Chapter Ten
Lily
? “Sex on Fire” – Kings of Leon ?
I unlock my front door, kicking my shoes off and setting my bag on the counter.
“Why was there a Hippies sandwich under the lamp table?”
I turn around to see Celeste standing there with her arms crossed. I slam my mouth shut as quickly as I open it. I had forgotten to pick it up after everything. I can’t even come up with an excuse fast enough that doesn’t involve Jace.
Celeste’s eyes squint into fine lines, waiting for my response. My fingers find the thread of my shirt, twirling it.
“You know what? Never mind. I have news.” she says, unfolding her arms.
I exhale, letting go of the burning breath I was holding as my shoulders fall. “What is it?”
“I met this girl at Central Park, and she just opened an art exhibit down the street. She wants to have an opening with me.”
My mouth falls open as Celeste starts smiling. I run to her, smacking us backward on the couch. “Oh my god, Celeste. Congratulations! We are celebrating. Where is the champagne? Pop the bottle!”
I get off the couch, jumping up and down, but notice she is not jumping with me, nor is she smiling. “What’s wrong? This is good news, is it not? Why are you not jumping up and down with me?” I puff out my bottom lip while grabbing her shoulders.
“I just— I just haven’t heard from Rowan. I saw online that his family business burned down, but since then, he’s gone ghost. We left so quick after he spoke to Alessia...”
Wait who is Alessia again?
“And before we left Italy, I found a message in his mother’s paintings. I don’t know... I’m just scared I fucked up!” Celeste cries.
I grab her, pulling her into my body and hugging her tight. I know she hates touch-y, feel-y me. She always gets so awkward when someone hugs her, but I love her, and she deserves to be hugged.
I feel my shoulder getting wet. “Celeste, you did nothing wrong. I’m sure he just needs some time to get his fucked up, weird life together. He obviously loves you. And if he doesn’t, I will shoot him multiple times with Jace’s gun,” I threaten.
She smacks my arm as she starts to giggle and wipe away her tears.
“C’mon, let’s celebrate!” I beg.
“Can’t. I have to start working on more paintings.” She shrugs, turning on the balls of her heels and running away into her room.
“You suck as a best friend!”
“I love you too!” She yells as she slams her bedroom door and immediately turns on music.
I walk into the pounding sound of some rock band playing.
The vibration on the floor permeates my slippers, tickling my toes.
Tonight is Purple Nurple—according to my work group chat.
All tenders are supposed to be wearing purple.
I think the name is hilarious, but Marge disagreed with it, trying to convince us to do any other color or to at least not label it “Purple Nurple.”
I take off my coat, hanging it in my locker and grab my purple bedazzled stilettos. I’m wearing a tight leather mini skirt that I made—the color purple, obviously—and I’ve matched it with a purple lace bralette—that I also made—with a shear light purple shirt on top of it.
I go to the mirrors in the locker room and pull out my purple eyeliner, giving myself an easy little wing.
“I hate this.”
I turn to see Rebecca walking in, wearing a tight purple dress that clings to her body, her dark black hair held in a ponytail with a purple scrunchy.
“Purple is so ugly,” she finishes.
“No, bitch. You make purple ugly.” I put my hand on my hips, looking her up and down. She gives me the middle finger while walking to her locker.
“Have you seen the floor chart?” she asks, sitting on the bench and fixing her shoes.
I turn to my locker, putting my makeup back in my bag. “No, I just got here.”
“Purple fucking nurple. What are we, twelve years old?” Marge yells, barging through the door with every other tender who is working tonight.
You can tell half of them are already coked out and the other half stumble in drunk.
I stand by Rebecca as we wait for Marge to tell us our sections for the night.
She names out six other girls and tells them all to get to work.
I grab ahold of Marge’s arm before she walks out the door. “Wait! Am I not on the floor?” I ask.
She turns to me with an evil smile. “You’ve been requested, babe. V I fucking P.”
My face falls, my fingernails advancing to my mouth. “Requested by who?”
“I don’t know, some Irishman came stomping downstairs after talking to Axel, then Roxxie came by and told me to put you in room five.”
Jace.
I have never worked in VIP before. I have delivered drinks to VIP—delivered drinks to Rowan and Jace—but never worked VIP. It’s fine. Everything is okay. Maybe Rowan is there, and he can explain to me why he hasn’t seen Celeste. Or apologize for giving me a babysitter while they were in Italy.
