‘Okay, Naughty Elf, spill!’
I look back to Coco and weigh up the very last barrier: I told Jackson I would keep it a secret. But that was before he broke our pact and blanked me. He doesn’t get to make demands of me now.
I’ll be making them of him later though. I’m not leaving without an explanation.
And if I have to pin him down to do it, so help me God, I will.
* * *
I stare at my screen harder, hovering over the keypad like my work is the most important thing in the world. And all because the person who actually wears that crown is sitting at the other end of the bar and driving me crazy.
I’ve not touched the whisky I poured. I’ve consumed the one drink Bates poured and won’t dare touch another drop because Cait is drinking enough for the two of us.
The only saving grace is that they haven’t left the bar...and I use that term loosely because, although it means Cait is still with Coco and just Coco, every time she wants to be served my vantage point treats me to her thrusted cleavage angled over the bar top and I swear to God it’s intentional.
She wants to wind me up. She wants to tease. She wants to have me sitting here rock-hard for her. The way she pinches her lower lip with her teeth as she makes her next cheeky request of my bar staff and sends me a grin to match shows she knows exactly what she’s doing. And the more I know it, the more I try to resist looking. But hell, I can’t.
And I know she’s filling Coco in on what went down. I know it. Despite our agreement to keep it between us. Four months she keeps it to herself—I know she has because Ash would have collared me already—and then she comes in here and chooses now to confess.
I want to think Cait’s filtering out the worst, but with the drinks she’s consumed and the way Coco’s green gaze glitters at me too frequently to miss now, I’m not so sure she is. Fuck.
I should leave. Now. Nothing worse than a scorned woman, several cocktails under. No, make that a scorned woman with her best mate and they’re both several cocktails under.
I definitely need to make myself scarce and save the face-to-face for a private showdown because there’s no way Coco’s going to let me off lightly. I’m surprised Cait hasn’t come knocking long before now, just to put me in my place. Hell, maybe that’s what worries me most. When I put aside my own feeling of loss, maybe what really has me worried is that confident, outspoken, kick-ass Cait shied away like some wallflower and I did that to her.
I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to ease the tension pulling my shoulders together and the dead weight settling in my gut.
Leave.
I can’t do it. I deserve whatever I have coming.
And, if I’m honest, after four months of nothing, being in the same room as her is...exhilarating.
Exhilarating and risky.
I may hate Christmas but I have to admit the way the festive duo stand out in the softly lit room with its grey sofas, glass tables and warm wood—no Christmas tree, no baubles, no fairy lights in sight—is eye-catching.
And that’s before you take into account the appeal behind the costumes.
Coco, the statuesque blonde with a haughty air that masks the softness inside.
Cait, the petite redhead with enough fire for two and the most amazing, lithe, supple... My groin fires to life anew. Shit. I need to get this under control.
She moves again and my eyes lift to her. She’s beckoning Bates over, the fingers of one hand trailing up and down the strap that runs around her neck and down to the curve of her breasts. My eyes trace the move, up and down, a slow, teasing caress that has my mouth drying and my cock throbbing. She can’t seriously need another drink already...
Bates nods and gets to work. It seems she does.
Someone else approaches the bar and takes them in. Dex, a new client, an investment banker, and slick with it. I don’t breathe as I wait, my hands fisting over the keys of my laptop. Is he manoeuvring in, or is he purely there for a drink? He won’t have met Coco and Cait before, not unless he knows them outside of Blacks, and either way, he needs to know they’re unavailable.
But I have no hold over Cait and I deserve this hell. Dex has a right to fill that role. Me, on the other hand... My eyes go back to Dex just an arm’s reach down from Cait, watch him eye her up, and my jaw pulses—
‘Boss...’ Pippa, one of our waitresses, leans on the bar beside me, her pixie hairdo blocking my view. She’s worked for me for years and knows me well enough to give the disapproving frown she’s currently directing at me. ‘You wanna stop with the death stare, before you scare our customers away.’
I shake my head and take a breath. ‘Sorry. Distracted.’
She flicks Cait a look. ‘Yeah, that much is obvious. And the way she keeps checking you out, she is too. Girl’s got it bad.’
My laugh is harsh. ‘Hardly. She’s pissed off with me more like.’