job?’ He nodded his head after Corey, who’d been last to leave after sweeping away what ominously looked like more than one dropped glass.

‘Daniel, he can carry crates and he looks good.’

‘It’s all about looks?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course. Everybody likes to look at something beautiful.’

‘Not everybody sees beauty in the same thing.’

‘Don’t worry. He’s going to please a lot of our customers. And he can actually make a good cocktail.’ She had a smile on her face that he didn’t like. What was it about that guy that had her drooling? ‘We get the customers in the bar, they have beautiful quick service and good music. If the vibe is good, they’ll stay and pay.’

He nodded. It didn’t seem too hard an equation. ‘What are you planning to do with all those? Have your own party?’ He gestured to the line-up of glasses.

‘Unless you want them, they’re going down the drain.’ She tilted her chin—defiance in the stance. ‘It’s not a waste of stock, I needed to see what their skills were like.’

‘I wasn’t worried about that. You don’t want one?’

She frowned. ‘I don’t drink.’

That surprised him. ‘Ever?’

‘Never at work. Never at a bar. I might have a glass of wine at home with people I trust.’

People she trusted? Why? He was about to ask when he heard someone’s high heels clomping up the stairs at pace.

‘Lucy, darling, sorry I’m late.’

Daniel turned and saw the tallest women he’d ever encountered come through the door at breakneck speed. He saw Lucy at an equal pace walk straight into her arms. Whoa. Then he saw her pull away and smile at the woman, and give her the whisper of a wink. ‘Daniel, this is Sinead. She’s the bouncer I was telling you about.’

She. Bouncer. OK. Great.

He looked the bouncer in the eye—almost. He was fractionally taller. Peripherally, he could see Lucy staring at him. Obviously she’d been hoping to shock him. Well, sorry, but he wasn’t some sexist who thought that women couldn’t work in any area. Although for a second there he’d wondered about their relationship. He didn’t like Lucy walking into anyone else’s arms—male or female…

What had he just thought? Daniel replayed the scene in his mind. Re-examined the feeling. Territorial. Possessive. That prehistoric man thing again.

For a moment he was stunned. Then he figured out the answer. A good twentieth century answer—it was no different from his usual approach. He’d sink deep into her softness and sate this full-on lust. He wanted her, he’d have her, and then he’d forget about her. Just because his want was extreme, didn’t mean the rules had to be any different.

This train of thought delighted him so much he gave Sinead a huge smile. She blinked—so did Lucy.

‘Fantastic, Sinead. I’m sure you’ll be fabulous—Lucy wouldn’t recommend you if you weren’t.’

Lucy was picking her jaw up off the floor. Daniel nearly laughed aloud.

Sinead gave him a smile. She too met the beautiful barperson criteria. Daniel started to wonder if they were going to get done for being ugly-ist in their recruitment policy. At least six foot, with long blonde hair that was tied back in a pony-tail, Sinead was already outfitted in the regulation black—a slim, sleeveless top and tight black trousers. Add a mask and she’d be Catwoman.

‘You do martial arts?’

‘Of course.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘I trained Lucy in the basics a few years ago. That’s how we met.’

Why did Lucy want basic martial arts training? Why did she only drink with people she trusted? Daniel’s curiosity escalated.

Lucy piped up, ‘I’ve managed to convince her she needs an extra job on the weekends.’

‘This is your first job as a bouncer?’ He tried not to panic.

Sinead gave him a wide smile. ‘Sure.’

He couldn’t wait to get Lucy alone. He was going to kill her. OK, maybe he’d kiss her first.

Lucy was looking a tad uncomfortable. As she should. ‘We have some things to work through, Daniel. Are you staying long?’

She was trying to dismiss him? ‘No. I’m here for the afternoon. I’ll go set up on the end of the bar there.’

With great satisfaction he saw the panic in her eyes. He pulled out his laptop again and laid out his files. He found this end of the bar comfortable. He could raise his head and survey the entire room. And it gave him prime view of the length of the bar—he could keep his eye right on her.

Lucy and Sinead sat at a table as far away as possible and spoke in low tones. Should he hassle her about cronyism? She’d clearly hired a friend. He pushed the thought away. If she was the best qualified for the job then fine. Frankly he had other things to be worried about—this case, for one. He just wanted the club open again and functioning as OK as possible. He wished Lara would get back a.s. A.p. so he could hand this sick puppy back to her and walk away from the woman occupying too much of his brain.

