7. Connor
Connor
T he DJ spins his latest mixes, expertly weaving together a mesmerizing soundtrack to tonight’s debauchery.
People squeeze onto the dance floor to undulate and grind, seeing, being seen.
They’re leaving everything behind for a few hours in a haze of bodies and alcohol.
Every table and available inch of floor space is packed, and a quick glance out the door shows me a line around the block of would-be partiers waiting to get in.
It’s a record night for the club, and a quick check with my security guys shows everything’s running smoothly.
Exactly as it should be at Intrigue. Just the way I set it up.
So why the hell am I so on edge? Again. I pull out my phone and quickly check the screen.
Still nothing.
“Hey, boss.” It’s Sully, standing next to me. He’s vigilantly scanning the crowd and won’t make eye contact, but I can see an eyebrow raised. A shit-eating grin on his face.
“If she ain’t called yet, she’s probably not going to.”
“Fuck off, Sully.”
He’s right. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen Ava. Over a week since she ran out of my place. She took my card, so I know she has my number. She’ll call when she’s ready.
But maybe I’m not ready to wait any longer.
I don’t have her number, but I could get it. I know where she works, where she goes to school. It’d be easy enough to track her down. Check on her. Make sure she’s safe and if I’m honest with myself, just see her again.
But what would that make me? Another fucking stalker.
I don’t want to pressure her. And I don’t have time to take this further. I’ve got my own shit to deal with. If there’s ever a time I need to keep my head straight, it’s now.
The week has been full of meetings about the family business, and for the first time, I’m wrestling with my future in a real way.
Intrigue’s one of the biggest money-makers in Doyle Enterprises.
But do I want to run this club forever? Giving my head a sharp shake, I look around again. Not going to solve every issue tonight.
My mind goes back to Ava. Something tells me that it’s all in with this girl. If I start things up with Ava, it’s going to get serious fast.
Trying to refocus, my thoughts drift again to her sitting in my kitchen. Sitting in my lap. Sleeping in my bed. Jesus, Doyle, pull it together. I can’t remember the last time a woman had an effect on me like this. Not ever, if I’m honest.
A group of giggling, long-legged blondes head my way and make small talk, interrupting my thoughts. One in particular works to get my attention. It’s all I can do to keep my smile flashing and my tone mildly interested.
Time to get the fuck out of here.
A few minutes later, I’m out in the cool night air. It’s a relief from the pulsating energy of the club.
What are you doing here, Connor?
My body seems to know instinctively, leaving my car next to the club and heading in the general direction of Gus’s Diner. Time for some shitty diner food, and maybe some excellent company if I luck out.
As I walk briskly, the neighborhood gets bad just a few minutes away from the club. Drunks. A lot of vacant areas. It’s no problem for me. People move out of the way fast for a big bruiser in a suit.
But I don’t like the idea of Ava working here. Walking around at night, alone, unprotected.
Frustrated, I run a hand through my hair. Keep it together. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Doyle. Way ahead of yourself.
A few minutes later, I’m standing outside a low-rent diner with a broken sign that cheerfully declares itself Gus’s.
Even in the dim light of the interior, it's easy to see that the place is grimy and tired.
A few patrons scattered at booths drink coffee or hunch together in conversation.
My eyes sweep the place but don't find Ava.
Only one way to see if she is here.
An old bell chimes over the door when I walk in. My eyes adjust to the light, and the few customers have turned to take me in. In my dark suit, I stand out in the casual crowd.Clearly, this is not a place I belong.
Honestly though, I’m probably more at home here on some level than I am in my own nightclub. I’d bussed tables at the Kildare since I was seven or eight. My family’s old neighborhood bar isn’t a big step up from this place.
A form moves behind the counter. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut and a sense of disappointment that washes over me as I take in the woman, older and frumpy with gray hair. Not my Ava.
My Ava?
I move toward the counter, jaw tight and frustration mounting.
At least I can ask when Ava works. Maybe get a phone number. But I'm not more than a few steps inside the diner when a familiar voice calls out softly from a corner booth.
"Connor?"
Just the sound of her voice sends a chill down my spine. It’s a sound that some part of me has been aching to hear for days.
Seeing her knocks one kind of tension out of me, and kicks another one into gear.
