Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 10
Olivia
the only sounds come from the clinking of glasses and the endless twangy drone of country music. The lights are dim, casting an anemic glow over the room. It’s empty except for a few stragglers nursing their drinks, lost in their own thoughts. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, but it's not unpleasant. It's a familiar smell, one that brings back many memories of late nights and laughter. In years past, Seth would have come out and entertained me through the last hours of my shift. But he had stopped doing that quite some time before his passing.
I was slinging drinks at the bar earlier, but the usual busy crowd didn’t materialize, so it’s been a very slow night. I'm behind the bar wiping down glasses and counting the till. I’m not the only one who didn’t make any money tonight. It’s so slow we can barely pay to keep the lights on.
I glance at the clock frequently, willing the time to go by faster. I’m exhausted, and the thought of struggling through the rest of my shift is daunting. It’s going to be a long night, but I push the thought aside and focus on making the best of it, greeting each rare new customer with a smile. I try to keep my spirits up, but the tips just aren’t coming.
At least that weirdo dude has yet to show up again. I can’t tell which would be worse, seeing him here or Austin.
I'm lost in my thoughts, barely registering the surrounding sounds, when the door opens. I look up and see a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the bright streetlights outside.
Speak of the devil.
Austin.
He approaches the bar, his steps intentional and confident. My heart rate quickens, my mind immediately jumping to the last time I had seen him. Remembering the way he checked me out sends a shiver down my spine. I try to ignore it, to push it aside, but it's not so easy.
Why the hell is he here?
As I tend to the two other customers, I sense his gaze lingering on me. Austin takes a seat at the bar. I try to ignore him, focusing on pouring drinks and making small talk with the others. But I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me, studying me.
As I make my way along the bar, I catch his eyes following me, and I know that I have to put some distance between us. I retreat to the safety of the kitchen, trying to shake the unease that has taken the place of the unbearable boredom of only moments ago.
He clearly came here for me, not the bar. This is definitely not his kind of place. My stomach sinks. What kind of sick game is he playing?
Did he do this on purpose to corner me? Sick bastard. I know my manager Bobby won’t have my back on this. Bartender versus billionaire. Who do you think wins? Every time.
I can't help but wonder what it is he wants, and why he's so intent on getting closer to me. But then I hear the buzz of excitement coming from the bar. My coworkers are talking and pointing, their faces filled with anticipation. They can’t believe “the Austin Blackwater” is here and how he looks even better in person than he does on TV or on a magazine cover. I roll my eyes in disgust.
A crowd of servers gathers inside the kitchen, peering through the tiny windows of the swinging doors that lead to the dining room and bar area.
“Oh my god, he’s so fucking hot,” one squeals.
I glance through the window. Bobby is standing behind Austin, and he speaks in hushed tones before turning and walking directly toward the kitchen door. The door swings open and Bobby comes in, scanning the kitchen. His eyes turn back to Austin in the bar for a moment before they land on me.
His face breaks into a smile as he approaches. “Olivia, there you are! I've been looking all over for you,” he says. “Mr. Blackwater would like to see you.”
“Of course he would.”
“Oh my god! Look at you,” a waitress sighs from the prep counter.
Bobby gives me an encouraging smile before heading back to his post, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This bastard is playing games with me. I freeze up for a moment before coming back to my senses. With trembling hands, I grab an apron and slip it on before making my way out to the bar.
“Hey there,” he says, his voice low and smooth. People are looking at us curiously as we stand there together, and I can hear them whispering about Austin Blackwater, the sexy billionaire sitting at their bar.
Austin looks at me expectantly, his eyes searching mine for some sign of recognition or understanding.
“Hey,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. He looks different tonight, more casual and relaxed than I’ve seen him before. He's wearing a simple T-shirt that fits skintight against his pectorals and his six-pack abs, with a pair of jeans that hug his body perfectly. His hair is tousled, like he just got out of bed, and there's a hint of stubble on his chin.
He has a way of looking at me that makes my skin tingle. It makes me feel seen, like he's really noticing me. I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, but it's difficult.
There's something about Austin Blackwater that I can't quite put my finger on. He's charming, yes, but there's a hint of something else, something that makes me feel like I need to keep up my guard. Despite the uncertain feelings, I am drawn to him. To the way he moves and the deep timbre of his voice. I am drawn by the magnetism he exudes. I know I need to resist it, but I don’t want to.
“I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me sometime?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
“What?” I don’t think I heard him right. He clears his throat.
“I asked if you wanted to meet me for lunch some time.”
I stare at him while my mind tries to understand what I’m hearing. This asshole, the one that keeps interrupting my life, shows up at my work for no reason, acting like we’re friends. Who is this ass clown?
I shake my head. “I'm not interested.” I turn away from him to grab a clean glass.
But Austin doesn't take the hint. He points at the empty glass in front of him. “I’d like a refill, please.”
I stare at him, and then at the glass. “What do you want, Austin?”
