I pour a little of the mix and then shake again... Pour, shake.
Concentrate on the drink.
‘So come on—tell me,’ she says. ‘How did you learn to do this?’
I almost breathe a sigh of relief, grateful for the question, even if it does mean talking about the past. It beats the internal moral debate and self-loathing that came before it. And, hell, I know everything about her—she deserves to know something of me.
The idea soothes my torment.
‘Jackson and I worked the bars together when we were younger. He was plotting his empire and I—well, I just needed to bring in some cash.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘It was.’
If I didn’t think about all the shit going down at home: my family’s assets being seized, our bank accounts frozen, my university degree forgotten since we had no money to pay for it.
She spins on the bar stool and takes a good look around the room, the high ceiling, the industrial-inspired lighting with black cabling and copper dome lights, the raw wood cupboards against exposed brick walls. It’s all designer, high-end, and I anticipate her question before she even asks.
‘Something tells me it’s not what you do now, though. So what is it, Ash? Software engineer? Financial genius? Entrepreneur?’
My neck prickles with the impending lie that I don’t want to tell. ‘This and that.’
‘This and that...?’ Her brow lifts as she mimics me. ‘How very specific... Hmm, let me think...’
I can’t help but smile. Does she know her nose wrinkles like a rabbit’s when she’s thinking?
I turn and open the cupboard in which I keep the coffee beans. Taking a couple out, I place one on top of each drink and offer her a glass.
She takes it from me with a cheeky grin. ‘It certainly looks the part.’
And then she sips it and I’m lost in the movement. I almost forget the tricky terrain she has hit with her questioning, but then her eyes are open again, pinning me with their inquisitive stare.
I look away and take up my own drink, needing the hit of alcohol, the confidence to navigate what’s coming.
‘If not for all this I’d say you were in the military—or the police, even...’ She tilts her head to one side and her shirt slips a little, stopping at the curve of her shoulder and teasing me with a hint of collarbone that I want to follow with my fingertips, my tongue.
‘What makes you say that?’ I ask, dragging my eyes back to hers.
‘There’s your physique for starters.’ She gives me a coy smile. ‘You’re too fit for a desk job.’
I give a short laugh. ‘I think there are plenty of businessmen who’d beg to differ.’
She waves a dismissive hand. ‘I’ve met plenty of businessmen and none of them are your Christian Grey variety.’
‘Christian Grey?’ I frown.
‘Fifty Shades? You know—Christian Grey, the sexy billionaire who’d have your knickers around your ankles and you tied to a bed quicker than you could beg for it.’
‘Well, I’m safe. Knickers aren’t part of my wardrobe.’
She rewards me with a laugh that has something inside my chest expanding so fast I can’t breathe and my ears straining to capture every last note.
‘I don’t think you’d be his type either,’ she murmurs, her eyes sparkling in the g
olden light of the kitchen. ‘But it’s not just that—you have this aura about you...a protective vibe. Like I told you earlier, it’s a security thing... Oh, my God, that’s it!’ Her eyes widen excitedly. ‘You’re a bodyguard!’
I laugh awkwardly. Christ, how I wish I was that right now. No secrets, no lies...