Summer Storm (Broken Circles Book 1), page 14
“I don’t need to. Just do what’s right for a change, huh?”
Wiggling my fingers toward the door, I sneered at Tayte, the man seriously getting on my last nerve. “Shouldn’t you be running after your Master?”
Slanting his head to the side, Tayte smirked. “One day you are going to meet your match, and fuck, that’s going to be such a fun thing to watch. Someone putting you in your place, on your knees, making you heel.”
My laugh couldn’t have been louder at the absurdity Tayte had spoken. “Be a cold day in hell when that happens.”
“We’ll see.” Up he got, straightening his suit jacket, the yellow tie obnoxious and garish enough to compliment the blue. “Might want to put some ice on your neck and stop your yapping for an hour or two.”
Oh my God, what the actual fuck? Had Tayte had a personality transplant, had someone else crawled into his body and taken over?
“Who are you?”
“See you later.” He grinned as if he had not a care in the world.
Tayte left the way he’d arrived - silently. I couldn’t help ogling him on the way out of the kitchen though, he’d always carried himself tall, always turned women’s heads, and it seemed I was no exception. The stupid man was confusing me, and I couldn’t afford the distraction. I’d have to be a little more careful around him, the giant pain in my arse wasn’t as useless as he made out. Tayte was changing, and I feared it wouldn’t be long before he showed us all the man he really was.
Jolie
Julie Summers’s funeral was miserable. Actually, it was one of the worst things I’d attended in all the years I could remember. Carol and Fred, bless their beautiful hearts, sat in the crematorium with me while I stared blankly toward the front, the maroon velvet curtains hiding the coffin where my mother lay. An old friend of mums sat with Jared. That was it. Five people to say goodbye, it was awful. No one was going to miss her except me. What a miserable existence, no wonder she’d ended up sitting on a recliner drinking herself to death with a bottle in her hand.
I vowed never to be my mother, never in a million years.
Jared had tried to strike up a conversation, managing a pitiful apology before Fred picked up on my anxiety and showed his alpha side, standing as a solid barrier between me and my ex. I had nothing to say to the prick; he had nothing I wanted to listen to, he could stick his sorry up his arse for all I cared.
Twenty minutes was all it took, then the world was finished with Julie Summers once and for all. Depressing as fuck.
I had two more nights at Carol’s, another week off work, and a flat I needed to return to so I could empty it. I’d made the decision to move from the home I’d spent eighteen years in, it was past time to leave all the sordid memories behind. Leaving Islington would not make me shed a single tear. The one bed flat I’d found in Acton Town was perfect and had the added bonus of immediate entry, decent rent and furnishings. It was nothing extraordinary but to me it was everything, a chance to pick up my life and live it for myself for a change. Clean and bright, three stories up, it overlooked a sort of garden area and I wasn’t too far from Caulder’s on the Tube. It was good enough for me and all I needed, despite having to break out the emergency credit card to pay for it. Before anything though, I had to go home and clear out everything that had been Julie Summers.
Wanting a new lease of life before I faced my demons, Carol kindly indulged my need to get rid of the pink in my hair and after two hours and a few glasses of wine, I was standing in her living room, no longer imitating a rebellious schoolgirl. I’d gone back to my roots, dark, and I’d never looked more like my mother in my life. It took a long while to be able to look in the mirror and like what I saw.
Over the week, Carol had been in and out of the flat in Islington, along with a cleaning company to do the things I couldn’t, and when we both stepped inside for the last of the packing, there was not a single smell or trace of death, the windows had been thrown wide, the recliner no longer haunting me from the corner of the living room.
“Just pack up what you need. Fred’s going to bring a van around tomorrow and get you moved into the other place. No sense in sticking around here.”
We’d brought boxes, I had a suitcase or two stashed away under my bed, they would be enough as there wasn’t much to pack. I only needed my personal belongings, along with a few household things. The rest could stay and get tossed or kept for when the next tenant arrived.
