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Tossing her hair with a laugh, she lets Kir push her chair in. She places her napkin on her lap to cover the fact that her skirt is ridiculously short and pulls her shoulders back like she runs around in strapless tops all the time.
She’s playing like she’s cool with everything happening around her, but she’s not fooling anyone. Well, maybe my smitten younger brothers, but I know there’s no way anyone like this girl adjusts to our world inside of a few days of being exposed to it.
No matter the sumptuous digs and good food we’ve plied her with.
It will take time for her to comprehend all that’s going on around her. And to accept what comes her way.
With the four of us at the table, I holler for Chef, who begins to serve our lunch.
We start with a tasty littleamuse-boucheshot glass of some sort of delicious soup, followed by a delicious pan-seared salmon and a tangy frisée salad. It’s the perfect midday meal, like Chef always makes for us, and it will leave me satisfied, but not overly full.
I don’t like to overeat at lunch. It messes up the rest of my day. Actually, I don’t even like fancy meals like ones that include anamuse-bouche, but when Papa arrived from Russia, he fell in love with a famous French restaurant that served them. Thereafter, he required Chef to serve one at every meal, except breakfast, of course.
They’re a lot of work for one bite of food, and personally, I’d be happy with a turkey sandwich for lunch, but that’s just me.
“Who is this Dimitri guy? What’s his deal?” Charleigh asks. Her voice is casual, like she’s asking what time it is.
But her intent is not.
Got to give her credit for persistence. The first time she tried to initiate a conversation about him, none of us responded. I figure she got the message, not to ask too many questions. After all, we invited her to lunch to get to know her better, not the other way around.
But when she brings it up again, I see she either didn’t read between the lines, or she did and doesn’t care. I’m not sure what she’s on about—whether she’s trying to provoke us guys or is just genuinely curious about the asshole.
I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she has questions, she’ll get answers. Although she might not like what she hears.
But that’s on her.
I glance her way and see she’s finished her entire lunch in the time it’s taken my brothers and me to barely eat half of ours. She must have been starving. I make a mental note to talk to Chef about making sure she’s well-fed. If left to Dominika, the girl will be lucky to get prison rations.
Niko notices how fast she cleaned her plate too. “Enjoy your lunch, Charleigh?” he asks.
Her eyes fall closed. “Oh my god. It was amazing. I’ve only ever had salmon one other time before and it wasn’t very good. This was amazing and I was starving.”
As soon as she says that, her hand flies to her mouth, like she didn’t mean to admit to her hunger.
Niko doesn’t like that. “God, Charleigh, sounds like we haven’t been feeding you enough. We won’t let that happen again.”
That’s Niko. Always looking out for the wounded birds.
But hell, I don’t want her hungry, either. She’s worth a lot to us guys—to the entire club—and it won’t do to leave her underfed.
“Anytime you want anything to eat, Charleigh,” Niko continues, “just holler. Chef can fix you something on a moment’s notice. Anything you want. Okay?”
She nods gratefully and takes a pretend sip of her wine.
Interesting.
I am about to correct Niko, point out to him that no one gets free rein of the kitchen, but decide not to shit on his moment of kindness. For the first time since we sat for lunch, Charleigh seems genuinely relaxed. Not worried about what’s around the next corner.
She would do well not to gettoorelaxed. But it’s not the time to bring that up.
“Charleigh, in answer to your question, Dimitri’s father and ours were business partners. They opened this club together as well as many of the other businesses that we run to this day. Dimitri’s dad, when he died, left the club and everything to our dad rather than his son. You see, Dimitri is somewhat of a bum. Spends his father’s money jetting around the world like a general party boy.”
That’s putting it kindly. The guy is a useless dirtbag of the first degree.
Charleigh looks at me, her eyes wide. “I take it he didn’t like that too much.”
I press my lips together and nod. Understatement of the century. The guy’s resentment is legendary. But it’s of his own doing. There’s no one else to blame.
