Sin (Vegas Nights 1)

Coughing came from his side. “Exponentially. Lunch, Ms. Lloyd?”

“My treat,” I insisted.

“I can’t.”

“Then, I’m busy.”

“Does twelve-forty-five work for you?”

“I’ll see you at one.” I clicked off the call.

I hated that I grinned like a wild child. I had no place smiling at that man. I was so mad at his earlier antics—madder still that I’d partaken in them—but still, here I was, grinning like a freaking idiot.

Then again, I’d just been really awkward. And awkward was my favorite thing to be.

I put the phone back on the bar and took a drink from my glass of lemonade just so I’d stop smiling. It worked, for the most part. I was able to kill the smiles and focus on setting out all the new coasters. Which was a good thing, because I didn’t want to read into what it meant that I was smiling after a phone call with Damien.

As a rule, I’d been wildly pissed after every conversation we’d ever had. He could probably walk into the bar and walk right back out again and I’d still be annoyed.

He just had that effect on me.

Fergus returned thirty minutes later. I was humming along to Justin Bieber as I wiped down the leather menus from the tables along the back wall, and apparently, that was different enough that he came over, stopped me, and rested the backs of his fingers against my forehead.

“Oh. You don’t have a fever.” He dropped his hand. “You look happy.”

“I’m wiping down menus. How can I possibly be happy?” I brushed off his words and moved to the next table with my damp cloth.

Fergus pursed his lips and leaned against one tall table, propping himself up by resting his forearm on the flat surface. He studied me, even when I turned away from him. Then, just as I flipped over a menu, he gasped so loudly I dropped it.

The slapping of the leather against the tiled floor made me gasp and jerk in response.

“What?” It came out snappier than I’d intended.

“Damien Fox called you!” Fergus jabbed a finger in my direction, accusation furrowing his brow. “And you’re happy about it! You’re a traitor.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, so I closed it again and settled for blinking aimlessly at him.

How did he get—Abby.

Abby had told him all about Damien at some point between him getting home and coming to work.

“Yes, he did, but I’m not happy about it,” I answered, picking up the menu. “Believe it or not, I don’t like the man.”

“Then why did it take so long for you to respond, hmm?” He waggled his finger that was still pointing at me.

“I didn’t know you knew anything about him.”

Fergus sniffed. “More than you want to know, darling.”

For the second time, I opened my mouth to speak, but this time, my silence wasn’t from a lack of words.

It was from Fergus pushing off the table and disappearing into the back room, leaving me standing alone.

I inhaled deeply and let the breath go. If Abby had told him that Damien was interested in buying the bar, and Fergus knew him, it only stood to reason that they both knew something about the man that I didn’t.

But what?

And why did it dilute Fergus’ normally jubilant demeanor into something so flat?

***

I didn’t see Fergus for the entire hour between his disappearing act and Damien’s—early—arrival to the bar. We’d only just opened at twelve-thirty, so while I wasn’t surprised at all that Damien was early, I wished the bar was still shut.

If it were, I wouldn’t have to feel his eyes on me the entire time until I could leave at one.

He might have been early, but that didn’t mean I would leave early for him.

Damien took a seat at one of the booths right as I fired up the coffee machine for a customer. I didn’t often work behind the bar—people weren’t exactly my favorite, well, people—but today was an exception. Not all the wait staff were trained, and getting Fergus out here before necessary seemed like a stupid idea.

He was on the emotional side of the scale today, after all. If he were a woman, I’d put a hundred bucks on him suffering from PMS.

“Ferg?” I lightly knocked on the door. “Are you done? I have a lunch meeting.”

He looked up, flicking his hair away from his face. “Yeah. I’m coming.” Standing up, he put his phone in his pocket and followed me out.

“I refilled the coffee machine, and Riley and Gia are working the floor. Sven’s out in the kitchen terrifying poor Quinn.” I snatched my purse up.

“That’s nothing new,” he grunted, slipping behind the bar.

“True.” I checked my phone before tucking it inside my purse and slinging the strap over my shoulder. “I won’t be more than an hour.”

He waved me away with his hand. “Your date is here.”