Page 17 of It Will Always Be You
“What, not up to your standards?” he snickers, settling into the booth opposite me, the black vinyl creaking as we get settled. It’s strange to see him so carefree, like the weight he normally carries hasbeen lifted. It suits him a bit too well for my sanity.
“Oh, you know me. I only dine in places that hide their prices,” I quip, scanning the laminated menu.
“Well then, this should be an experience.” He laughs. The fact that he doesn’t even crack open his menu speaks volumes, and even before the waitress greets him, it’s clear this is far from his first time here.
“Now, who have you brought me, Johnny?” the middle-aged waitress asks as she strolls over to us. Her whole demeanour screams motherly, and the laugh lines around her eyes speak to a life well lived. Her use of Johnny, a name I haven’t heard anyone call him, has my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline.
“Angie, this is Helen. I dragged her here to educate her on life’s finer things,” he teases.
She tosses her head back on a laugh before asking him, “The usual, son?” At his nod, she turns her gaze to me.
“Oh...um... What’s good here?” I ask, not having a clue where to start.
“Angie, make that two of the usual. And toss in two milkshakes when you get a chance,” he interrupts, and my core tightens at the bold move. Old world manners are my kryptonite, and I need to remind myself that this man is firmly off limits. Not only would getting with him blow up my secrets, but he would want nothing to do with me if he knew the truth. I won’t risk Freya’s safety by getting myself caught up in this world again. Ican’t. No matter how hot a night with Jonathan would be, it’s not worth the risk. Thinking of my sister is like dousing myself with ice cold water. Instantly, the steady thrum of lust that has been burrowing under my skin is snuffed out.
“A girl like you should never look so forlorn,” Jonathan murmurs, bringing my attention back to the man across from me. His suit jacket has been abandoned in the car, leaving him in a black shirt that looks like silk against his tan skin. A strand of his dark hair has fallen forward from his slicked back style. My fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.
“Hmm, try telling that one to life,” I mutter, fiddling with the coaster in front of me.
“That pesky thing? She’s stubborn, isn’t she?” he remarks. I can feel his eyes drilling into me, but I refuse to meet his gaze.
“You can say that again.”
“On a serious note, I owe you an apology.” At his softly spoken words, I jerk my eyes up to meet his.
“Oh yeah?” I prompt, raising my eyebrow at him and taking joy in his expression.
“I judged you before I even gave you a shot. That was wrong of me. You’ve been an absolute godsend these past few months.” He looks bashful as he confesses what I already knew. Still, hearing him admit it is beyond satisfying. Show me one person who doesn’t crave the reassurance of a job well done.
“You wouldn’t be the first. However, you’ve heard the saying don’t judge a book by its cover, right?”
“I have, and I should know better. Patience isn’t my strong suit at the best of times, and training a new start takes a lot of that. I should have reserved my judgment until I’d spent more than five minutes with you, and for that, I’m sorry.”
Before I could unglue my tongue from my suddenly dry mouth and formulate a response, Angie came back with two vanilla milkshakes and a jug of water for the table. Thanking her, I take a sip before turning my attention back to Jonathan.
“How about we move on and focus on the here and now?” I offer an olive branch. He lets out a relieved sigh before aiming a crooked grin in my direction and giving me the full effect of those molten baby blues.
“Sounds like a plan. Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he prompts, leaning back in his seat, tossing an arm along the back, and giving me his undivided attention. Shit. Maybe I should have continued playing hardball.
“There’s not much to know.” I shrug.
“Uh-huh,” he replies, eyeing me dubiously. “You do realise I can tell when you’re bullshitting me, right? No one seems to know anything about you, despite working for us for nearly three months. You don’t go out with the team on Friday nights, and you don’t strike up small talk with any of them.”
“Are you stalking me now?” He better not be. I don’t care how hot it is in dark romance books; that shit is not something I need right now.
“I don’t need to. It’s all anyone is talking about in the break room, which you also never make use of,” he points out with a self-satisfied shrug.
“I like my space,” I deflect, flicking my hair over my shoulder. It’s obvious he has no intention of dropping it that easily. Luckily, Angie picks that moment to appear, arms laden down with food. Two plates are piled high with the juiciest looking burgers, fries, and not so much as a lettuce leaf in sight. The differences between Jonathan and Angus couldn’t be any more obvious. We eat in comfortable silence, and it’s not long before I’m sitting back, feeling more satisfied than I have in a long time. I can’t remember the last time my metaphorical cup was quite so full.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you dodged my questions,” he quips, dabbing at his mouth before sitting back and looking so at ease, it should be a crime. Surely, a man with an empire to run shouldn’t look so relaxed, never mind one with whatever illegal shit is calling his name on top of that.
“My secrets are earned, not handed out like candy.”
“I guess I'll just have to work on earning them then, won't I?” So much heat in such a short sentence, it’s a wonder I don’t melt then and there. So, when he suggests I take the rest of the afternoon off, it’s all I can do to nod and offer him my address when he asks for it.
If you were to ask me anything about the ride home, I wouldn’t be able to answer you, as I was too wrapped up in the comfortable silence and stifling tension to pay attention to anything else. However, as soon as I reach my flat, the blissful joy of the day is soon wiped away. Amongthe random junk and bill mail sits an unmarked envelope, and in it, a clipping of the photo from the fundraiser. The damming evidence of my betrayal speaks volumes, and even without a letter, I know a threat from the Clan when I see one.
In an instant, my tentative hopes of building a stable life—one where I could eventually return and sneak Freya out of the Clan’s clutches—are snuffed out. In their place, the overwhelming realisation that I am utterly doomed sinks its claws deep into my bones.