He focused on the books, finally able to concentrate knowing the wild one was in his line of sight. He lost himself in the law.

‘You like watching women wrestle, Daniel?’ She leaned over his shoulder and he could smell her spice. He jerked his head up and looked about the bar—Sinead appeared to have gone, leaving Lucy and him alone. His blood pumped a little faster.

‘I like getting my work done in peace.’

She mocked him. ‘Don’t you ever muck about?’

‘Not on my client’s time.’

‘Of course not. I was wrong—you should be good cop. Goody-good.’

‘You really think I’m a boring square, don’t you?’

‘You’re a lawyer. You couldn’t be more straight.’

‘Someone should hire you to do PR for my profession. Most of the population think we’re crooked as.’

At that she smiled. ‘You realise it’s after six. Haven’t you clocked off yet?’

‘I work long hours.’

‘Clearly.’

What did she mean by that? That he had no life? Hell, he spent half his evenings at some social event or other. And didn’t have too much trouble finding dates to take with him. Pretty dates. Dates who wore designer, not…second-hand. He turned on his stool to face her, finding her enjoyably close. She made to step away but he stopped her by taking her wrist in his hand. She stilled completely. He liked the feel of her—as soft as he’d imagined. In his own time, in his own way, he’d show her exactly how un-boring he was. Soon. ‘Have you never been in a job you love, Lucy?’

‘Not for long.’

‘And why is that?’

She shrugged, pulling her hand away. ‘The love doesn’t last long.’

He let her go—her words hitting a nerve. She’d given him a timely reminder. She was the epitome of everything he didn’t like about women—unreliable. His desire, and the rest of him, cooled. ‘Everything set for tomorrow?’

She nodded. ‘It’ll be just fine.’

‘Good.’ He pulled his papers towards him and started loading them back into his bag. ‘I’m in meetings all day so I won’t be here when you open up.’

‘You’re not going to be here?’

Disappointment touched her features and he schooled himself so satisfaction didn’t touch his. ‘I’ll swing by later in the evening and see it’s all OK.’

‘But—’

‘You can call me on my mobile if you need me.’ He stared at her. She stared back. ‘But you’re not going to need me. Are you?’

Lucy swallowed. Yes, she needed him. But that had nothing to do with the bar. She liked him sitting there keeping her company. He hadn’t noticed when Sinead had left—over an hour ago. She should have been sorting out the office some more but she’d found things to do out in the bar just so she could keep half an eye on him. The wrinkle in his brow when he was intently reading was undeniably cute. She liked the cut and thrust, the volley of alternates. His observance of her. His questioning. His look that suggested he felt as uncomfortable around her as she did around him.

No way was he her type. No way was she his.

But there was chemistry there. And they were circling around it like two wary wolves.

‘I’ll be fine.’ She would too. The bar would open, drinks would be on hand, music would play and, hopefully, customers would arrive. But she had the fantasy of it being an all-out hit. Of bodies cramming the dance floor, steaming it up. Of her standing behind the bar, presiding over a couple of hundred happy clubbers out for a good time. And she wanted him to witness that—to see that she wasn’t a flake. Wasn’t ‘just’ a waitress who flitted from job to job. She’d run the place—not just keep it afloat but make it come alive. Prove her worth, not just to him, but to herself. Ordinarily she estimated her worth as pretty low. She was better at making mistakes than making much else out of life. But maybe she could really swing something here.

She’d spent half the morning out doing the rounds of the fashion establishments, hair salons and chic cafés. Dropping a word in here and there, leaving some flyers she’d knocked out. She knew everything, everything came down to word of mouth. Lucy could do mouth. Get the beautiful women here, the right women, and the men would follow. So she’d made the calls, bluffed her way round without being too desperate-real-estate-agent sounding, and now all she could do was ensure the stage was furnished for the party people to play on.

True to his word he wasn’t there when she opened up. And he still wasn’t there when they were halfway through the shift. She told herself she didn’t care because everything else was perfect. She couldn’t quite believe it. Was she really making a success of something? Her? Lackadaisied Lucy? Sinead stood at the door downstairs in her black with her earpiece and microphone clipped on, her long blonde hair a river down her back—looking like every man’s action-heroine fantasy come to life—attracting huge amounts of attention.

