Chapter 12
TALIN
The lights are dim as I slip through the front entrance.
The place is oak, metal, glass, and not much else.
Orange glows from soft bulbs in the ceiling and bodies are packed all over, most in shirts and ties clearly straight from work.
The leather-wrapped booths are full and there’s only a single stool empty wedged between a drunk woman and a massive man in a heavy coat.
I primly sit myself and lean on my elbows.
This is stupid. I shouldn’t be here, playing Brenden’s game. I don’t know how this is going to prove anything, but he didn’t leave me any other options. When I followed him to the bedroom after dinner, I found the house was already empty.
My typical husband, disappearing the moment life gets difficult.
Focus, Tallie.
I know the Elk Room. This is my sort of place.
The second he told me the time, I knew it’d be packed with bankers, hedge fund managers, and public relations specialists all screaming at each other over a mediocre live jazz band playing in the corner.
Getting a drink’s going to be hard enough.
How the heck am I supposed to get a name?
The bartender tonight’s a young man. He looks like he’s been doing this gig a while.
Tattoos cover his arms and his dark hair’s curly and messy.
His beard’s nicely trimmed and he’s got a good smile which never seems to slip from his face even as he’s running around making drinks and pulling beers.
There’s a barback, but she’s moving around the building frantically.
The young man bartender spots me and comes over. He has the look of someone about to disappear into the Alaskan wilderness to write an epic poem or something. He points at me, eyebrows raised in the universal gesture of what the hell do you want.
“Hey, sorry, what’s your name?”
He cocks his chin curiously.
“Your name?” I yell clumsily.
“Sorry, what do you need?”
The woman next to me howls with laughter.
I have no clue if it’s at me or not. My cheeks turn red and I feel like a total idiot as I mumble something about a vodka and soda.
He hears that fine and my glass appears thirty seconds later.
I’m about to try again, but he’s already gone, moved on to the next thirsty group of project managers looking to get wasted after a long afternoon of typing emails.
What the heck is wrong with me? If I had kept pressing, he probably would’ve said it.
Or maybe I needed to be less direct, a little more circumspect.
I probably came off like a weird creep, yelling about his name up front.
I hunch over my vodka soda and take a sip, wondering why I’m doing this in the first place.
I don’t have to consent to Brenden’s stupid test.
I’m the one with the blackmail, right?
In theory, I have all the power.
But I think we both know that’s only partially true. Yes, I could ruin him with a single email, but he’s right when he pointed out how counterproductive it would be. If I got my first husband killed, what would that say about my future prospects?
He’s much more useful to me alive.
Which means doing this stupid task, even though it makes no sense and I don’t get why it matters.
I sit there feeling awkward, out of place, confused, and more than a little angry as I drink.
The vodka swells and calms my nerves enough that I start to try thinking strategically.
Like, why might a patron need their bartender’s name?
For some light banter? To make their alcohol experience personalized?
Or maybe because I find him attractive.
The idea clicks into place and I shift my weight on the stool. I’ve never been good in situations like this where I need to lean into charm and looks, but I do know someone who’s exceptional at it.
So what would Annie do?
I picture her in my mind, fixed on the melting ice in my glass.
I see her sitting confidently, legs crossed, no shame, discomfort, or hesitation in her.
I taste her lipstick, smell her perfume.
Her spine’s straight and every time the bartender walks past, she meets his gaze without lowering her own, like she’s challenging him to come back over to chat with her despite how busy he is right now.
I lift my glass in my hands as this Annie-character takes over and I let the little straw slip between my lips. The next time the bartender looks my way, he’ll see a confident, attractive woman with something between her lips. And he’s a man, isn’t he? Aren’t all men walking dicks?
It takes a few prolonged glances before the bartender returns. I meet his eyes, a small smile on my lips, embodying confidence and grace. Being Annie the best I can.
“You need another one?”
“I haven’t decided yet. It’s pretty busy in here.”
“You’re not kidding. That time of day.”
“You’re keeping up though, it’s kind of impressive.”
His smile is charming. I bet it gets him a lot of tips. “You’re watching me, huh?”
“Nothing else interesting around here.”
There’s a beat where he considers me. This man’s probably been hit on a thousand times since he started working here by all sorts of men and women. The idea that he might not be interested in me doesn’t even compute. This Annie-character can’t imagine a man who doesn’t want to fuck her.
