Usually she was the one to cut and run, but this time the ground had been sliced out from under her. For a split second she thought about heading to his place, packing her bags and hightailing it out of there a.s.a.p. Her gut instinct was to flee. But she pulled herself up sharp. Not. This. Time.
She was good at this job and she wanted to be better. She relished the challenge and loved the responsibility—amazing but true. She finally had a job she felt at home in. She was gutted it was being sold, but she’d show the new owner she was the one to keep on running it. Hell, why couldn’t she be the new owner?
She scoffed at her own flight of fancy. As if she’d ever have the money for that. And if she approached a bank they’d laugh her out of town. Credit limit? Hers stood at about twenty dollars.
She’d go find Daniel and ask him what was going on and why he’d wanted her out of the way. For once in her life she was primed to fight, not take flight. She’d finally found something worth fighting for. She headed to the office to get her bag just as the phone rang. She answered crisply. Equally crisp tones responded. ‘This is Mona from Hospitality Heroes. I’m trying to track down Daniel Graydon. I’m afraid I’ve misplaced his number but as this is the bar he was recruiting for I wondered if you could pass on a message.’
Recruiting? ‘Sure I can. It was for another bartender, that right?’
‘Ah, manager, I believe. I have some very experienced candidates to talk through with Mr Graydon. I’m sure we’ll find just the person for him.’
‘I’m sure. Thank you. I’ll get him to call you, Mona.’
Lucy blinked and slowly replaced the handset. Her brain processed the conversation in slow motion, her heart hammered it home in triple time. Hurt hampered her vision while an invisible boa constrictor agonisingly squeezed breath and life from her heart and lungs.
No.
Experienced candidates…manager.
No.
He wanted to replace her?
No. She pushed at the pain threatening to engulf her and felt her silly hopes plummet as the knowledge sank in. Dreams dashed to smithereens on the rocks of Daniel’s ambivalence. He wanted a new manager. So much for playing things by ear. She hadn’t even worked through her whole three weeks yet. Was she really doing such an awful job? Hadn’t he seen the effort she’d put in? For once she’d given something her all, but she’d still failed. He was a man who gave the best, who expected the best, who frankly was the best and who, damn him, deserved the best. Her best wasn’t good enough—not for him. She wasn’t good enough for him. Even though she’d known that all along, having it thrust on her like this still hurt.
Her decision to stay and fight faded in a flash. She took deep breaths to blow out the burning anguish inside. Summoned cold anger to replace it. Calm control.
Slowly, pride reared its ugly head. He didn’t want her to know? Fine. She wasn’t going to fuss or have a flaming piece of him—even though she really wanted to do. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by revealing an overly emotional response to him.
She’d started this cool and she’d end this cool. Just like him. Obviously, as far as he was concerned, it was over. He was looking for a new manager. The bar was being sold. Her days were numbered. He must have caught up on all the sleep he needed. She’d even started to think he might actually have feelings. But, no, he really was cold and heartless. The suit said it all. He wanted rid of her? Not nearly as much as she now wanted rid of him and she’d get in first even if it killed her. She’d do it in super-cool blasé style, not showing even a millimetre of the aching wound stretching deep inside.
What upset her most was his high-handed dealing with the situation. Going completely and utterly behind her back to set everything up. Would he then present it as a fait accompli? Oh, by the way, Lucy, your time’s up.
How did he expect her to react? Was that part of the game? Well, she wouldn’t react. She’d breeze off before he had the chance to play his mean hand. She’d worked so hard on the report and had been dreaming up all kinds of fun things for the club to branch into. Ways of drawing in the right crowds—keeping the vibe cool but a place for good times. As if Lara or the new owner would even be interested? Man, why had she ever imagined they would? She had nothing much to offer them—or Daniel. Nothing that he needed. She had to accept it, deal with it and move on.
She stared at her laptop and blinked back tears. Lucy didn’t cry. Ever.
She managed a frigid goodbye when Peter and his agent called out they were leaving and realised she’d need to move fast. Peter would be in contact with Daniel so he’d know she was there and that she knew about the sale. She needed to compose herself before seeing him again.
As for staying and fighting for it? No chance. She’d thought she could put in a mark for the job at the club but he wasn’t going to let her. And she’d never grovel. He didn’t know she knew about the search for a new manager. She’d keep that one up her sleeve for the right moment. It was time to go home and sort her stuff out. She could be out of there in half an hour if necessary. Fifteen minutes even.
She paused, reconsidering. Working it out. She didn’t want to look as if she’d left in a mad fit of pique—there was dignity to consider. Her cool, ‘I don’t give a damn’ response. She needed an excuse.
She mentally flipped open a map of New Zealand. Threw an imaginary knife at it. Daniel’s image popped into her head right then and the knife landed in his heart. She screwed up her eyes and abandoned the decision for now. Anywhere would be OK so long as it wasn’t here. Better weather—that was it. And she could always fall back on her age-old excuse for up and leaving—boredom. That would get him. Fake reasoning in place, she shut up the club with time enough to get back and pack before having to return for opening.
And there was no way she was sleeping with him again.
To her extreme annoyance he was home when she got there. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
He looked up from where he was sprawled on the sofa reading one of her magazines. ‘Took the afternoon off.’
Dumbfounded she stared at him and then wrenched away, not wanting to be taken in by those golden eyes that seemed to promise the earth. She knew they told other tales behind the light. She tried to keep her movements slow and as natural as possible to hide the tense twitching inside.
‘Did you go for your swim?’
She jerked her head in negation. ‘Just a walk.’
If he’d taken the afternoon off he might not have seen or spoken to Peter. She’d bluff it.
‘What time are you due at the club?’
‘Not for another couple of hours.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Fancy a rest between now and then?’
Here he was going behind her back to oust her from her job, going to sell the club and not mentioning a thing about it, and still he wanted to sleep with her? When was he planning on telling her? Once he’d had his way another couple of times? Her anger grew to volcanic proportions. The awful thing was, despite the rage she felt there was a part of her that still wanted him. Her weakness made her even angrier. But she reined it in, refusing to blow her stack—that would reveal too much of how she really cared.
‘Actually, I need to organise a few things.’
‘Oh?’ He rose from the sofa and looked at her closely. ‘You OK?’
‘Mmm.’ Not meeting those penetrative eyes, she attempted a casual stroll to her room, keeping her shaking hands in her jeans pockets. She got to her room and pulled her pack from the wardrobe.
‘Going somewhere?’ He’d silently followed her and now leant against the doorjamb.
‘Actually, yeah. I’m thinking it’s time to move on.’
‘Really.’
‘Mmm hmm.’ She didn’t look at him, kept her mouth firmly closed as she focused on unzipping the bag she’d tossed up onto the bed.
‘When do you leave?’
‘I’m thinking after the shift tonight.’
‘Just like that? No notice?’
> She sucked in a quick painful breath. ‘Well, it is nearly the end of the three-week trial.’
‘I thought you were staying on.’
‘No.’ She straightened and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers brushed her clammy forehead. ‘I think it’s time to move.’
‘It’s a little shorter than your usual stint, isn’t it? Aren’t you usually a three-months kind of girl?’
‘I don’t think it’s working out.’
‘Not working out.’
She didn’t like the way he spoke, so quiet, measured. It didn’t give much indication of his thoughts.
‘Lucy.’
‘Mmm?’ She didn’t stop unloading her clothes from the drawer into the pack.
‘Look at me.’
Now that she really didn’t want to do, because it might just cause her to lose it completely. She wanted nothing more than to yell right in his face. She wanted to shake him—she was so angry. And so, so hurt.
She put a top in the bag.