Ambushed by M.E. McAndrews
Chapter 12
Olivia
restaurant, and I'm immediately struck by the elegance of the space, even though Bobby warned me about what a snobby place this is. I take a deep breath as I step inside. This is really happening. I shouldn’t have expected anything but extreme grandeur when it came to Austin Blackwater. His house is something you would only see in a movie, and this restaurant is par for the course.
The walls are covered in a rich shade of burgundy, and the lighting is a warm subtle yellowish red, casting a golden glow over the room. The floors are gleaming hardwood, and the tables are dressed with crisp white linens.
Fragrant scents of herbs and spices fill the room, and my belly grumbles in response. Though I’m unsure if it’s indigestion or just nerves. The waitstaff, dressed in immaculate black and white, moves with grace and precision as they attend to the diners. The dining room is filled with the sound of quiet conversation interrupted by occasional clinking of silverware on plates.
I feel a little out of place in my plain pale blue sundress. The thin straps crisscross over my shoulders, tied in a bow at the top of my back. The hem stops just above my knees.
Everyone else here looks like they've come straight from a movie set. My nerves constrict in my throat, and I try not to let it show as I take a deep breath and make my way over to the hostess stand.
I'm here to have lunch with Austin, and I want to make a good impression. I take a deep breath and smooth down my hair. The hostess, a young woman in a skintight black dress smiles. That's when I hear his voice, ringing from behind me.
“She's with me,” Austin says. I turn around to see him walking toward me, a confident smile on his face, and I can feel my heart race with anxiety. I really do not want to be here, but he strongly insinuated that he’d have Bobby fire me if I didn’t show up.
He looks handsome in his suit, and whoever styled his hair is a master of their craft. I can tell he has made an effort to look his best for our meeting. I can't help but feel a flutter of something—excitement? anticipation? Mixed in with intense anxiety and nervousness.
He approaches me, his eyes meeting mine, and a twinge of annoyance rushes in to add to the complicated smorgasbord of emotions running through me. Despite his charming smile and well-dressed appearance, I just can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s up to something. I tense up as he approaches, ready for another round of his bullshit.
“Olivia,” he says, his voice all cheery and friendly. “You look beautiful today.” There’s not even a hint of honesty in his voice. I try to keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's getting to me.
“Thank you,” I say in a short monotone.
He extends his arm, and I stare for a moment. Do I touch him? The weight of the hostess's eyes bears down on me. I don't want to make this more awkward than it already is, so I gingerly take his arm, allowing him to lead me to our table. The other diners watch us, wondering who the hell is the plain woman with Austin Blackwater.
Just his poor neighbor. Trust me, it's nothing worth getting excited over.
He pulls my chair out for me and I sit down, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze. I can tell he's trying to be a gentleman, but it just doesn't work on me. I still don't trust him, and I'm pretty sure I never will.
I grip the menu tightly, lifting it in front of my face. I can't read a damn word on here. Everything's in script. And in French.
I crane my neck to look over the top of the menu and meet his eyes. He's staring at me, his eyes sparkling, and his lips turned up in that infuriating cat-with-a-canary smile. I look up at the ceiling, trying to suppress my disgust. Why did I ever agree to this? There’s no way my bartending job is worth this.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks.
I don't respond, lost in my own mind and nerves.
“Olivia? Olivia!” he says again, this time a little louder.
“What?”
“Drink. Do you want one?” He motions to the server standing patiently at the table’s edge.
“Uh, yeah. I'd like a glass of water, please.”
“This is one of the nicest restaurants in town and you want water?”
“Yes,” I respond, annoyed. “That’s what I said.”
“Okay.”
“This is no problem,” the waiter says with a kind smile, as he hurries to the waiters’ stand. He returns, filling my water glass from the pitcher in his hand.
Austin clears his throat, setting the drink menu down. “I'll have a Bellini.”
The waiter nods and walks away, and I raise my brows.
“That's interesting,” I say.
“What?”
I shrug, taking a sip of water. My fingers play with the crystal stem.
“You don't strike me as a fruity cocktail kind of guy.”
He tilts his head. “Why not?”
“You know, I don't know. It just seems out of character. I just picture you drinking scotch or a martini or something.”
