Chapter 47 Violet
VIOLET
I’m exhausted. I spent all night tossing and turning, unable to turn off my brain no matter how much I tried.
Between spending way too much time looking up my brother’s information, whether or not he knows I exist or if he’s as in the dark as I am, along with what our childhood could’ve looked like if we didn’t have an ass for a father, and what I’m going to do now that my childhood home doesn’t belong to me anymore.
Add in my early shift this morning, and I swear I’m about to keel over.
The bell jingles on the door as I scroll mindlessly on my phone. I’ve been here for almost an hour and haven’t had a single customer until now. Pushing up from the back room floor, I head to the counter but stop short. My greeting clogs my throat.
“Hey, Vi,” Ethan says. With his hand in his front pockets, he looks up at the menu, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth like he has all the time in the world to decide on his order.
And me? I can barely think straight as I take him in.
He looks so…casual. Like his—and my father’s—actions didn’t rock my world last night.
What is he doing here?
“A little far from The Drift, aren’t you?” I ask, hoping my tone comes off as light and breezy when I kind of want to throttle him.
“Thought I’d make an exception.” He glances from the menu to me. “I’ll take a coffee. Black.”
I fight the urge to point to the company’s we refuse the right to serve anyone sign and dig my fingernails into my palm instead.
Why is he acting so casual? Why is here at all?
Does he really think I don’t know? That my dad didn’t show up on my porch last night, begging me to sign over my childhood home?
Maybe. Maybe he thinks he’s flying under the radar for now.
Maybe he thinks I don’t know he took a bet from my father.
And won. Because if he does know I know, how can he show his face to me after everything he’s done? Honestly, I’m dumbfounded.
“Coffee. Black,” he repeats.
I don’t move a single muscle.
“There a problem, Violet?” he prods.
Only that you basically stole my house, asshole!
I press my lips into a thin line as the warning bells in my head ring louder than a siren. “What are you really doing here?”
“Lexie refuses to give me your number.” He sighs. “It’s a shame, really.”
Lexie. I’ve been too scared to reach out to my best friend directly and ask if she knows what happened.
If she knows how her brother totally screwed me over, albeit inadvertently.
I kind of doubt it. It’s only been one night, and if she was working, she’ll be asleep until after my shift ends, and then, I have every intention of telling her everything that happened last night.
Maybe she can convince her brother to let it go.
To give me back my house. And maybe I can, too.
“What’s a shame? That your little sister’s a good friend?
” I counter, making sure to lace my voice with enough teasing to keep things light.
I don’t want to come off as a bitch. Not yet.
Not unless my gut instinct is right. “Passing out your friend’s phone number to random guys is probably frowned upon, don’t you think? ”
He clutches at his chest, feigning offense. “Is that all I am to you? A random guy?”
“You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.” I give him a shy smile. “And why would you need my number, friend?”
“Only wanted to thank you.”
I quirk my brow. “Oh?”
“Not sure if you heard, but your dad and I made a little wager, and he,” he grimaces, “he lost.”
Wow.
My hand itches to reach out and slap his fake-ass grimace right off his face. Instead, I plant it on the counter separating us and lean forward. “You know, I actually am well-aware of the little wager.”
“And?”
“And I was hoping…” I bite the inside of my bottom lip. “Maybe you’d make an exception and let it go?”
With a smirk, he drops his attention from my eyes to my mouth, then trailing even lower and settling on my boobs while simultaneously making me feel like I’ve been dipped in a vat of acid.
Gross. I fold my arms to cut off his view.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about some innocent flirting if it gets me my house back, but there’s a line I refuse to cross, and if he has his way, I have a feeling he’d have no problem stomping all over it.
“Let it go, huh?” He grimaces again, though I see right through it like before. “I’m afraid I can’t.” Tucking his hands into his pockets, he gives me a shrug. “It’s a shame, you know? Addiction’s a bitch.”
My eyes thin. “So you admit you’re aware of my father’s gambling addiction?”
“I mean, who isn’t in this town? He’s kind of a mess, Violet.”
Man, he’s annoying. How did I not fully notice it until now?
The arrogance? The stupid haircut? The way he looks down his nose at anyone and everyone.