Corey was working the bar with her and so was Isabel. Both were in black as requested and their hair was perfect. Her own hair was as wayward as ever—crazy half-curls that were impossible to control. So she hadn’t bothered. She’d just twisted it up out of the way. She too wore black—an A-line skirt to her knee, boots, mascara. But her top was scarlet—with black ribbon trim. No cleavage, not too tight, but definitely flattering. She and the others worked their respective parts of the bar relentlessly.

Lucy glanced over to the dance floor, amused by a gaggle of younger women dancing. Giggling together, they were having a fun time and try as they might the two guys standing at the edge of the bar couldn’t maintain their conversation for more than ten seconds without their concentration being splintered by the sight.

Daniel might be concerned about fire and emergency regulations but there were other more insidious elements that could threaten the safety of the clientele. Lucy knew only too well the kind of dangers that could be snuck in by unscrupulous men.

She’d instructed Sinead to carefully ID-check any younger women, knowing how well some make-up and a dollop of confidence could add a few years onto a girl to take her from under age to entitled entry. She’d done it herself—one time too many—and she’d paid a price. One she didn’t want anyone else to have to endure. So Sinead was downstairs, being tough.

But you didn’t have to be under age to be at risk. So upstairs Lucy had told Corey to keep the window sills and ledges cleared, encouraging customers to keep their drinks with them—in their hands—at all times. She’d made sure the bathrooms were well lit. She’d locked the cleaning cupboard that was across the small hall from the lavatory doors. If she were going to be in charge for a longer stint she’d request a CCTV camera be installed in the vestibule. They might not be able to monitor it at all times, but they’d have recordings. And if anything did ever happen, they’d then have evidence.

That had been her problem—lack of evidence. She’d just been marked the troublesome teen that no one would believe. Worst of all, she didn’t know what to believe herself. Her memory had been damaged by the chemical cocktail she hadn’t known she’d had.

She shook off the unhappy reflections and breathed in the party atmosphere. Bad stuff wasn’t going to happen here. She surveyed the scene once more. It was the success she’d dreamed of—almost. He hadn’t been there to see it.

She checked her watch for the eightieth time that night and hid the frustration. She’d wanted him to see her success. She grumped—what did she care anyway? He was just a jerk in a suit who wouldn’t know a good time if he fell over it. She, on the other hand, knew how to have fun in a club—by dancing. She shimmied along behind the bar, amusing herself by playing up to the punters. Smiling, chatting, never crossing the line, but encapsulating the sizzle vibe. They grooved to the music as they poured the drinks and kept the crowd coming back for refills. She laughed with Isabel over Corey’s second broken glass of the night and went and stood over him, doing her Mistress Lucy dominating boss act that he fully played up to—knowing by now her bark was a whole lot worse than her bite.

When she turned back to the queue at her end of the bar Daniel was at the front—still in a suit, stubble darkening his jaw. Hot eyes burning into her, their golden lights gleaming. Her heart sped and her smile was huge. ‘What’ll you have? On the house.’ She winked. Feeling friendly. Feeling like fun and frisk—and willing to take a risk.

‘Just a quick beer. I’m not staying.’

She got a bottle of one of the best, fighting the disappointment. ‘You should—it’s going off.’

He looked around. ‘Yep, you don’t need my help.’

His sour demeanour annoyed her. ‘Don’t you like to have a good time, Daniel?’

‘I prefer more intimate for my good times.’

‘Do you? I prefer a party atmosphere.’

‘Clearly.’

‘Yeah. I like the thrill of being close in a big crowd but knowing you can’t be as close as you really want.’ She did too—the delight of suspense, the torture of wanting and having to wait. It made an evening fun.

‘So you’re a tease.’ He sipped and added smartly, ‘Figures.’

She experienced an almost uncontrollable urge to slap him. Completely foreign—even the most annoying customer had never irked her as much as he did. Did the guy not know anything about having fun? Fortunately for him a punter was impatiently waiting for a drink and she flounced away to serve him. Rushed to serve more, she didn’t get to glance back. When she finally did, he was gone.

As she worked from one end of the bar to the other, sorting problems, getting Corey to clear tables, ensuring everyone got their ten minutes’ break time, she fought harder and harder not to think about him. And failed completely. Why had he cleared off so quickly? Surely she’d seen the spark of desire in his face—in the pool this morning, in the café, in the bar tonight when he’d first caught her eye. She hadn’t dreamt it. But then he’d been Mr Grumpa-rama. He preferred ‘more intimate’? What did that mean?