The lights around us dim as the music turns up even louder. I leave my headphones in my locker and walk out the locker room. I stay on the platform that separates the ground level from the VIPs, stopping when I see number five above the red curtains.
I pull the curtain open just enough to slide my body through and see Jace sitting there, working on his laptop with his phone in his other hand.
And no Rowan in sight.
Jace’s eyes wander up from his screen, staring directly at me. His eyes are usually a light, piercing blue, but in this light, they are a dark, deep blue like the color of the ocean at night.
“Sit,” he commands.
“What do you want, Jace?” I place my hands on my hips, not moving from my spot.
“What’s with the hostility, Lily?” He turns his head to the side, mocking my words from the other day when I ran into him at the coffee shop.
I twist my arms along my chest and slowly sit down, just feet away from him at the end of the leather sectional.
He stands from his seat, walking toward me.
I press my knees together, my body setting itself on fire at his height, his eyes, his hair, his smell...
his everything. Ever since that one night at the house, everything about him makes my body feel like I’m being burned by a thousand matches.
I straighten my back against the couch when his hand comes up to my face, pushing my hair behind my ear.
“No headphones today, álainn?”
“Nope. I thought Rowan would be here to apologize. Wanted to make sure I heard him clearly,” I state.
He scoffs and moves back to sit at his computer. “Rowan doesn’t apologize.”
“Does Jace apologize?” I ask.
His head snaps up in my direction, tipping his chin down while his eyebrows lower. “Apologize for what?”
“I know it is, like, an Irish thing to do—” A half snort, half laugh leaves his lips as he leans back, putting his arms above the couch and spreading his legs.
I bite my lower lip and keep my eyes on his face, focusing on not looking at anything lower than his chest. “To leave without saying bye. But it was kind of a dick move after what happened,” I finish saying.
With the blink of an eye, he moves to my side. His hand is back at my face as he uses one finger to slowly draw a line from my nose, over my lips, to the middle of my chest. I keep my head held up, staring at him.
“After what, Lily?” he asks, deepening his accent.
My breath catches as his finger glides down to my nipple. He pinches one and I bite my lower lip, from letting any type of sound come from my mouth.
“I can’t stay here,” I breathe out.
“You can and you will.”
“We don’t take tips from VIPs, and I need the money.”
His hand falls from touching me as he leans back. His jaw pulses and his hands ball into fists. “You’re not going back on that floor.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” I stand from the couch, pacing around the room. “First it was the command to leave the coffee shop and now you’re trying to control me and my job?! What was your issue at the shop anyway?” I snap.
“Every night you work... I will be here. And you will be in this room with me,” he states calmly.
I run my fingers through my hair. God, he doesn’t get it.
He doesn’t understand. I need to be on the floor.
I take a deep inhale, closing my eyes so I don’t lash out any more than I need to.
“Jace... those tips keep me in college. Wait...” I turn to face him.
“You didn’t answer my question about the coffee shop.
Are you trying to keep me away from Mateo? ”
I watch as his head snaps back in my direction, his pupils getting smaller like a cat searching for its prey. I jump onto the couch, sitting on my knees. “Oh my god, Jace Cook, are you jealous?” I question, waving my finger at him.
“Don’t call me that,” he grits, turning back to work on his laptop.
“Call you what?” I ask, my smile falling from my face.
“Cook.”
I don’t understand. Is that not his name?
Whatever. I am over this. Over him. He may not be a stalker like his buddy Rowan, but he sure as fuck is a control freak.
I remove my legs from under me, sitting normally on the couch, looking around.
I can’t be on the floor today since my section is being taken care of.
So now I am stuck staring at this tacky room—red leather sectional, a little black table in the middle, red curtains, red walls.
Red everything. I know this club’s income is better than this.
“What am I supposed to do?” I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Do what you always do at work,” he responds, his fingers tapping against his keyboard.
“Which is what, Mister Know-It-All?”
He stops typing, turning to look at me. “Sit there and look pretty.”
“Boooring. At least my customers would dish juicy gossip,” I say, scooting closer to him and trying to peek at his computer. It looks like the same green screen and random symbols that pops up on my computer at home all the time. Weird. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“Classified.”
I roll my eyes, standing from the couch. “I’m going to go get a drink.”
“Bring a bottle,” he says.
Heading for the curtain, I sarcastically ask, “Anything else, Your Highness?”