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“Thank you.”
“Welcome.” My eyes catch Beau’s. I avoid her interested, raised brows. And silence falls. I’m out of words.
“Allison’s a lawyer,” Beau says, and I nearly spit out my drink. “A criminal lawyer.” She gives me a smile. It’s fake. It’s a I’m-smiling-because-Allison-will-think-it’s-weird-if-I-don’t smile.
“A criminal lawyer,” I parrot, diving back into my drink. Brad, The American, one of the most notorious crime lords of America, probably even the fucking world, is fucking a criminal lawyer? Does she know who he is? “Nice.”
Allison looks toward the offices. “Is everything okay? With Rose, I mean.”
“Oh.” Beau waves a hand flippantly. “Just a lover’s tiff.”
Allison nods, surely not convinced—she’s a fucking lawyer after all—and looks at the spot where a woman just landed in a pile, courtesy of Rose throwing her there. Who was that woman? I notice Beau’s thinking the same. Everyone has descended on the club, so something’s going down. What? And is that why Fury has been babysitting me all day? Curious, I glance over to the men.
“Brad’s got a nice club here.” Allison’s eyes settle on the stage where legs are wrapped around poles and tits are rubbing up the metal. Is that what she thinks he does? Just runs a strip club?
“Yeah,” I muse.
“Yeah.” Beau’s still smiling, although awkwardly. For God’s sake.
“Shame about his apartment,” she goes on. What the hell has he told her happened to his apartment, because I’m pretty sure it won’t be that Beau’s mother blew it up? “The fire,” she prompts, and Beau and I both visibly sag on our stools.
“Yeah, terrible,” Beau says. “Completely destroyed. So you’re from Miami?”
Yes. Change the subject.
“No, I’m from out of state. Washington, actually. I moved here a few months ago.”
“Oh, so you’re still getting to know the place?” Beau asks, a definite dig for information. Has Allison been living under a rock? She’s a lawyer, and she’s never heard of Brad?
“Yeah, I’ve been focused on settling into the new company, but”—she looks past me, smiling—“well, now I’ve met Brad.”
Oh my God, she’s falling for him. I look back too, finding the man himself with the others, eyes like slits, watching us. I quickly look away. “How long have you known him?”
“We’ve been dating a few months.”
Dating. I flick my eyes to Beau as I take more vodka. For months. She’s shaking her head mildly, in disbelief, I think. Anya sets a stemmed bowl glass on the bar and I pass it to Allison. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” She taps my glass with hers and Beau lifts a can of Pepsi. “Of course,” Allison says, smiling. “How far are you?”
“Four months.” Beau feels at her tummy, and I smile, my happiness for her quite overwhelming. “Do you have kids?”
My smile drops, and I look at Allison. She laughs. “No.” A sip of her drink as she looks across to Brad again. “Hopefully one day.”
I dive back into my vodka again. I’m not sure what to feel right now. Sorry for poor, deluded, clueless Allison? Uneasy because I can feel his eyes burning into my back? Jealous? Would Brad ever want any of those things? I laugh on the inside. No. Brad’s an arsehole. Allison will soon figure that out, which means their relationship has a shelf life.
“So you’re English.” Allison asks.
“I am.”
“Have you been in the States long?”
I set my glass down on the bar, searching for my go-to story, the one I’ve fed everyone. I can’t find it. “Not long,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear on one side.
Beau senses my uneasiness and hops in. “Hey, I saw some amazing beach huts online earlier.” She dips into her bag on the bar and pulls out her mobile. “I saved the links. I’ll text them to you.”
I reach for my bag too. And remember. “Shit, I’ve lost my phone.”
“Oh, how annoying,” Allison says.