“I do drink those, occasionally. But I enjoy a good cocktail,” he says. “And it seems to be the only way to get a good ripe peach.”
I laugh. “Oh, you enjoy a good cocktail, do you?” I grin, trying to make a joke. He looks at me for a second.
“Yes, I do.” He pauses. “And what kind of guy do I strike you as, Olivia?”
“You don't want me to answer that.”
He shrugs, taking a sip of his water, then flashes me a brilliant smile as my fingers tighten their grip on the glass.
“Don't think you know anything about me. You'll just have to find out.”
“Please,” I roll my eyes. “Don't flatter yourself.” I gesture to the beautiful restaurant around us. “This doesn't work on me.”
“Makes two of us, then.”
The waiter delivers Austin’s fruit juice cocktail and pulls out a notebook. “Are you ready to order?”
“Is there anything in particular you're interested in trying?” Austin gestures to the menu.
I nod, my annoyance growing. I've never been to a place like this, and I wouldn’t have a clue what to order. Even if I could read the menu. God, I'm embarrassed. But also happy that I don't fit into his world.
“I'm not sure,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
He studies my face as he reaches for the menu. “Let me help you.” His voice is rugged, his eyes dark. “What are you in the mood for?” Suddenly, I notice for the first time the defined veins trailing down his forearms to his muscular hands that hold the menu.
“Something light,” I mumble.
“Like a salad or fish?”
“Fish would be good.” I feel like a child. He turns to the waiter and orders in what might be perfect French before returning his gaze back to me as the waiter leaves the table.
“Cheers,” he says, raising his glass.
“Mm hmm.” I don’t raise my glass to him, but instead lift it to my lips for a sip.
He sips his drink, eyes staring at me over the rim of his glass. A long, painful silence smolders between us.
I shift in my seat, nervous, wanting to get this over with. To me, this whole thing feels like a trap. Like he's up to something. I've already gotten to know him a little, and I don't have to be a genius to see that he's a man with a plan. And I don't think I want to be a part of that plan.
“So, how's your day going?” he asks casually. He's trying to make small talk, but the conversation is forced and stilted. I take another sip of water, trying to think of something benign to say. I need to be polite, but it's hard when I don't like or trust him. I raise my brow.
I shrug. Bite me. I think to myself. “It's okay. Not as exciting as yours, I'm sure.” I attempt to smile, but I'm met with his raised brows.
“Why, Olivia, are you jealous of my exciting life?”
I roll my eyes. “Jealous? Of what? Your fancy cars? Your suits? Your responsibilities? Please, I don't want your life,” I say dismissively, lifting my glass to my lips.
“Then what do you want?”
I stare at him for a moment. My eyes lower to the table.
“Olivia,” he continues, his voice smooth. “You seem like a nice girl. You're hard-working, and you want to get ahead to make something of yourself.” Gentle laughter leaves his lips, but I'm not amused. “But you're not sure what you want.”
I purse my lips, my hands gripping the bottom of my glass. My heart beats faster and I feel like I'm fighting an internal battle. But I'm not falling for it. I know what he wants, and I won’t give it to him that easily. I may be at this fancy restaurant with him, but I won’t let my guard down. Not yet anyway. “You know, Austin, I know you’re not really interested in anything I have to say or how my day went.”
He leans back, tilting his chin. “That’s not true.”
I sigh, placing my elbows on the table and fold my hands together. I lean forward and look at him, trying to figure out what's going on here. He's more interested in getting me to like him, to trust him. I can see it in the way he looks at me, the way he leans in a little too close. The way he chooses his words so carefully.
“I thought we were here to talk about my house,” I say. I turn my head slightly and look away. “You know, the thing you wanted to talk to me about, getting me to give up my house. And my land.” I can't help but notice the way he looks at me, like he's trying to see into my soul. His piercing blue eyes seem to search for something, but whatever it is, I can’t let him find it.
He has the gall to look surprised. My eyes narrow. “Austin, what are you up to? Is there something else you want from me?”
He takes a deep breath, then looks at me and shakes his head. “Olivia, I swear I'm not up to anything,” he says.