I stopped outside mum’s bedroom door after an hour of sorting through useless stuff like towels and bedding that had seen better days, knowing I needed to go in there and take anything personal she may have had.
“Let’s do this.” Carol pushed the door wide, and I walked inside, my heart heavier than it had ever been. Over the course of forty minutes, we found six bottles of whisky with varied amounts inside, and very little else that could tell you who Julie Summers was. A single photo album was all she’d had stuffed in the bottom drawer of a dresser, full of old pictures I hadn’t seen in years. Pictures of her when she looked healthy and beautiful, of me and my dad when we’d been happy, and when life had been simpler. I sat on the floor and cried with Carol as we flicked through the pages of a life forgotten.
“They looked like they really loved one another.”
“Until they didn’t.” The truth of it was right there. They had loved passionately, and I could never figure out what had broken them. I’d understood long ago she’d used me as an excuse but the reasoning she forever threw in my direction had made no sense, especially not when I poured over the pictures of what appeared to be a perfectly normal and happy family. He didn’t love me, she’d said. He’d left because I was too difficult, she’d said. He’d never wanted me, she’d said, just to stick the knife in further when she was being particularly cruel.
I took the album, along with the wedding ring the undertaker had already given me. They were all I wanted of this woman. I closed the door on her room, shutting the memories of my mother inside.
Two days later I was in my new flat and making plans to get back to work. The agency had allowed me the two weeks’ compassionate leave I’d asked for, only one with full pay, which was generous of them considering they had no legal requirement to pay me at all. There would be a gap in my wages, three days working wasn’t much and with a funeral to pay for with very little savings and a credit card I was reluctant to use again, I deliberated signing up for the full five at the agency. There were always contracts to pick up, the agency asked often enough for cover on the days I didn’t normally work. But I enjoyed working for Bill and didn’t want to leave Caulder’s, so eventually I settled on keeping to what I had. It worked, no point in fixing what wasn’t broken, and if I got caught short, I could always beg for an extra shift somewhere.
Only after speaking to Bill about returning, did I give myself time to think about Yannick Ischmov and why I’d walked out of that hotel room in such a hurry after the time we’d shared. Or rather, the sex we’d had.
The fact he had a wife gnawed at me, though it wasn’t the crux of the problem because I’d gone with him with my eyes wide open, accepting and ignoring he was married. He’d said it had been an arrangement, a contract, but hey… married was married, and I’d slept with him anyway. So much for the moral high ground I’d taken with Jared.
I wasn’t into lies and deceit, never had been, and while I didn’t think that’s what Yannick was doing, there was still something niggling at me other than my own misgivings over the few hours we’d spent naked together. His confession about not having had sex for fifteen years would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so tragic, if he hadn’t sounded so genuine. And there it was - the over-bearing feeling of being dragged into something I didn’t want to get involved in, something I couldn’t handle. Then what followed was the very real thought this was all just a game for him, and I was a player, one that had been exactly what Yannick had needed to get back into his groove. What the night had meant to me was not what the night had meant to him. I’d been a means to an end which in hindsight, was probably fair enough on his part. Reading anymore into it been a mistake on my part. A bit of sex we’d both consented to because we’d been drawn to one another. Christ, I didn’t dwell on things, yet there I was, dwelling.
My first night sleeping in the flat on my own was painted with heavy, sizzling dreams of wild tattoos and deft hands, tormenting my senses, and I barely caught a moment’s peace. Every time I closed my eyes, Yannick stared back, want scorching in his wide pupils. He was infinitely better than any nightmares, those I could do without too.
The next three days teaching gave me little opportunity to analyse Yannick while I got my head back in the game. Eight-year-olds were far less cute than six, inherently more inquisitive, but a welcome reprieve from crying over my mother and thinking about a man I’d sooner forget.
