Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(26)
Ms. Sebastian’s face lost some of its warmth. “You lied to him?”
“My sister did,” she said. “She needs him to think I’m taking her job so she could take a promotion to bartender.”
“You sure it’s wise to deceive him like that?”
Laire shook her head. “No, ma’am. But I love my sister, and she has her reasons. I’ll come clean soon.”
“Promise me?”
Laire nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Kyrstin’s getting married the week after next. Then she can do what she wants, and I’ll tell him the truth.”
Ms. Sebastian’s face relaxed, and she nodded. “That sounds okay with me. Can you come on back to my office and fill out some paperwork?”
“Oh,” said Laire, glancing back at the dining room. “Can I fill out the papers tomorrow night when I come to work? I’m . . .”
“You’re . . .,” prompted Ms. Sebastian.
“I’m sort of on a date tonight.”
Ms. Sebastian’s eyes cooled, and she looked over Laire’s shoulder, her eyes landing effortlessly on Erik, who sat alone at a far table by the windows. When she looked at Laire again, her expression was set somewhere between disapproving and worried. “That’s Erik Rexford.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re on a date with the governor’s son.”
We make our own rules. Laire lifted her chin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I guess you know what you’re doin’, huh?”
“I guess so,” she said, wishing she felt more conviction behind her words.
“Then it’s none of my business.” Ms. Sebastian nodded crisply. “Do you have black pants and a white T-shirt?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Fine. Wear them tomorrow. See you at four.”
“Four, ma’am?”
Ms. Sebastian nodded. “For table setup before the dinner crowd. Is that a problem, Laire?”
“No, ma’am. And when will I be finished?”
“Kitchen closes at nine. Last tables bused by ten.”
Four to ten. Sixty dollars a night. It was a small fortune.
She grinned at her new boss. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t let you down.”
With one last grim glance at Erik, Ms. Sebastian turned toward the kitchen. “See you tomorrow.”
I got the job!
She watched Ms. Sebastian go, then headed back for her date with Erik with a spring in her step, hoping to sweet Jesus that their date would end with another toe-curling kiss and a lot less talking.
Chapter 7
Almost a week into Laire’s new job at the Pamlico House restaurant, Erik had kissed her at least a dozen more times—always outside the restaurant, under the stars, usually around ten, when she was finally finished with her shift and about to head home.
He arrived every evening between nine and ten and sat at the bar drinking red wine or beer, waiting for her to finish her shift, after which he would meet her behind the restaurant, walk her down to the dock, kiss her senseless for as long as she let him, then wave good-bye as she stepped onto her boat and drove herself home. He stayed out of her way as she worked, catching her eye as she bused a table nearby, or giving her a wink when she picked up a drink order for a busy waiter.
In public, he was her secret admirer.
In private, he was her passion.
When she woke up every morning to clean the house, fix her father’s dinner, and work on a new idea for a blouse or a skirt, she thought of him constantly. Of the way he cupped her cheeks as he kissed her, of how it felt to have that long ridge of muscle pushing against her soft, wet places through his shorts and her pants every night. She’d smile, remembering the sweet, low rumble of his voice close to her ear, or the way his tongue tasted after he finished his glass of wine.
If she finished early and they had a little extra time, sometimes they’d walk slowly, from the back door of the kitchen to the Adirondack chairs where they’d talked the first night. She’d sit on his lap, and he’d hold her tight, his lips brushing her ear and neck as he told her about his day. Other times, they would sit on the dock beside her boat, his arm around her shoulders, their legs dangling in the brackish water as they stole a few extra minutes to kiss or talk.
Laire became familiar with the major players in Erik’s life: his mother and father, his sister, Hillary, and good friends Pete and Van, who each had a summer home on the northern Banks. She imagined they were a happy foursome playing at the beach or lounging by the pool, lucky Hillary the only girl with three handsome boys who’d met in kindergarten and graduated from high school together. Laire didn’t know a ton about Pete, and even less about Van, whom Erik mentioned only in the context of the whole group, but that was probably her fault, as she focused her questions primarily on his family.
His father, the governor, was ambitious and demanding, his expectations of Erik far more onerous than her own father’s of her. And his mother, Ursula, whom he called Fancy, seemed much more concerned with her social engagements and furthering her “reach” (whatever the hell that was!) than her son’s happiness. Piecing together the unspoken parts of his narrative, she gathered that Erik didn’t really want to be a lawyer and didn’t have strong political aspirations like his father. What he seemed to enjoy most was sports—playing hockey and lacrosse, tennis and golf, sailing and swimming. She had yet to learn what he wanted from life; she only knew that following his father into government service wasn’t his dream.