Chapter Six

Violet

It’s almost the end of my Friday night shift at Sycamore Lodge, and Leonardo, a guest who checked in three days ago, is reading me some of his poetry.

“Fiery tresses blaze a storm across my soul,

Her eyes, unforgiving emerald, see far beyond the stars,

Alas! Her stone-cold heart eludes my withered touch.”

He snaps his notebook shut and gazes at me with puppy-dog brown eyes, a few blond tendrils of hair escaping his man bun and falling over his face.

I clear my throat. I know nothing of poetry and don’t have a clue what to make of the opus he’s just subjected me to, but I’m pretty sure about one thing.

“That’s me, isn’t it, with the stony cold heart?”

His sigh is dramatic. “The moment our eyes met, I knew I’d found my muse.”

According to Katie, Leo stays at the Lodge every July and discovers at least five muses to inspire him every time. When she told me this, I thought it was dead creepy, but she said, despite his drama queen theatrics, he’s one of the good guys. Seeing as Katie takes bullshit from no one, I reserved judgment. After all, one of the reasons I took this job was so I’d meet different people.

“When are you publishing your anthology, then?”

He drops his gooey expression and folds his arms on the counter between us. “I’m researching covers as we speak.”

“Have you talked to Lisle? She’s an amazing artist.” Lisle arrived as I was knocking off yesterday, but we got talking, and she ended up showing me some of her work. Amazing doesn’t do her incredible portraits justice. Someone with that kind of talent should be raking in the money, not have to work minimum wage casual jobs to backpack around Europe in the hope of making it.

“Yeah, we hung out in the bar last night with the others. Her work’s great, but I’m looking for something more…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Byronic.”

“Okay.” I nod, even though I don’t agree with his vision. Although, maybe his other stuff is dark and moody. Another guest comes up looking for some info on the local area, and the phone decides to go crazy, but finally, ten minutes after my shift ends, I leave.

For once, Katie and I aren’t doing the White Hart happy hour, and it doesn’t take long to drive to her place. I hope she’s ready to leave, because I’m starving. We’re going to a newly opened grill house, and it’s kind of sad that I’m so excited about it. Not about the grill house so much, but the fact I’m not spending a Friday night vegging out with Netflix.

I ring the doorbell, and she opens it straightaway. “Let’s go,” she mutters, taking my arm and frog-marching me back to the car. I guess her mum’s arsehole boyfriend’s drunk again. It’s the only time Katie gets that pinched look on her face.

And then I notice what she’s wearing—a short black skirt and rainbow heels to die for, and her makeup’s flawless. All I’m wearing is the Lodge uniform, and while it’s okay, it’s a freaking work uniform.

“We’re just going to the Tower Grill tonight, right?” I double check as I start the car.

“That’s our first stop.” She flips down the sun visor and frowns at her reflection in the small mirror. “Then we’re going back to your place where you can change into something smoking hot. We’re going clubbing tonight.”

“I don’t want to go clubbing.”

“It’ll be fun. The girls are really nice. Nothing like back-stabbing, freak-faced Monica.”

My eye twitches the way it always does when her name is mentioned. “I know they’re nice. It’s nothing to do with them.”

Even though I haven’t seen Katie’s other friends for a while, we did hang out together a few times when Katie and I reconnected. Not that Monica joined us after the first time, since she reckoned they weren’t in her league.

Katie lets out a loud sigh. “Come on, Violet. You need to do this. I’m all for studying hard to get ahead, but you really need to get out more. I know you’re over the fuckwit, but not all guys are like him.”

I’ve always known that, even if I didn’t want to face it. And I’ve met more new people in the last two weeks than I have during the whole of the last year. Although working at the Lodge means I don’t have as much time to spend on my assignments, it’s worth it. I don’t want to go back to my cave.

The image of Lucas’s sinful smile and Mediterranean blue gaze swims into my mind. I try and ignore the accompanying butterflies that swarm around my stomach, and manage not to let a dreamy sigh escape.

I’m seeing him again tomorrow morning. In a purely professional capacity, except it’s hard to make myself believe that. Sure, we talk business, and he hasn’t asked me out again, but there’s this sizzling undercurrent whenever we’re in the same room, and it’s crazily addictive.

Don’t fall for him.

I’ve lost count how many times my brain has told me that, but there’s no need. Just because he’s so easy to talk to and fun to be with doesn’t mean he’s starting to see me as anything more than a harder-than-usual conquest.

