Chapter Two
Despite the thudding of the bass, equaled by the thudding of my heart in my chest from sheer adrenaline, I swear I can hear each drop of murdered cocktail fall from the table and hit the floor.
Frozen in place, clutching at the round serving tray against my chest, I stare at the suit. Well, the man. The gorgeous, angry man, surrounded by the backlit silhouettes of his friends at his table.
I stare, frozen.
“Florian, it was an accident.”
The built man with a trim beard closest to the suit puts a calming hand on his arm. And the man—Florian—I swear is frothing at the mouth like a frustrated Thoroughbred horse. Or a rabid dog. Whatever.
Danger still lingers in the man’s eyes.
Are people really called Florian? It sounds like something right out of Wuthering Heights, which is up my mate Aubrey’s alley and not mine. Maybe I’ll ask him sometime over drinks. Not right now. Right now, I—
“I’m fucking soaked, Billy.” Florian, of the smoldering looks and unquiet, broody rage, stares me down. Big Heathcliff energy.
I shrink even further behind the tray.
Billy just laughs, looking none the worse for wear as he considers his friend. “Looks good on you. Like an advert for swimwear.”
“Fuck off.” Florian’s unimpressed while his mates laugh. They set to work tilting chairs forward to lean against the table, letting the liquid run off them.
Why hadn’t the target of my spill been Billy? He seems good-natured about it all. He practically glows.
“Ohmygod,” Kat rushes over, the usual server in this section. She must have been on break. Which technically means I’m next on break, but forget that right now. “What happened? Never mind what happened—let’s get this mess cleaned up right away.”
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt to Florian, the crowd, and Kat too. “I don’t actually know what happened. It happened so fast.”
Billy nods in my general direction. “Some tosser bumped you. I saw it. Shit happens.”
“Shit…happens?” Florian’s dark brows press together. Pained, he rubs his forehead. “It’s his job to be certain shit doesn’t happen.”
“Just be careful,” I say urgently to Florian in a rush as Kat hurries off. “Because of the broken glass.”
In return, his scowl deepens. Glancing away, I flutter somewhat uselessly around the table as we all stand in a large cocktail puddle.
I fight the urge to pick glass fragments from Florian’s clothes, who carelessly brushes himself off in an effort to rid himself of the tiny pieces, but the shattered glass sticks to his wet suit.
I grip the tray more tightly in case my hands start to wander independently to pick glass from him.
Because that would make things even more awkward.
“I’ll get you another table.” I’m full of assurances now that I’m moving on from the gawping phase.
“And you won’t need to pay for your bill, we’ll cover that.
And—I’m so sorry. Did I say watch out for the glass—I mean, it’s not going to cut you.
It shouldn’t. It’s safety glass. Shit. Did it cut you? ” I stare at Florian.
He ignores my last comments.
“That’s all very well and good, except my new suit’s ruined, and my night’s only beginning.” His voice is ice, like the ice cubes and bellini slush at our feet. His stormy gaze withers me to my core.
This is definitely the biggest serving disaster I’ve accomplished to date.
“I’m sorry. Really, really mortifyingly embarrassed sort of sorry.” I set the tray down on the table, because it’s certainly not of any use now.
Florian’s jaw clenches. Forcing myself to look away, I scan the room and look at the standing group around what may or may not have been table 23. “I’ll take you to table 27.”
God knows if it’s actually table 27, but close enough, and Kat’s seen the disaster over here.
“Sounds great,” Billy agrees cheerfully, while his friends nod.
Except Florian. “Where’s the WC? I need to wring my suit out before I go home.”
“Oh no, let me help. I’m sure wringing out a suit can’t be good for it. Not that I’m an expert on suit upkeep. I mean—I mean, let me get you some bar cloths to help dry off. Or…something. What do you need?” I scan his face.
“To leave.”
“No, no, I don’t want to ruin your night—”
“It’s too late for that,” Florian snaps.
Billy rolls his eyes, linking arms with Florian, who practically pouts. Then Billy turns to me with a flourish. “Would you please show us to the new table? Excuse Florian, he’s dreadful. Truly the worst.”
Florian shoots him a warning look, but at last relaxes enough to let Billy take his arm properly. Billy must be his boyfriend, judging by the ease of their body language together. Who knew that a grump like Florian could find love in this huge city, but not me?
Banishing that thought as I turn on my heel, I lead the way to the elevated VIP mezzanine that slightly overlooks the bar with the best seats in the house. I take them to the empty table. They all settle in.
Except Florian, of course.
To be fair, he does look rather soggy and miserable. His wet suit clings to him.
“Look, I do have towels,” I tell him urgently.
“My problem is bigger than a towel.” Florian shakes his head, frowning as he looks down at himself. “What I need is a new suit.”
“I—” My face heats up as I think about what he might keep hidden behind a towel. Of course I went there. Please let him think I’m just plain useless and not thinking inappropriate thoughts about him. Or his body. Oh God. Way to make a bad situation worse, Matty. “Wait. I have an idea. Or a suit.”
