Power Play. Beverly Long
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make me real happy,” he said, his tone full of innuendo. The other goofballs at the table laughed, maybe a little uneasily.
She kept the polite, yet distant, smile on her face that she’d perfected when she’d started cocktailing. “Then, another round?” she asked.
He tapped the table, as if he couldn’t be bothered to speak. Great. She didn’t intend to talk to them any longer anyway. She’d let Hagney know that this trio had worn out their welcome. He’d deliver the bad news that there weren’t going to be any more drinks and they’d be gone by the time she got back with the strawberries.
She walked back to the bar and entered her orders. She ignored Trey Riker, who appeared to have ordered another drink. What the hell was he doing? He’d come, he’d checked and reported back to her brother. His work was done here.
She motioned for Hagney to lean close. Told him that his services were needed. “I’m going to run back and get the strawberries,” she said.
He nodded and cracked his knuckles. She winked at him.
The kitchen was behind the dining room. Bar staff were not supposed to cross the dining room, but rather, connect to the kitchen through the back hallway. It was rather inconvenient and required them to sidestep around customers on their way to the restroom, but she understood the rationale.
She was coming back, with two plates of delicious-looking chocolate-dipped strawberries, when it all went to hell. Table-tapper came out of the men’s room. He saw her and headed her way.
“Darling, I don’t like being told that my business isn’t wanted.”
“Happens to the best of us,” she said lightly. “Have a good evening,” she said, working to keep her tone even, polite. De-escalate. First rule of handling an unhappy customer.
Sometimes it didn’t work all that well with a drunk. And it looked as if this was one of those times. The man swaggered toward her. She tried to sidestep around him but he was faster on his feet than she anticipated. He grabbed her upper arm and swung her toward him. She lost her grip on the plates and heard them shatter over the roar in her ears.
He pushed her up against the wall, pushed himself against her and tried to kiss her. She screamed, knowing that it would be hard to be heard over the music in the bar and the noise in the kitchen. She flung her arms and tried to kick, but he had at least seventy-five pounds on her.
He gripped her chin hard. “Kiss me, damn you.”
No. No. No.
Trey Riker watched Kellie enter her drink orders into the computer. Then she said something to the bartender before disappearing through a swinging door. He sipped his second Scotch and watched the bartender lift the pass-through section of the bar and head directly to the drunks’ table. Whatever he said, they didn’t seem inclined to argue. One of them handed the bartender a credit card. He returned to the bar area, rang it up, and by the time he got back to the table, the trio was standing.
Then they were walking to the door. Good.
He turned on his stool. Could see them hanging out by the woman with the menus. They were ignoring her, just chatting. And then he realized they were a man short. And he got a bad feeling.
“Hey,” he said to the bartender. “Where does that door lead?”
“To the kitchen,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“No. There are restrooms, too. Entrance off the lobby,” he said and went to pour a drink.
Something told him to hurry.
He ran through the lobby and pushed open the door. He saw the drunk had Kellie pinned up against the wall, while he did his level best to grasp her breast. Trey charged down the hall and grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and whirled him around. The man’s shoulder knocked against the wall. Trey hit him hard enough to jar loose some teeth. Saw that he was down, and turned to Kellie.
She had her back pressed up against the wall, her palms splayed flat against the gray paint, as if she was hanging on. Her face was white.
He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to tell her that it would be okay, but he doubted that’s what she needed right then. “What can I do?” he asked gently.
“Get him out of here,” she said, her voice trembling.
“We’ll call the police,” he said.
“No,” she said sharply. Then visibly pulled it together. “I’m not hurt. I just want him out of here.”
He wanted to rearrange the man’s face. “Okay, then stay there,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”
Then he yanked the drunk up to his feet, who was now very quiet, as if he couldn’t figure out exactly how he’d gotten his bell rung. Trey propelled him back to the lobby, back to his friends who looked as if they might want to make a break for it.
“Get your friend out of here,” he said. He got in the man’s face. “And don’t come back. And don’t come anywhere near that woman ever again. You’re lucky she doesn’t want to press charges. But your luck is going to run out fast if you think that I’m not serious about this.”
The man squared his shoulders. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said to his two buddies. Neither of them wasted any time and the trio left. Trey watched them get to the door before quickly turning and running back to Kellie.
She was sweeping the floor.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Somebody else can get that.”
“It’s my mess.”
“It is not your fault when somebody else is a damn idiot,” he said. “Tell your boss that you’re done for the night, that you’re going home.”
“I can’t do that,” she said, still sweeping. “I’ll be fired and I’m already in the hole for the evening. Doubly so, now. I’ll probably have to pay for these strawberries. Why couldn’t they have just ordered cheese sticks?” she said, a trace of humor in her tone.
He was glad she was bouncing back. Wasn’t so sure about himself.
She looked up, made eye contact with him. “Thank you,” she said. “I was losing the fight.” She paused. “Please don’t tell my brother about this. He’s...protective. He was the man of the house after our dad died. Took and continues to take his role seriously.”
“Your brother is a good man,” Trey said. He would never want to disappoint Anthony.
“Yes,” she said. She stood there, holding her dustpan and broom.
“You look a little like Cinderella,” he said.
She tilted her chin down. “What do you know about Cinderella? I don’t take you for the type to have watched the movie.”
“I have a younger sister,” he said.
“I see. Favorite part of the movie?” she challenged.
He feigned a grimace. “When the glass slipper finally slides onto Cinderella’s foot. I like it when the parts go together.” He held up a hand and his face got hot. “Sorry, that sounds really sexual. Didn’t mean it that way. Especially after—” he waved a hand “—all this. See, I was a mechanic in the air force. Things that fit nice and tight...” He stopped. “I’m going to shut up now.”
Now she had a full smile. That was well worth him fumbling over his words.
“Did you fix planes?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“You dropped out of college to enlist, right? I remember hearing the