She sits in a huge booth alone, a thick book and note paper spread out before her.
A few seconds ago she was clearly engrossed in something important.
Her dark glossy hair is caught up in a ponytail, and even though she's wearing a ridiculous diner uniform that could have been dragged out of the 1950s, she's absolutely gorgeous.
Jesus, why did I wait this long?
She quickly slides out of the booth, gracefully rising to her feet. She heads in my direction, a concerned look marring her beautiful features.
"Hey, is everything okay?"
Before I can respond, she flushes. Hot pink starts at the top of her collar and quickly creeps to her cheeks. For a second, all I can think is how much I like seeing her with a flush on her cheeks. How I could do other things to make her flush.
"Oh my God, your jersey. I washed that and was absolutely going to return it," she rushes on.
"I am not here about a goddamn shirt." The frustration from the last week, the intensity of the physical reaction I'm feeling toward her, is all wrapped up in my voice. It sounds harsh.
She takes a quick step back, shock momentarily registering on her face, but it’s gone fast. The practiced mask drops down, and I hate myself instantly for sparking that. Shaking my head, I run a hand across my jaw. Even though I just shaved a few hours ago, bristles already stab at my fingers.
Moments pass. What the hell was I thinking?
I take a deep breath. Let’s try this again.
"Hi, Ava," I say. The thrill of being close to her takes hold, and a genuine smile lights my face. God, she must think I’m such a creep, grinning like a jackass after snapping at her. My smile drops. “I’m sorry,” I say.
"Let’s start over. I'm not here about the shirt, I promise. Actually, I came here to see you and see how you’re doing," That’s not what I expected to say; usually I’d be prepared with something charming or witty.
Definitely not something that honest or straightforward.
Or pathetic? I hope it doesn’t sound that way.
A few terrifying seconds pass before her lips curve into a small smile. Seeing her warm to me is all the encouragement I need, and the dopey grin returns to my face.
"I’m on break for another ten minutes," she glances at the clock. "Join me?"
Sitting down across from her, I try not to look too closely at how battered the book is. At the dark circles under her eyes. My hands clench, as I fight just to focus on her face.
"How are you?" Again my voice is more intense than I intended. But I have to know.
Even though the bruises on her face and wrist are healed, it’s hard to keep focused on her now.
Here. All I can see for a second is her outside the club, the panic I’d felt as I fought to get to her.
The fear that had risen in my throat like bile as her face had melted – for just a second – into the face of someone else I’d fought to protect and failed.
I won’t fail again.
"I’m fine," she says quickly.
Our eyes meet, and damn it if my breath doesn't catch when those huge green eyes widen. Our chemistry is unbelievable. My body already has some ideas for what it would like to do.
Impulsively, I reach out and catch her hand in mine. It’s small, but strong. She has calluses from her work, and her nails aren't manicured. Somehow, the realness of that adds another layer to her appeal. Though everything in me wants to drag her out of this place and never let her come back.
"Tell me," I say intently. Keeping my voice low and cool, inviting her to confide in me. "That little sh— Any problems from Stacy?"
She instantly tenses up, color draining from her face and her demeanor shifting back to anxious. Just at the mention of his name. When I get my hands on him, I am going to methodically make him regret every negative thought or action that he ever directed at this woman.
"It’s been fine. The usual, but nothing like the other night. Thank you again, for everything…" She glances away almost shyly. But then she shows a flash, hint of the passion and independence that I sense just beneath the surface.
She cuts her eyes back to me and bites her lip just a little. At first it looks like a totally innocent gesture, but her eyes have a certain sparkle when they meet mine. Jesus. My cock hardens as if on command. There are depths here I’m only beginning to understand.
"It is really good to see you, Connor," her foot grazes mine under the table. Christ.
"Can we get out of here?" There is an edge to my voice that sounds almost pleading, even to my own ears. That’s not why I came here. Well, not entirely.
Her expression softens. "Unfortunately not."
She looks back at the clock. "In fact, I have to get back to work. I'm late—and I have another two hours on shift."
"I'll wait." Leaning back, I cross my arms over my chest. My brothers call me stubborn. I prefer focused.
She laughs, but it fades as her eyes skim over me. "Look, Connor, it's really great to see you, but…"