He leans forward, his face serious. I take a sip of my water, then clear my throat. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s fine. Contrary to what you might think, I consider myself to be an open and upfront person, and I thought this would be a good chance for next-door neighbors to get to know each other better. Then, we can talk about your land. If you’d like.” I look up at him and notice he's staring straight ahead, his expression serious and his jaw set in a hard line. “Do you have something against lunch?” he asks.
I don’t respond, and his eyes widen. “We're not allowed to enjoy ourselves in this town?” he petitions, arching his brow. “Is it illegal to sit in a restaurant and have a meal in a civilized manner?”
“Yes,” I say, sipping my water. “It's illegal.”
He laughs. I can't help but feel a tingle jolt through my body when he does. I peel my eyes away, knowing that I'm enjoying his laugh, but that I need to be wary of him.
“So, go on. Arrest me,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Otherwise, let’s just enjoy some lunch and chat.”
“So, this isn’t about the bar?”
He shrugs as if it’s not even a thought. “Maybe, I haven’t decided. Depends on how good a girl you are.”
“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.”
“Olivia, why are you so tense? What are you afraid of?”
“Being stuck here with you.”
He motions toward the door. “You’re free to walk away, but something tells me you won’t. Not yet.”
I take another sip of my water, then set the glass down. “Well, I'm here now,” I say, forcing a fake smile. “Let's see where this goes.”
The waiter returns with our food, refilling my water glass before leaving the table.
“Bon appetite,” Austin says, lifting his fork. I lift my fork to take a bite. There’s no denying it’s delicious. Maybe the best fish I’ve ever had, but I don’t have much of an appetite—not with him sitting across from me.
“So, tell me, since we’re in the business of getting to know each other,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Why the hell do you want my property so bad?”
“My company owns everything else on the mountain. The entire subdivision around you,” he says, his voice calm and collected. “Your land is probably the crown jewel of the entire area, with long valley views and multiple great building locations. Your old house doesn’t fit in, and frankly, it’s falling apart. That land’s a piece of prime real estate, and I want to give it the proper attention it deserves. Which means tearing down that health hazard you’re living in and building a few houses more in line with the new neighborhood.”
I take a deep breath as I digest his words. Crown Jewel. Prime Real Estate. TEAR DOWN. Austin may have money and power, but this land means everything to me. And I was born in that house he just called a “health hazard.”
“That ‘health hazard’ was my parents’ home,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It's the last bit of my family I have left. I can't just let you destroy it.”
“No. Not destroy it, build on it. Enhance the value.”
The air between us grows so tense it becomes thick enough to cut with the steak knife in Austin’s hand, and I can feel my anger rising. I grip the edge of the table, trying to calm myself.
“You don't understand,” I say, my voice growing louder. “This is my childhood home. Not only was I raised in that house, I was born there. No way.”
Austin leans forward, a determined look in his eyes.
“But don't you see? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I can offer you more than you could ever imagine. Think of the new home you could buy with the money.”
I shake my head, tears forming in my eyes. “It's not about the money,” I say. “This is my home, my family. You can't just come in here and take it from me.”
Austin's expression turns to one of frustration, and I can see that he will not back down. “I'm not trying to take anything away from you,” he says. “I just want to help you, to make your miserable life better. Isn’t that what your parents would have wanted for you? To escape your debt? To get out from the exorbitant property taxes? Why the hell would you want to stay in a house where your husband died?”
But I can't listen to him anymore. I push my chair back from the table and pick up my glass of water, my hand shaking with fury. I lift it up, and before I can even think, I step around to the other side of the table and dump it over the top of his head.
“How dare you talk about my husband,” I snap, my voice trembling with anger. “That house is everything I have left of my family, and I won't let someone like you destroy it.”
Austin's eyes widen, the water streaming down his face, saturating his shirt. He remains silent, and for a moment I stare at him, the animosity and tension between us as thick as molasses.
And as suddenly as it appeared, my anger disappears; replaced by utter embarrassment, realizing what I just did. All eyes are on us now. On me, mostly. I gather my things and rush out of the restaurant, my heart pounding and my emotions in turmoil. I can't believe what just happened, and I don't know how I'll ever be able to step outside of my house again; knowing that he will see my every move from across the street.