When I got to Caulder’s on Thursday night, I was more like my old self. I’d had a peaceful day, read some more chapters of a romance novel I’d been struggling to focus on, ate decent food for a change, unpacked another box to decorate my new life. I was ready to run back into the land of the living. If a certain Mr Ischmov was at the bar, then I could put my face on and be professional. I was good at pretending - I’d been doing it half my life without grumbling much.
He didn’t show face. I tamped down on the irrational disappointment which made no sense to me at all. His absence was a good thing, not totally distracted, I was able to reacquaint myself with serving and got on with it like Bill paid me to. The night was slow, like many Thursdays, but perfect for easing back in.
Friday was a different story. Yannick Ischmov came to the bar and he wasn’t alone. His usual troop of guys were missing, instead a beautiful blonde-haired woman sat with him at a table off to the side of the closed VIP area, and she was literally hanging off his arm. Yannick looked less than pleased, shifting away a time or two, not that I was watching or anything, and I couldn’t help but feel slighted he was parading around a woman in the place I worked, his bar or not.
“That’s the wife,” Carol muttered, tapping my arm, probably sensing my irritation.
“Oh. Okay. She’s gorgeous.” Stunning, really. I’d already caught the frosty edge she did little to hide, glaring at any woman who dared to look in their direction, or gave Yannick anything more than a passing glance.
“Jenny’s working their side of the room. Stay away. She’s a goddamn piece of work, doesn’t miss a thing. That won’t be good for you.” Not wanting to get involved with their domestic quarrels, I listened to my friend’s advice, the other side of the bar suiting me just fine. “They didn’t arrive together.”
What difference did it make? They were together now, and she was making a show to anyone who was brave enough to look for more than a second and telling them Yannick Ischmov was hers. I wasn’t in any league to compete with someone like her. He’d been a man I’d had an exciting few hours with, that he’d remain.
Working the other side of the room was fun, a bachelor party had come in and while they hadn’t booked the VIP, Bill had opened up the raised section for them. The group of eight men were happily drunk but more than respectful - for a bachelor party anyway. Caulder’s wasn’t an establishment to get rowdy in and the group seemed aware of their behaviour, keeping their noise minimal, earning them a couple of bottles of champagne on the house. They ordered plenty more, shots intermingled, the soon to be groom slowly but surely getting smashed. I learned they were off to another club later and I wished them all the best while they scooted out the door sometime later.
Halfway through my shift, I took a break, gulping down a lukewarm coffee to keep my energy levels up, then ran smack bang into Yannick the moment I stepped from the break room and out into the hallway.
“Jolie.”
Pushing my hands out in front of me, I shoved away from him and put my head down. “Excuse me,” I said, plaintively. I didn’t have time to stand there and be reminded I didn’t live up to the wife sitting in the bar. Yannick had other ideas, his hands clasping around the tops of my arms. Oh boy. There was nowhere to run this time.
Yannick
Irina insisted on tagging along with me to Caulder’s, where I’d arranged to meet Sandir and Andrey. Tayte and Greg were otherwise engaged, and I just wanted to hang out a bit. Going to Caulder’s had absolutely nothing to do with catching a glimpse of a certain pink-haired firecracker I couldn’t stop thinking about, having Irina piss on my plans was just another annoyance but on a different day.
Sandir and Andrey were God knew where, and Irina was falling all over me like a bitch in heat. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe the situation. To top it off, Jolie was back at work and steering clear, using the other side of the room as an invisible barrier. A relief really, because Irina didn’t miss anything, if she got even the slightest whiff of me ogling Jolie, she’d hook her claws in and make Jolie’s life hell.
The temptation to talk to Jolie churned over and over in my belly, my mood deteriorating the more Irina held her spot just to make a point. I should have left, there was no reason to stick around, yet I couldn’t bring myself to move. Just the smallest sideways glimpse I got of Jolie was worth the uncomfortable company of Irina. I had to try damn hard not to double take when I saw her hair was no longer the bubble gum pink it had been the last time I’d seen her. Bill had told me her mother had died, I didn’t know enough about her family life, bar what she’d briefly touched upon, but I imagined her death would have had an impact. She’d been off work for two weeks, and as much as I couldn’t see any trace of sadness about her from the brief looks I allowed myself to sneak, I knew looks were deceiving.