I lean forward. His eyes drop to my chest like I knew they would. I don’t mind, not at all. I’m almost begging him to look. When he meets my gaze again, he sees a woman who likes the attention.
That seals it.
“Let me get you another. On the house.”
“That’s really nice of you, thanks.” I bite back the temptation to ask his name. Annie would be more patient. I watch as he makes the drink and brings it back.
“Justin,” he says, sliding it over. “What’s your name?”
From the corner of my eye, I spot him, like a flower unfolding in moonlight. Brenden’s there leaning across the bar, watching me with a massive smirk. It takes a lot of self-control not to jolt in shocked recognition, but instead I stay in character, only barely.
“I’m Annie. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You work around here?”
“I’m a CPA at a firm nearby. I’ve never been in here before.”
“Stick around. The crowd thins in about an hour.” He gives me another lingering look before moving off to take more orders. Brenden pulls back and nobody acts like they noticed anything out of the ordinary at all.
Vindication floods me.
For some reason I thought this would be a lot harder. I’m glowing with joy, excited that I passed his test and did it on my terms with no help at all. I had to do some light flirting, but so what? It worked, and that’s all I care about.
I’m beaming as I finish off my drink and walk casually from the bar.
I wonder if Justin even noticed me leaving?
Not that it matters, but a part of me liked the way he looked at me, or at least it made me feel like I could play the role if I had to.
I don’t think I’d want to be like Annie all the time, but for a few hours?
Maybe a whole night? I could handle that.
I step out onto the sidewalk and breathe the fresh air. I don’t remember the last time I pulled off something like that. Maybe not since school. There aren’t many opportunities to feel useful in my family, especially when they treat girls like we’re just bodies to be sold off.
And now that I’ve been bought, what good am I?
“I didn’t think you’d pull it off.”
Brenden’s voice makes me jump. He’s standing at the mouth of a nearby alley watching with hooded eyes. He doesn’t seem happy.
A flutter runs through my stomach.
“You should’ve had more faith then. Are you im—“ He turns and walks away before I can finish, disappearing into the gloom behind him. “Hey! Wait a second!”
I hurry after my husband. Why the hell is he storming off like that? When I won his stupid game?
He’s up ahead, paused halfway down tucked against a closed metal door. I approach, annoyed he dragged me in here for no reason. It smells like stagnant water and fresh trash.
“You should be pinning a medal on my chest for that performance,” I tell him angrily, stopping a few feet away. “Seriously, I demolished your stupid little test. You really thought that would be hard?”
“I thought you’d struggle.”
“Why? All I had to do was get one name. What were you even doing in there, anyway?”
He holds out a fist. It’s clenched around something. “Come get your prize and find out.”
The way he says it doesn’t make me feel good.
I sense a trap, but I don’t know what sort. Brenden’s not going to hurt me. I did everything he asked, and I think I did it very well. I got the bartender’s name without being suspicious about it. If Justin remembers me when his shift is over, he’ll remember my alter-ego, Annie the CPA.
It worked flawlessly. So why does he look upset?
I tentatively move closer. “What kind of prize are we talking about?”
“Something for you.” He remains still, drawing me nearer. I reach my hand to him, palm up.
He drops a simple metal bottle opener into my hand.
“What’s this?”
“It’s what I took.”
I’m about to inspect it when he catches my wrist. I yelp in surprise as he drags me toward him, turning in one smooth motion to pin me against the door. It thuds with a dull boom and rust flutters around me like snowflakes. His mouth is inches from mine, his lips pulled back into a pained snarl.
“What the hell?!” I gasp the words, struggling against him, but he’s got me immobile.
His massive body pins me, his thigh between my legs, his hands gripping my wrists and holding them above my head.
I’m breathing fast, my breasts rising and falling against him, and my stomach does another lurch, this time with a mixture of fear and lust.
I love it when he’s this close.
But he scares the heck out of me.
“You did what I asked, darling wife, but you did it all wrong.”
I lift my chin and struggle to hold on to some measure of defiance. “You never gave me any rules.”
“You flirted with him.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “So what?!”
“You’re my wife, and you flirted with some worthless bartender.”