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I sigh, placing the glass and towel down, holding out my hands and wriggling my fingers. “There.”
He sniffs, looking at me in question. “No nail polish.”
“I don’t do polish.” My father wouldn’t allow it. So maybe I should get a manicure and fix that. “Are we done?” I collect my glass and towel.
“We’re done,” Drake says, wandering off to join Des. “As you were,” he adds in the worst British accent I’ve ever heard.
I laugh and get back to business, and I don’t stop smiling. All these men, they’re like endless big brothers looking out for me. It’s new, if strange. Addictive. I’ve never felt so safe immersed in such danger, surrounded by deadly men.
Nolan comes from the corridor that leads to the office. “You have to find a way to keep me,” I say, leaning on the bar.
He laughs. “Pearl, babe, what Rose wants, she gets, and she wants you at the salon when it’s done.”
“It’s a beauty spa.” How many times do these men need telling? “I love working here,” I add. It doesn’t involve qualifications that I don’t have, and everyone is so friendly and protective. It’s a novelty. I get back to polishing, my eyes naturally moving up to the secret office. Everyone except him. But I can avoid him.
“Listen, Pearl,” Nolan says, pulling my attention his way.
“I’m listening.” Always listening.
He gets on a stool, giving a nod to Mason. I don’t ask. There are so many nods happening around this place, the mansion, and the boatyard. I’m surrounded by Churchill dogs. “I don’t want to lose you.”
I smile and reach across the bar, placing my hand on his. “I don’t want to lose you either, Nolan.”
Mason lets out a bark of laughter, and Nolan chuckles under his breath. Then he frowns. “Did you get a haircut?”
“God, you men are so observant.” Something catches my eye across the club. “Oh, I think this is one of your applicants.” A young woman struts in on heels that defy the law of balance, and I watch in wonder as she dials up the sex appeal, firing the men at the bar—not me—a toothy, wide, and definitely seductive smile. She’s stunning. Really stunning. “Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful,” I muse, “for beauty is God's handwriting.”
“Emerson?” Mason asks, surprising me.
I look at him, interested. “Yeah.”
“Did you study him?”
I nod, lying. Or is it lying? I did study Emerson, just not in a school, college, or university. “You’re familiar with his work?” I ask, seeing Nolan greet the woman in my peripheral vision.
“For my finals.” He grins. “I gave up philosophy and poetry to manage a bar and help launder money for the mafia. It pays better.”
I chuckle, but it dries up when Brad appears across the club, fixing the lapels of his suit jacket. He spots me. His lip definitely curls a little. I quickly break the staring deadlock, raising a glass and inspecting the sparkles.
“What the fuck’s the deal with you two?” Mason asks.
“I don’t think Mr. Black appreciates appreciation.” I lower the glass, seeing he’s on his way over. So it’s time for me to vacate the vicinity.
“What?” Mason says as I drop my towel and collect the keys for the store cupboard. I’ll clean the toilets. Anything. It beats hanging around this ice box.
“I’ll be in the restrooms,” I say, leaving the men to hire the flesh.
“The cleaners have sorted the restrooms already,” Mason calls.
Damn it. “I’ll hoover the office.”
“They did that too.”
Bloody hell. “I’ll check the stock.”
“I did it, Pearl.”
I sigh, exasperated, and face him. “There must be something I can do other than . . .” I shut up when I feel Brad close behind me, and I give Mason a pleading look. He doesn’t catch it.
