Planting my hands against his chest, I ignored the smooth steel of his physique in my attempt to shove him away. He didn’t budge. Hell, it didn’t take him any effort at all to prevent me from moving him aside. Prison had shaped him into an impenetrable wall.
Chuckling against my ear, his lips brushed the outer edge.
“What do you say, Olly? Want to help a guy out who’s been thinking of your fine ass for two very lonely years?”
“I have to go to work.” Hating how my voice wavered, I demanded, “Get the hell out of my way.”
He moved so that his eyes caught mine. “Why are you fighting me, Olly?”
“Stop calling me Olly.”
I was shocked at the sudden strength in my voice, the knot in my stomach now a buzz saw shredding the wings of every stupid butterfly that had dared take flight as a result of the asshole enjoying this moment.
Shoving forward, I was surprised when Soren stepped back.
“Nobody calls me Olly except for my brother. I’m not a little girl anymore that can be pushed around. Have fun with your stupid pledges and destroying the damn town, but when it comes to me, stay as far away as possible.”
I felt good about myself for the first time that day. Yes, my heart was tearing apart in my chest to remember I was nothing more than a joke to the man I’d crushed on for many years of my life, but I felt renewed strength for having told him to get lost.
Maybe his being here wouldn’t be the disaster I assumed it would be. Maybe two years had been enough for me to find my spine.
Wanting to thank him for what he said, and reminding me how much of a conceited ass he was, I inched around him, snatching my arm away when he tried to grab it.
Without bothering to turn and look at him, I marched into my room, grabbed my keys and jacket, pausing only long enough to glance into the bathroom where Soren stood with that damn smile on his face.
“I mean it, Soren. You may have the entire town wrapped around your finger, but I’m not one of your admiring groupies. Not anymore. So stay the hell out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”
Refusing to give him a chance to respond, I left my room, practically running downstairs and through the living room. I passed Nolan, Quinton and Grady, to reach the front door and didn’t miss the scowl my brother tossed me when he put two and two together to figure out Soren was no longer in the living room.
“I’m going to work,” I called out, ignoring the scowl and slamming the door behind me as I marched to my car, climbed in, and drove the hell away.
Fifteen minutes later and I was tearing into the diner, expertly avoiding the line of patrons waiting to get in the door. Mostly, we served older people, a silver generation who appreciated the country bumpkin themed decor as well as the handmade milkshakes and jukeboxes that never were silent.
Personally, I felt like the owner, Irene, couldn’t make up her mind between country and the fifties, but my opinion didn’t matter in the long run.
We did decent business; the long counters on one side were always full, as well as the row of booths on the other.
Almost immediately, Tristan was running up to me, following me through the break in the countertops to the small office in back.
“Tell me Soren isn’t staying at your house.” There was no mistaking the panic in his voice.
Tristan was a good guy, a little on the mousy side for my taste, but he was coming around.
“Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”
I was done with every male around me thinking he could have an opinion about my life.
“It’s not exactly my decision. He’s my brother’s best friend.”
After dropping my purse into the drawer Irene let us use for personal effects, I spun on my heel to glare at him.
“I’m not happy about it, but it is what it is. His presence doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. I was fed up with guys thinking they could touch me as well. Pulling away, I glared in his direction, my anger evaporating to see the worry in his face.
“You know what he did, Olive. To Teagan. To Kendall. I know your brother is wrapped up in the games they play, but he has to know Soren is dangerous. Why haven’t you said something?”
From the front counter, a bell we kept near the register dinged, the faint sound reminding me that I was here to work and not worry about Soren or my brother.
“He doesn’t think Soren had anything to do with Teagan’s death. And I’m not so sure either. So just leave me alone about it, okay?”
With that I left him standing in the office. It felt bad to speak him that way, but I was exhausted from the long drive that morning.
After helping cash out a regular who was paying his weekly milkshake tab, I spent the next few hours busying myself with orders for burgers and fries, mixing up milkshakes, and cleaning tables in my section when the customers were finally heading home.
Only an hour remained before we closed up for the night, the diner empty except for a middle aged couple who were whispering to each other over a shared plate of fries, their fingers mingling as they reached for a bite, their bodies leaning forward so that their heads were close together.
Tristan had already gone back to the kitchens to help clean the grills when the bell above the door rang, signaling another customer.
Bright smile plastered on my face, I turned expecting a kindly old man or maybe another late night straggler who was passing through town on his way to the city, but instead I was met with a face so chilling that my smile vanished and icy fingers dragged down my spine.
Tall and dark, the man wore all black clothes, a trench coat hanging down to his knees, covering a shirt left unbuttoned at the collar and pants that were pressed. His shoes were the only outlier, a pair of boots scuffed at the heels, the leather over the toes creased as if he spent a lot of time kneeling down and bending them.
Businessman, I guessed, not that it was surprising to the see the type in Winter Ridge, but odd to find one in the diner.
He walked up to where I was standing, grey eyes observing me. I would have bet everything I had that this man didn’t miss a thing when watching the world around him. For some reason the thought set me on edge, my fingers curling over the hem of my apron.
Once he was done surveying the diner, he locked his eyes with mine again.
“I’m looking for Tristan Nichols. I was told he’d be working here tonight.”
He voice was deep, but professional, cultured and classy in a way that screamed money. It took me a few seconds to find the ability to answer him.
“He’s in the back.”
Clearing my throat didn’t help my voice sound stronger in his presence.
“If you take a seat at the counter, I can tell him you’re here.”
His eyes scanned the counter, his fingers curling into his palms while his expression hid his thoughts. Turning back to me, he smiled a professional grin that was as fake as the day was long.
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer a booth. Are there any available?”
Maybe he wasn’t as observant as I thought. It was clear from where we were standing that only one was occupied in a row of ten.
“Yeah,” I answered, “take your pick.”
Inclining his head, the man strode to a booth at the opposite end of the diner, his gait long and self-assured, strong and determined in such a way that I felt intimidated following behind him. He took a seat, sliding close to the window.