I know I should be indifferent, after all, he’s Lexie’s older brother, but clearly, one of their apples fell super far from the tree because these two should not be related.
“So if you knew he’s a mess, why would you take any more bets for him?” I ask. He has to know I can see right through him and his bullshit.
Doesn’t he?
“Because a bet’s a bet and…who wouldn’t want a free house, Vi?”
What. A. Dick.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t free.” I try to keep my emotions in check, but this whole fake-ass, puppy dog, it’s not my fault, persona he’s got going on is really starting to piss me off. “It wasn’t even his,” I clarify. “It was mine.”
“I get it, Vi. I really do.” He reaches for my hand on the counter, but I jerk away from his touch. “Here’s the thing,” he tsks. “I’m trying to run a business here, and rules are rules.”
“Rules are rules,” I repeat.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s either take the house or break his kneecaps.”
Break his kneecaps? Who does this guy think he is?
With a sardonic laugh, I reply, “I’m sorry, did you just say break his kneecaps?” I laugh even harder. “Why? Because you’re suddenly a mob boss now?”
“You’re right.” He joins in my amusement, but I don’t miss the condescension. “I’m no mob boss. I’m just…Ethan Morgan. Your best friend’s older brother, and an entrepreneur."
Entreperneur. Right.
“But ya know,” he continues. “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.
Besides, I think with a little work, my new place will be top fucking tier, you know?
” He drags his fingertips along the counter, catching some granulated sugar and rubbing it between his fingers.
“And I get to stay right by Lex and make sure she isn’t doing anything I wouldn’t approve of. ”
“Of course not.” I can’t help my scoff. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
“I wanted to extend an invitation, is all,” he continues. “Rumor has it, this house means a lot to you, and it’s not your fault your dad fucked you over, right?”
My brows pinch. Where is he going with this?
“So that’s why you’re here, huh? To give your condolences over something you have complete control over?”
“My condolences and an invitation,” he clarifies. Resting his elbows on the counter separating us, he gives me his same skeevy smile. “If you ever want to stop by. Maybe sleep over or something. I’ll make sure the bed’s nice and warm just for you.”
What. An. Ass.
Whatever modicum of hope that even considered sparking during our conversation is snuffed out in an instant, reminding me of exactly who I’m dealing with. “I think you should go.”
“What about my coffee?”
Screw your coffee! I want to scream, though I know it won’t get me anywhere. The sooner I ring up his order, the sooner he’ll have no excuse but to leave. Jabbing his order into the register, I grit out, “That’ll be three dollars and sixty-one cents.”
“Damn.” His card stays pinched between his fingers as he shows it to me but keeps it just out of reach while his gaze drags down my body all over again. “I think I want something sweet, too. What’s the sweetest thing you have on the menu, Vi?”
With a glare, I cross my arms, not bothering to answer him because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back my verbal assault and will totally wind up fired if Ethan decides to tattle and my boss checks the tape.
“Let’s see.” He places his palms on the counter separating us again and shifts forward, stealing my space until all I can do is clench my fists or punch the bastard.
And boy, do I want to smack that smug expression right off his face, but something holds me back.
Maybe it’s the cameras I know are in the corners of the small shop.
Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, daring me to push him.
Honestly, I’m not sure. All I know is there’s a heaviness in the air.
A charge. Like when you’re standing in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm.
And with the tiniest amount of friction, it could catch.
Sweat gathering along my hairline, I stand my ground. “The only thing on the menu is black coffee, Morgan.”
“Nah, that can’t be true.” The bell on the door dings, though I’m too furious to welcome the newest customer with a kind smile.
Instead, I hold Ethan’s stare with a glare of my own.
“I think I’ll take a hot little piece of…
” Like a ragdoll, Ethan’s body is wrenched away from the counter before Jagger’s fist connects with Ethan’s jaw.
Shock ripples through me, and I cover my mouth while Jagger hits him again.
And again. Ethan stumbles back, blindsided.
Then again, so am I. How the hell did he get here?
How did he know Ethan was here? Blood dribbles down Ethan’s nose as recognition flashes across his face.
Charging forward, he rams Jagger like a football player, wrapping his arms around his torso in hopes of bringing Jagger to the ground.
If it wasn’t for the counter behind him, it might have even worked.
Instead, Jagger stays pinned against it.