Near-naked pictures from the pool raced through her mind again and she slammed the brakes on pronto. Did he feel the zing between them? Did he secretly love their sarcastic sparring too? God, he was hard to read. He just matched her for smart answer time and time again but really gave very little away. She wished she hadn’t seen him in little more than a towel. Who would have thought that such a body could lie under that straight white shirt and tie? He wore a suit well—very well.

He wore nothing better.

She shook her head and concentrated on serving up the last few drinks, instructing the DJ to switch to mellow tunes that would send out the home-to-bed vibe. After the last of the customers cleared, she and the others did a quick tidy. The rest would be done by the cleaner in the morning. Lucy turned the music down and printed out data from the computer.

Sinead paused on her way out. ‘You sure you’re OK being left alone in here?’

‘So long as you lock the door on your way out I’m fine.’ Lucy winked. ‘And I know a few moves, remember?’

She listened to Sinead clomp down the stairs and heard the satisfying click of the door below. Then she slumped in a chair in relief. She’d done it and done it well. And it had been such fun—until Daniel had come and gone again. Her happy mood slipped.

Mad with herself for being so down over him, she went to her bag and rummaged through her CD file. Finding the one she was after, she loaded it into the machine and turned it up loud. The early hours of the morning were still hot and she opened a couple of the windows wider, lit an oil burner and put it on one of the centre tables to help get rid of the smell of booze and the perfumes of a hundred bodies. Then she danced—with the freedom she always had when the music was up loud and she was alone.

Daniel gently shook his half-full glass as he sat on his deck in the warm breeze and looked at the city lights reflected on the water. He wasn’t sleepy. Not even a little bit. The club would be closed now. She’d have gone home for the night. He realised he didn’t even know where her home was. Her CV only had her mobile phone number as her contact. He toyed with the idea of texting her—to make sure the place was locked up tight.

His phone buzzed—was it thought transference? He answered, body seizing as a female voice said hello. Then his brain clicked on.

‘Hi, Lara.’ Oh.

‘Is everything at the club OK?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

‘You get someone good?’

‘Yeah.’ Try stunning. Try teasing. Try truly aggravating.

‘Many there?’

‘A few.’ Honestly he couldn’t really say. His eyes had been on her from the moment he’d walked in. She hadn’t noticed him. He’d had the ‘pleasure’ of watching her flirt with buff guy before he’d made his way to her end of the bar. She’d been right about the attitude and the look—although she hadn’t been head-to-foot black, her top a slash of scarlet. Trust Lucy to break her own uniform rule. He remembered Lara waiting on the end of the call. ‘Quite a few actually. Lots.’

‘Are you OK? You sound distanced.’

‘Must be the line.’ They made an impressive line-up of bar staff—buff guy, the petite brunette and the tall, tanned curvy one with the brilliant smile. She’d smiled her way through serving her customers and they’d all smiled back. Every one. Even the women. So how come he got it so infrequently? It was as if she’d taken one look at him, decided he was an arrogant jerk and been point-scoring ever since.

‘I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’ Lara didn’t sound remotely sorry.

‘That’s OK. I can handle it until you do.’ But could he handle his lust for Lucy? Little Miss Smart Mouth—openly antagonistic because she thought he was some stuffed shirt. But her eyes had gone smoky at moments when they’d been physically close—there were sparks there. He wanted to blow on them, and then stamp them out.

‘Thanks, Daniel. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

‘No problem.’

He pressed the end button and set his glass down with a snap. If he was going to be awake at this time he might as well be working on his case notes. He glanced at the box on the floor by his feet. No chance. Instead he stood. A walk would help. Clear the mind and make him tired so he’d sleep. He’d walk through town, past the club, make sure it was all shut up and secure.

There were a few stragglers still on the road but it was largely quiet, peaceful and warm. Despite the couple of mouthfuls of whiskey he’d had he was stone-cold sober. As he neared the club he started to walk that little bit faster—he could hear music. Worse than that, he could hear country music. Well past closing. He got to the door—it was locked and the stairwell light was off. He walked into the middle of the road so he could see up to the windows and into them a little—they were wide open and there was a light on inside. What the hell was going on? Was she staging some sort of lock-in? The music was appalling. Had she turned the place into a line-dancing school? Either way it was being shut down now.

He shouldn’t have hired her. Never should have done it. He’d been bamboozled by a beautiful body and eyes that begged for him to believe in her.

Idiot.

He pulled the keys out of his pocket and inserted them in the lock. She was about to be sacked.