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I blink, unable to process what she’s just accused me of. Does she not see the irony in her words? As she stands over me, shoulders squared for battle, I remember the rush of adrenaline from putting Chase in his place. Would standing up to her give me that same thrill?
But no, I can't—won't—get into a brawl at work. Well, another brawl. Though I don’t think slapping that guy counted.
No more fighting unless she leaves me no other option. I don’t so much as meet her gaze as I take another bite of my pasta. A perfectly good meal is being ruined by a grown woman’s temper tantrum. How embarrassing.
“Okay,” I say, done with her. I can’t win the conversation, and I don’t really care what she has to say, so I’m not going to engage any more.
She leans in, her breath hot with fury. “You think you're so smart. Just wait.”
I lift a shoulder, swallowing my bite and taking another as I focus on my phone again.
Walker's voice ends the stand-off like he’s brought a gun to a fist fight. “Go quietly or I’ll have the bouncers remove you.” His unyielding baritone voice leaves no room for argument.
I flinch, not from fear, but from the unexpected intrusion of his presence. My eyes stay locked on my food, and I continue eating as if nothing else is happening. I do see Cara out of the corner of my eyes.
Her shoulders are hunched with defeat, her steps erratic as she gathers her belongings. The sight of her tear-streaked face should make me feel bad for her, but I only feel relief flooding through me—a guilty, secret relief that her fingers won't be lingering on his arm anymore.
“Are you alright?” His voice pulls me back to the present moment, to the here and now where Walker looms over me, all towering height and concerned gaze.
“Just eating lunch,” I say, hoping to wave away his concerns. My heart thunders and I internally beg it to slow down. It's ridiculous how just his nearness can affect me. I sure as heck don’t want him to know that his presence affects me either. Though it might be too late for that.
Walker eases down beside me, the seat creaking under his weight, and suddenly the break room feels too small, too intimate. “I know you’ve had a rough few weeks, and then today…” He trails off, then seems to get back on track. “Are you doing any better?” His voice is softer now, tinged with something like... worry?
I blink rapidly, fighting back the moisture that threatens to betray me. His gentleness is odd, given how often he’s sharp and cold and angry. His tone when talking to Cara sounded positively threatening. Now, he sounds almost… kind. It’s disarming.
I nod. “Yes, I’m doing a lot better,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.
“Good.” There's a finality to that single word as he stands, a subtle signal that our unexpected encounter is over. He turns away, leaving me in silence, my thoughts a strange mess of confusion and longing.
He doesn't look back, and I'm left with the memory of his intensity and the sound of his voice in my mind, along with words that held more warmth than I anticipated. And despite everything, my lips curve upward, a silent acknowledgment of the flicker of hope that springs to life within me.
When I make my way back out to the bar, I make my way to Liam.
“Things are heating up. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s headed for a fight,” Liam says, nodding at Walker as he grabs a guy by the collar and begins to move him toward the bouncers, who quickly take over and shove the guy outside.
His authoritative glare and anger send a shiver down my spine. I turn away, trying to gather my thoughts.
“Get him out of here, too!” Walker's command is followed by the sound of protest and scuffling, the telltale signs of someone being ejected with little ceremony. He's all business when he needs to be, a leader who doesn't tolerate disruption. Yet, the tenderness he'd shown me just moments ago lingers in my mind, an unexpected warmth that tickles through me.
“Thank God she's finally gone,” Liam says with a blend of relief and exasperation as he leans closer to me, his eyes meeting mine for a second before glancing back toward the commotion. “I'm gonna grab some air.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. A silent nod acknowledges his statement, but inside, I'm rejoicing. Cara's departure feels like a weight lifted, her absence instantly undoing most of the tension that had been building in the pit of my stomach.
With a deep breath, I push away from the counter and stand tall. Seeing someone trying to get my attention, I make my way to them, each step feeling lighter than the last. The room buzzes with energy, the clink of glasses and laughter not interrupting my thoughts.
I flash a practiced smile at the patrons waiting for their next round. The ease of routine settles around me, comforting and familiar. But then, he catches my eye—this man unlike any other I've seen tonight.
He’s sitting at the far end of the bar, his suit looking like success, but his posture shouting defeat. His eyes, a deep well of sorrow, lock onto mine, and I know I need to go serve him. I know that look, and it’s not helped by drowning the sorrow, but if he needs an escape, I’m not judging.
I also can't help but wonder what caused that look on his face, why he looks so downtrodden despite his expensive clothing.
“You look like you need something strong,” I say, leaning in to bridge the gap between us as if I’m sharing a secret.
He nods. “Godfather, please.”
“Of course.” My hands work deftly, mixing the scotch with practiced ease before measuring out the amaretto. The rich, amber liquid swirls into the glass, the smell not unpleasant.
I find myself wishing he’d just spill whatever’s got him so worked up. I know he’s a stranger, but he’s also interesting. I look up, feeling someone watching me, and meet Vice’s stare. He arches an eyebrow at me, but his attention turns away. I look the same direction he did and see Walker. But Walker doesn’t seem to notice either of us.