He leans forward with a wicked, menacing grin. “Well, I’m not sure. What does the lovely bartender recommend?”
“That you get the hell out of here.”
“I know things have been tough for you lately,” he says in a low voice. “But there’s no need to take it out on your customers.”
Bobby is staring at me through the kitchen door. I can’t make a scene, so I grimace and turn back to Austin, my eyebrows raised. “How about a nice ale?” I say, my insipid voice dripping with disdain and venom as I pour him the glass. I let most of it turn to foam, and slam the glass down in front of him, letting foam spill over onto the bar. Some of it splashes onto his shirt and his lap.
“Wow,” he sighs, examining the glass for a moment. “I didn’t think the service here was so…” he searches for the word. “Aggressive.”
“Austin, why are you here?”
“For a drink.”
“Please don’t bullshit me,” I say. My voice is almost pleading.
“I wanted to see where my sweet neighbor works. I know you’re struggling financially.”
I feel my cheeks flush with anger. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Austin holds up his hands, a look of surprise on his face. “Whoa, is making friendly conversation with my bartender a problem?”
“Nothing about this is friendly.” I turn my back to the bar, my hands shaking. I can feel Austin's eyes on me, but I don't turn around. I won't let him see how much he's affected me.
Then I hear it. Glass shattering on the floor. My back tenses, and I freeze.
“Sorry,” Austin says. My teeth grind together as I turn around and watch the amber liquid pooling on the floor. His dark eyes lock onto mine.
Screw you. I go to the maintenance closet and get the mop to soak up the spilled drink. He watches me, evidently entertained, as I serve him by cleaning up his mess.
“There’s something exciting about watching a woman cleaning,” he says. I whip around, clutching the mop handle, and it takes every ounce of my control not to break it over his head.
He smiles, raising his brows.
“What?” He feigns innocence, but every word from his mouth is meant to piss me the hell off. He wants me riled. The bastard. I don’t respond. Instead, I pick up several shards of the broken glass and throw them with more force than necessary into the bottom of the metal waste basket. The lonely man at the other end of the bar lifts his eyes from his drink for the first time this evening at the sound of shattering glass on metal when the largest pieces crash at the bottom of the basket.
“I'm going to get some fresh air,” I mutter. I don't turn around to see his response, to see if he's watching me walk toward the kitchen. I don't want to know if his eyes are following me. I ignore my co-workers who try to ask what he wanted or what he said.
They can figure it out on their own. “Go talk to him yourself,” I tell them, pushing the back door of the kitchen open.
The night air is cool, and pinpoints of light fill the dark navy sky. I draw in a deep breath. Hopefully, he'll be gone by the time I go back inside, but my hopes are crushed when I hear the familiar voice.
“Olivia,” Austin says, jogging over to me from the front of the building. He's breathing hard, his cheeks flushed, and a lock of hair falls across his forehead.
“What do you want now?” I ask, my voice cold. I'm so beyond annoyed that I want to run away.
“I just spoke to your manager. Bobby, is it?”
My mind is racing, and I can't seem to form a response. I eye him, my eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I apologized for upsetting you and suggested as an apology you come to lunch with me.”
“What?”
He shrugs.
“Bobby seemed to think it was a lovely idea. In fact, I already spoke to the current owner, since I’m interested in purchasing this property. And I came up with an idea—maybe I should speak to some of the employees before I make the investment, to get a feel for the business.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“They suggested some of the other servers, but I said no. I’d like to talk to Olivia Williams.”
“Is that why you asked me to lunch?” I repeat.
He nods, stepping toward me. “Yes. Well, technically I’m not asking. You and I are getting lunch tomorrow. Bobby already found someone who will cover your lunch shift for whatever day I say.”
I grimace. I can see them now, all the women of the world. Lined up, dreaming of their chance for a date with this man, jockeying to hook up with Austin Blackwater. Instead, he's standing outside a hole in the wall bar, not giving me a choice.
I take a deep breath.
Austin steps toward me, and my heart pounds against my chest. From the corner of my eye, I see Bobby stick his head out the door, scowling at me.
Shit.
“I have to go back,” I say, turning, but his hand catches my shoulder.
“We're not done here.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “If I say yes, will you leave me the hell alone?”
He nods and his mouth curves into another roguish smile. “Of course, and if you say no, well, then…” his voice trails off as he runs a hand along the stubble on his chin. “You and your manager can discuss your future at the bar.”
“Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
He shrugs. “It’s just lunch, Olivia. One hour.”
I’m backed into a corner. “Fine,” I say. “I’m going back to work now.”
But as I turn away, a load of regret swells inside me. He's just playing a game; I repeat in my mind. A terribly manipulative game. One that I can’t let myself be fooled by. Why the hell he wants to take me out is beyond any reasoning, but clearly, he’s got an agenda.
I take one last glance over my shoulder. He’s still watching me with that same haunting gaze. The one he used to give Seth.