Why did I even think that? It’s not as though I want him to be serious about me, is it?

I park the car as close to the Tower Grill as possible, and Katie gives me a piercing look. “Nothing’s happened between you and Lucas Carter that you haven’t told me, has it?”

Why would she say that? We weren’t even talking about him. Can she read my mind, or what? I resist the mad urge to pat my hot cheeks, and silently curse my constant inability to hide my most private thoughts from her.

There’s only one possible response to her. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not, but whenever you think about him you kind of glow.”

I scoff, mainly so my horror doesn’t seep through. I glow? really? Jesus, I hope I don’t glow all over Lucas whenever he speaks to me.

“You can’t possibly know when I think about him.” What the fuck did I just say? I scramble to backtrack, but it’s too late, because Katie groans and grabs my hand.

“You really need to tell him you can’t see him anymore. I know he’s great and nothing like dick-face, but he’s still one of them.”

Sure, I’ve told her how great Lucas is, but I definitely never said he wasn’t anything like Geoff. Even though he isn’t.

I’m kind of mad at Katie for pointing out the obvious to me, and with myself for clearly needing the reminder. Lucas flirts because it’s second nature to him, not because he thinks I’m special. I don’t even want to imagine how many girls he’s slept with during the last couple of weeks.

It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does. I give Katie a big fake smile. “What club are we going to?”

The following morning, my head pounds like a jackhammer, and I don’t have the energy to get up even when Mum brings me in a cup of tea and sits on the edge of my bed.

“Did you have a good time?” Her voice sounds unnaturally loud. I wince and pull the sheet over my head. “Looks like you did, then.” She sounds thrilled, and with a defeated grunt, since I’m obviously not going to get a well-deserved lie-in this morning, I peel back the sheet and peer at her through my tangled hair. She’s been back to her old self for the last week, and it’s easy to slip into our old routines again.

“It was all right.” I struggle to sit up, and yawn. Since I only had one drink last night. I’m not hung over from alcohol, just loud music, a late night, and way too many wankers who think copping a feel is part of a night out.

Mum pushes my hair back from my face, the way she used to when I was a little girl. “Dad and I are so pleased you’re going out again.”

Since I don’t have an answer for that, I pick up my tea and take a sip. It was fun seeing the girls and catching up on gossip. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to figure out the entire world doesn’t revolve around professional football.

But having a football-obsessed dad, not to mention a former best friend whose dad is a top manager, almost everyone I knew was connected to that world in some way.

None of Katie’s friends are, though. And unlike Monica, who never allowed new girls to join our exclusive little clique at school, they’re fine about me hanging out with them.

Hello, reality check. Why do I keep going round to Lucas’s, if I want to make a clean break from the past?

So I can have a prestigious client in my portfolio.

Riiight.

I glance at my watch. “Oh, shit. I’m going to be late.”

Mum’s smile drops a notch. “Another meeting with Lucas Carter?”

“Yep.” I wriggle out of bed, leaving Mum still sitting there. And although there’s nothing going on between Lucas and me, I avoid her gaze because things aren’t nearly as platonic as I’ve insisted they are.

Not that I think she believes me, anyway.

“Violet, are you sure this a good idea?”

Here it comes. To be honest, I’ve been waiting for it since I told her he wanted my help a couple of weeks ago. But even with all that time to figure out a great response, I still don’t know what to say. The last thing I want is for her to start worrying about me again.

“It’s fine, Mum. He’s nothing like Geoff.” Why did I bring his name into it? Except it’s the truth, and Mum will know what I mean.

I hope.

“Bec’s always spoken highly of him,” Mum concedes. “And I’m sure he’s nothing like Geoff, but…” She stands up and chews her lip before taking a deep breath. “We don’t want you to get hurt again. Lucas is so high profile.”

Don’t I know it. The parties I used to go to with Geoff were glittery, but Lucas lives in the A-list. At least when Geoff and I split up, it wasn’t splashed across all the gutter press.

“Seriously, there’s no chance I’ll ever go out with him.” Obviously, I haven’t shared the fact he asked me out the first day we met. She was so sick that day, and then the moment passed. Besides, she’d only stress about it. “Once he’s back on the bench, I’ll never see him again.”

During the last couple of weeks, Mum’s hired another cleaner and told me she and her partner/best friend Joy are going to ease back on the actual doing and concentrate more on the expanding.

