Chapter Sixteen #2
Ken approached, saw Lainie talking to John and his smile faded. “Another for the lady,” John said. “And I’ll have a beer.”
Ken eyed Lainie warily, but turned to fill their orders. John swiveled his body fully toward hers. Their knees brushed. He was wearing jeans and a three-button shirt. Not clubbing clothes. She liked him even more.
“You from around here?” he asked.
“No. Yes.”
He laughed again. He had a nice laugh. Very friendly. “So which is it? Yes or no?”
“No, I’m not from here originally. Yes, I live here.” Lainie concentrated on her words, making sure she pronounced each one distinctly.
Ken appeared with their drinks. John ignored the mug Ken gave him and drank the beer straight from the bottle. Lainie liked that. He was a man’s man.
“You wanna dance, Lainie?”
She looked at the dance floor, at the people packed tightly together yet moving fast. Her legs felt a little numb. “No. But thanks.”
“Hammered,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
She liked the twinkle. It made him very approachable.
“Got a girlfriend?” She clamped her lips together. Totally the wrong thing to say. He would think she was interested and she wasn’t. To hide her mortification she took a big gulp of the martini.
“You applying for the position?”
She smiled. “No. It’s just you’re such a nice guy I figured some lucky girl would have scooped you up by now.”
“No lucky girl,” he said. “What about you? Got a boyfriend?”
“You applying for the position?” Oh, man.
What the heck was she doing flirting with this guy?
Yet it was fun and carefree and Lord knew she hadn’t had any fun or carefree moments since she’d walked into this place that first night.
The martini—martinis? How many had she had?
—drowned her inhibitions and loosened her tongue.
No harm in talking to the guy. It wasn’t like she was going to go home with him.
The only one she wanted to go home with was Christien.
“Maybe.” He winked at her. “The position open?”
The laugh died right out of her and suddenly this wasn’t fun anymore. “I don’t know,” she said seriously, looking down into her glass.
“You don’t know if you have a boyfriend?”
She shrugged and reached for her martini. But John was holding it. She frowned. When did he pick up her glass? With a crooked smile he handed it to her and she drained the rest of it with a shrug. Ken didn’t miraculously appear with another one. “It’s complicated.”
“Ah. One of those. Don’t you hate when they get complicated?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
Christien stepped out of the private party room and breathed a sigh of relief. One more disaster averted. These bachelorette parties were going to be the death of him—figuratively speaking, of course.
He headed into the crowd and slowly made his way toward the bar and Madelaine.
She didn’t normally come down here at night and he was worried something was wrong.
She looked tired, beat down. What the hell had Giselle done to her now?
Christien had half a mind to follow through with his threat of destroying Lucheux and Giselle’s business with the excuse they were abusing Madelaine, but he wouldn’t.
It would be an abuse of his powers and an ace up his sleeve he needed to hold on to.
He pushed through the last of the crowd and stopped. An ice-cold fury swarmed over him and every muscle tensed.
Madelaine was leaning toward a man seated next to her. Their knees were touching, her elbow was resting on the bar, her chin in the palm of her hand. They were deep in conversation, the bastard occasionally taking a sip from a beer bottle as they talked and laughed.
Her eyelids were heavy and her movements sluggish, causing Christien to frown. Surely she wasn’t drunk. She’d said she wanted one glass of wine.
She smiled and touched the man’s knee. He leaned close and said something that made her frown. Christien was beside her before his mind processed his body moving and Madelaine was looking up at him with big brown eyes, slightly unfocused and a little surprised.
“Christien!”
Christien turned to the man, piercing him with a steely-eyed glare that had worked to his advantage in many battles and bar fights.
The man slowly placed his beer bottle on the bar and stood.
His look was guarded and Christien took some male pride in the fact he was a few inches taller and definitely more muscular. His reaction was ridiculous, of course.
“Is this your complication, Lainie?”
The familiar use of Madelaine’s name had Christien clamping his teeth together so hard he almost bit the inside of his cheek. Complication? What the hell did that mean? And who the hell was this man who knew Madelaine by name?
Madelaine touched Christien’s sleeve. “Christien, this is John. He was keeping me entertained while you worked.”
He just bet he was. Christien grunted an acknowledgment but didn’t offer his hand as manners dictated.
Obviously the twenty-first century Madelaine was just as na?ve as the fourteenth century.
Couldn’t she tell a player when she saw one?
Must he keep his eye on her constantly? And where the hell was Ken?
John’s mouth quirked in a knowing smile. “Christien Chevalier, I assume? You didn’t tell me your complication was the owner of the club, Lainie.”
Madelaine shrugged and Christien wanted to punch the man for even uttering her name. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the fourteenth century. Men were allowed to speak to women these days.
John chuckled and dug into his pocket to lay money on the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Lainie.” He turned to Christien. “No harm done, man. We were just talking.” He walked away.
Nay. Christien let him walk away. No use causing a scene in his own club, but he kept an eye on this John as he disappeared into the crowd before turning back to Madelaine.
“I’m a complication?” he asked.
She looked up at him with those big, unfocused eyes and swayed. He caught her by the shoulder before she slithered off the barstool.
“You’re drunk.”
She shook her head, but the movement was slow. “No.”
He called Ken over. “How much has she had?”
Ken held up his fingers, indicating three.
“Three what?”
“Blueberry martinis,” Madelaine said. “They taste like melted Popsicles.”
Ken motioned him over but Christien couldn’t let go of Madelaine or she’d fall, so he leaned over the bar.
“I watered them down,” Ken whispered above the noise. “She shouldn’t be drunk off what I gave her.”
“Christien?”
He turned to Madelaine as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped over. He quickly caught her and lifted her in his arms. She was limp, her head lolling to the side, her breathing weak.
Christien barreled through the crowd. People parted, staring. Whispers followed him as he made his way to his office. Suddenly Sabine was at his side.
“Call nine-one-one.” Panicked, he shoved his office door open with his shoulder and gently laid her on the leather couch. Kneeling beside her, he took her cold hand in his.
What the hell happened? She was sitting at his bar, drinking a martini. She was safe. Except she wasn’t. Someone got to her and now she was—
No. He wouldn’t think like that. She was going to be okay. She had to be. He rubbed her hand to bring warmth back to it.
“Madelaine? Love? Can you hear me?”
She didn’t move, not even a twitch. Mon Dieu, what happened?
People crowded into his office and he faintly heard Ronald pushing them out until it was blessedly quiet.
Sabine appeared beside him with a look of concern. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He watched Madelaine’s chest rise and fall. As long as she breathed, she would be okay. “Bring Ronald in here,” he said.
Minutes later Ronald was at his side, his expression severe. “How is she?”
“Breathing. A man was with her. Red hair, medium height. Jeans. Three-buttoned shirt. Name was John. Sound familiar?”
Ronald shook his head, his forehead creasing in thought.
“I want him found. Have Ken pull the receipts to get a name.” Damn it. Christien remembered him throwing a few bills on the bar. “Never mind. He paid in cash. Try to find him. Ask Ken what he knows. Ask anyone.”
Ronald nodded and hurried out.
The EMTs arrived, pushing Christien out of the way. He stood to the side, his heart in his throat, a primal scream on his lips. He wouldn’t lose her. Not yet.
Not yet, damn it!