“You have a suit?” Florian asks skeptically.
“Well, actually…yes. Hear me out.” I eye him, giving him the once over.
We’re about the same height. And if anything, he’s slimmer than I am, but a slightly too big suit might be a better option than a glass-covered and spirits-soaked suit.
And, most importantly, it’s dry. “My flat’s just around the corner.
I have a suit there that you can use. I mean, I’m not wearing it tonight, am I?
” I gesture at myself, slightly damp, but no comparison to Florian. “It’s the least I could do.”
Billy looks thoughtful. “That’s a generous offer. Beats going all the way back to South Kensington. Why not try it?” he suggests to Florian, shrugging. “You’ve done wilder things back in uni.”
Florian looks scandalized. “I would never borrow a strange man’s suit.”
“Live dangerously. It’s either that or not get into the club,” Billy points out to him with a shrug. “They have a no glass dress code.”
“It’s not even five minutes away, my flat,” I offer.
“Well, my mate’s flat. I’m flat-sitting, though I’m sure you don’t care about that.
It’s my break now, and you could come with me, change, and I’ll arrange to have your suit dry-cleaned, and you can pick it up here from the bar in a couple of days’ time.
” Feeling breathless, I stop and give Florian a chance to digest my rush of words, just as I see Kat arrive at the scene of the crime with a mop and towels.
“I’ll give you a minute to think on that. I’ll be right back.”
I hurry over to Kat. “Please, let me do that. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. Things happen, and it’s time for your break,” she assures me, though she lets me take the bar cloths from her to mop up the table and gather the glass into a dustpan. “I told Alexander I had an accident.”
I gawp at her. “You didn’t!”
Kat gives me a conspiratorial grin. “If you don’t tell him, I won’t. Unless you want his wrath. And the hunt for a new gig.”
“I really need this job,” I assure her, grateful. “I can’t believe you covered for me. Thanks so much, I’ll have to do something to thank you.”
“You can repay the favor another time,” she assures me, laughing. “We’ve all been new somewhere before. I think you could use the fresh air. It’s okay, these things have happened to all of us. Now, go.”
“Right. Cheers. Going.” I hurry off with a couple of clean bar rags in my hand, greatly relieved, and backtrack to table 27. There, everyone’s cozily settled in. They’re laughing and having a good time again. What a relief.
Except for Florian, who still stands, awkwardly talking to his friends. Even waterlogged, he’s an appealing, trim figure in that suit. The suit must be expensive. I mean, he looks expensive. They all do, as do most of the clientele here.
With a deep breath, I approach Florian. I offer the bar cloths. “I brought these to help. And…what do you think of my offer? My suit at home isn’t doing anyone any good hanging in the closet.”
The truth is, it’s a new suit I bought last week for a friend’s wedding next weekend, but that’s days off, a problem for future me to sort out. Current me is desperately trying to not get fired, even with Kat’s cover. It’s not just kindness that’s motivating my suit loan offer.
Florian gives me side-eye, then an appraising once-over. I do my best to stand tall, not slouch, and meet his gaze. Which is unwavering. He ignores the offered cloths. I put down my outstretched arm with the cloths and chew my lip instead.
“Fine,” he concedes at last, after Billy nudges him. “Thank you.”
It’s hard to say who’s more surprised, him or me.
“Right, this way. We’ll be back very soon,” I tell the table.
Billy laughs and waves us off. Michael’s already appeared with their replacement drink orders, and the rest of them carry on with their night out as though nothing happened.
Quickly, I lead the way through the bar on my way out, careful to avoid Alexander’s eye. I can only have so many angry people at me at once. Otherwise, I might implode.
As soon as I get outside, the cool evening air is an immediate salve to the rough night.
My shoulders relax, and I glance over my shoulder at Florian.
He’s quiet, his jaw set, phone in hand as he swipes through messages.
I’m not sure what I expected, but if he’s not yelling at me, that’s an improvement I’ll take.
“My flat’s just around the corner,” I tell him as we reach the end of the street, cross over through a break in the traffic, and enter the historic building. It has a plaque, Grade II listed heritage status.
It’s admittedly beautiful, with a marble entry and a grand staircase. We go past the staircase towards the antique lift at the back of the ground floor.
“Let’s take the lift,” I offer. “My flat’s on the fifth floor, and it’s faster than the stairs.”
Florian gives a curt nod. “Fine.”
I open the ornately carved wooden door into the small lift with its green and white tiled mosaic floor. It’s just big enough for two people, or more comfortably, one person with a bit of shopping, from another time. A time back when people must have been smaller.
Carefully, I shut the oak door, pull over the equally intricate metal accordion door, and press the button for my floor. The light dims as we travel up. The lift clangs.
Then, there’s an abrupt lurch to a stop, somewhere between floors 2 and 3. My stomach’s left back on the first floor.
And we’re not moving anymore.
I stare at the panel and uselessly press my floor number again.
Still nothing.
Then the solitary light goes out, leaving us in complete darkness. A bad situation has now officially gone from terrible to…even worse.