Thank goodness for that. Dad and I both think she took on way too much when she set up the business, what with her health issues, but she was determined to do it. At least now she won’t need to lug heavy equipment around as much.

When I reach his floor, Lucas is standing by the open door to his penthouse, and my stupid stomach goes into freefall. Please don’t let me glow.

He’s wearing an open-necked shirt and shorts, and although I know they’re by top designers and cost the earth, he could wear a black rubbish bag and still be irresistible.

And that’s my professional opinion, is it?

Yes, it is. I’m not going to let the inconvenient fact that I fancy the pants off him interfere with my professional integrity.

So. There.

…

Lucas

Violet smiles, and I forget that I’ve been pacing the floor for the last fifteen minutes and wink at her in what I hope is a friend-zone way. She’s wearing a cute white sundress, and her red hair falls over the shoulders of her distressed denim jacket, and she’s the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen. Yeah, so much for the friend-zoning.

When she reaches my side, she doesn’t walk straight inside the penthouse. She pauses and looks up at me, and I shove my hands into my pockets before I screw up our friendship by sliding my fingers through hers.

Seems like I spend half the time we’re together with my bloody hands in my pockets.

“Hi.” Her voice is soft and breathy and doesn’t help with the whole friends only thing at all. “Sorry I’m late. I overslept.”

“Big night, huh?” I follow her into the hall and push the door shut behind me. Her bare legs are tanned and perfectly toned, and I imagine them wrapped around me, complete with those sexy high-heeled, open-toe sandals.

I swallow my groan and thrust the vision to the back of my mind. Don’t go there.

“Just clubbing with the girls.” She strolls across the hall toward the sitting room, while a weird burning sensation eats through my chest. What the fuck? It’s no big deal if she went clubbing last night. None of my business.

Did she spend the night with some strange guy?

This is fucking nuts. I haven’t even kissed Violet, and I’m consumed by the idea she might’ve hooked up last night. I never care about stuff like that. At least, I never have before.

“Oh, wow.” She turns at the door to the sitting room and gives me another of those gorgeous smiles that haunt my dreams.

Carter, you need to get laid.

“You’ve been busy.”

And she’s talking business. She always talks business. It doesn’t matter how many bloody sparks fly between us, she’s never gonna act on them.

It’s got nothing to do with her not being ready to move on yet. It’s because I’m a footballer, like her ex.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

I join her and survey the room where I’ve tried to integrate some of my stuff with the show home furnishings. “It’s just a temporary fix. You do your thing, that’ll be great.”

She admires the few antique pieces that Dad gave me on my twenty-first, part of the collection of Queen Anne furniture that Mum inherited from her grandparents’ ages ago, and which I haven’t yet shifted to a permanent spot. He gave Harry some, too, although the wingback chairs always looked more at home in his Grade II listed apartment than my rented flats.

“This is beautiful.” There’s a thread of awe in her voice as she kneels and runs her fingertips over the faded material of the ottoman. “And in such good condition.”

“Not meant for a high traffic area.” I glance at the rug, which is now hanging on the far wall. “I’ve always kept the chair and ottoman in my bedroom.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods, but the skeptical expression on her face belies her response. Your bedroom’s not a high traffic area? Really?

I’m not sure why that stings, especially since she didn’t even say it. She might not have even thought it, but considering my so-called playboy rep, it’s not much of a leap.

Not far from the truth, either.

Violet clears her throat, which basically confirms my suspicion. “Well, anyway, I agree. These are too valuable to stay in here where they could get easily damaged. Your bedroom, or maybe the spare room, would be perfect.”

“My room.” I grip the back of the chair as childhood memories of Mum sitting in the chair in the evenings, reading her academic journals, flood through me. It’s been six years since she died, but sometimes it feels like just the other week. A familiar hollowness fills my chest, and I shove the harrowing images of her lying, ghostlike, in that hospital bed to the back of my mind where they belong. “Family heirloom.”

She gives me a probing look, as if something in my tone gave away more than I intended. I’m not even sure why I told her that. In the past, some girls have commented on the chair, but I never felt the need to explain its origins.

But that’s the thing with her. I can talk to her as easily as I can Yolanda, except I want so much more with Violet.

What do I mean by that? I only do casual. But I can’t get it out of my head.

Do I want what Harry has with Alice?