Nothing had changed in the past two weeks except I’d officially moved out of the house I’d lived in with Irina for years, and Lev had given the go ahead for me to make my plans. I was still smuggling, running and cutting drugs, still doing dodgy deals, still fucking watching my back while trying to figure out how to manoeuvre into a position to make an escape without the whole lot toppling down on someone else’s head.
I was tired, so goddamn tired. If I had to sit there and pretend Irina’s presence didn’t make my skin crawl, for a quick glance at the ray of sunshine serving the other side of the room, I was bloody well going to do so. Just seeing her helped me breathe easier, helped solidify I was doing the right thing. I wanted my life back, my life, even if I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it should be.
When Jolie disappeared through to the back hall, I took my opportunity.
“Order me another, then I’m calling it a night.” Getting up, I took off without giving her an explanation, not bothering to look back and see if she was watching. She would think I was just going to the bathroom.
Timing it perfectly, I came face to face with Jolie when she exited the break room, almost smacking into her as she turned the corner. On reflex, my hands grabbed the tops of her arms and steadied her while she held her hands out in front and tried to shove me away, muttering an ‘excuse me’ in the process. She gasped as I walked her backwards, away from the eyes of the main bar. Without thinking, I pushed her into the small storeroom where I’d stolen my first kiss from her, shutting the door firmly behind us. Letting go of her arms, I took a step away, digging my fists deep into the pockets of my trousers so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch her again.
“Mr Ischmov.”
I shook my head, frustrated at her formality. I’d had my dick in her for fuck’s sake, I didn’t want Mr fucking Ischmov. “It’s Yannick, or Yan, if you prefer.”
“Mr Ischmov,” she repeated, and I almost growled at her, trying hard to suppress my unjustified anger.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I said, offering my condolences. I’d itched to seek her out when I’d heard but dared not, knowing the reaction I’d get, especially when she was grieving, it wouldn’t have been fair.
“Thank you.” Her head tilted down, and waves of sorrow poured from her as she clasped her hands in front of her. Christ, I wanted to pull her into my arms and soothe all that hurt, make her smile again, because there was nothing brighter in the world than Jolie smiling. “I need to get back to work.”
“Bill will give you five minutes, I’m sure.”
“I don’t need five minutes.”
“What happened?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.
“That’s your wife?” She nodded her head toward the door. “The business contract?”
“Yes.”
“She’s extremely beautiful.”
“She’s a bitch, Jolie. Ugly as sin. She doesn’t hold a candle to you. What happened?” I asked again.
Jolie toyed with a bracelet around her delicate wrist for a moment before looking me in the eye. “I’m not a game to be played between you and your wife. The night was fun, thank you. It’s not something I make a habit of doing and not something I want a repeat of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had six shifts off, I need to make it up.”
“I wasn’t playing you.”
“Of course not. That’s why you’re sitting having a night out with your wife in a bar where I work, and not once have you bothered to get in touch with me. My mother died, were you expecting me to come running to you?”
“You walked out, Jolie. What was I supposed to think?”
“And I’m walking again. Please move, Mr Ischmov.”
Five minutes in a store cupboard would in no way cut it for an apology. I pulled out my wallet and whipped out a business card with my details on it, handing it toward her.
Glaring at me, I watched in slow motion as she tipped over into anger. “Fuck you, Yannick. Fuck you.”
I had no choice but to move out of her way; she was a storm brewing, a whirlwind of fury I’d brought upon myself and I had no desire to make things worse. When the door slammed behind me, I deflated and let out a groan. She was going to be a tough nut to crack, but I would. First, I had to deal with Irina, get my divorce, figure out how to sever ties and walk away with my life in my hands, not the organisations. Maybe then my brain would be clear enough I could work out how to get Jolie Summers to like me for the second time.
