The Grand Duel (The Grand Men #4)

Chapter 2

TWO

Lissie

I f you told me The Nightingale was a place people came to get their freak on, I wouldn’t believe you. Maybe that’s because I had a very different perception of how this place would look.

I prejudged it.

From the people who come here, who might well be exactly how I envision them—it’s only six o’clock, so it’s practically empty—to the immaculate dark green and gold regal furnishings that decorate the multi-levelled club.

It’s nice.

Expensive.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi,” I say as I turn, the champagne making my head spin a little.

I find a man at my back, his bleached-blond buzz cut, sharp cheekbones, and nose rings in both nostrils making him look striking. He smiles at me in a way that tells me he knows it, too.

I smile back at him.

“Can I help you?” he repeats.

“Yes, you can actually. I was wondering if the manager of the club is around. Bronwyn, isn’t it?”

His full lips twist into a very different smile. “Close enough.” The man looks impressed with that tidbit of information—which I noted on the back of the card that Edna gave me. “I didn’t know Bron had anything booked in this afternoon.”

“She doesn’t.” I cringe at my lack of professionalism. I step closer. “I’ll be honest, my only plan here is to show up and corner the woman. In the nicest ‘I’m not a complete stalker’ kind of way.”

His brows dip thoughtfully. “You’re looking for a job?” he says, figuring me out.

“I’m looking for a job,” I confirm. I look him up and down, admiring how well-groomed the man is. “Do you know if there are any positions available at the moment?”

He chuckles, drawing my eyes up. “I can think of plenty of positions?—”

“In the bar.” I thumb over my shoulder, immediately shutting him down. “Just in the bar.”

His eyes narrow on me, only the ghost of his smile tainting his mouth now. “A shame,” he murmurs. “Who sent you?”

Who sent me?

“The card. Who gave you the card.”

Shit . How does he know about the card? I can’t throw Edna under the bus… “That’s not something I feel comfortable sharing with you.”

His brows lift, his demeanour changing slightly. And then he nods in approval. “Alright, Shoes.” He points past me. “Down those stairs. Bronwyn is the door on the right at the very end of the corridor.”

I rear back. “Shoes?”

He peers down between us, and my heart plummets. Oh, shoes . I nod as if the trainers on my feet are worth more than the false confidence I walked in here with. “They belong to a friend.”

“They belong in the gym. How did you even get past the door?”

I hold up the card and lower my eyes to it, letting them flicker open again slowly and back up to his. “With ease,” I drawl, taking a step back towards the stairs he pointed out.

He chuckles. “Wasted.”

“What was that?” I call over my shoulder, feigning indifference.

“That face,” he explains, stepping forward. He flicks his head for me to come back.

I roll my eyes and walk back to him, but I can feel my smile still lurking. He leans in to whisper in my ear. “Bron, she’s a sucker for a sob story, and she’s not the manager, she owns the place. Can’t take a compliment, so don’t bother trying. And, Shoes, do not call her the manager.”

My eyes lift to his dark-brown ones, finding a lightness in them which wasn’t there just now. “You’re helping me?”

He shrugs. “You have a pretty face.”

I smile at the compliment. “Thank you,” I say sincerely. “And it’s Lissie?—”

He shakes his head harshly, frowning. “Leanne, Lesley, Lobotomy, what-fucking-ever, but never Lissie.” He leans back an inch, eyes scolding. But I think he cares, cares that I got that wrong and cares enough to correct me. “Christian,” he eventually adds.

The chuckle that leaves me is real. “Of course it is.”

He licks his bottom lip and smiles back at me as if he finds it just as amusing. “And you are?”

“Not about to have my frontal lobe sliced open.” I purse my lips, thinking. I want it to be something powerful. Strong. Confident. “Jovie,” I say.

“Awful. Pick something else.”

My heart sinks.

“Christian,” someone calls.

“Good luck, Shoes.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

I make my way down the stairs he directed me towards, the picture of Jovie and Willow bundled up together in front of the Christmas tree, which had been tucked into my purse, lingering in the back of my mind. It feels like forever ago since I drove my baby sister to the airport and said goodbye.

My teeth clench as my chest burns at the thought, but before I know it, I’m at the end of the corridor, the door on my right slightly ajar.

A voice bleeds out from inside.

I push the heaviness, the pressure, the expectation all the way down, knowing it’s not going to do me any favours if I want to come across well at this impromptu interview of sorts.

“I know.” I lean forward, trying to hear better. “I know that, Mum. There’s…you’re never going to get it. Or listen or even try to understand…I do, I do know that, and I’ve told you so many times—” A sigh. “No. No, Mum…I’m hanging up.”

I hear the phone clatter to a desk and straighten my posture.

Well, this is awkward. I go to knock on the door but think better of it, lowering my hand. Maybe I should leave. This day hasn’t exactly gone my way, and I can already tell I’ve arrived at a bad time. I stare down at the trainers on my feet and cringe. I could come back tomorrow.

“What do you want?”

My eyes widen. The tone. The way she said it.

“Are you going to come in or just stand outside and pretend you didn’t hear all that?”

“Uh—” I step through the door, my feet coming to an abrupt halt when my gaze catches on the room. “I’m going to come inside and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”

The woman lifts her head to look at me, her eyes narrowing a little before her pen drops to the large desk.

“I’m…Lissie,” I eventually say, presuming the owner of the establishment would want my legal name and not a fake one.

I take in the office again, the deep emerald green that flows in from upstairs, the lavishness of it.

“Lissie?” she repeats, waiting for a last name.

The question catches me off guard, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, my heart dropping.

“Jesus, don’t hurt yourself.” She sighs. “Lissie,” she concludes, gesturing for me to speak with her hand. “You have two minutes of my day.”

Two minutes to put a roof over my head.

I swallow. I’ve got this .

“I’m in search of a job and was told you may have a position behind the bar available. I’m a criminal law undergraduate with three years’ experience as a summer associate at a law firm called FTR Solicitors. I’m driven, having met multiple targets at FTR, and was the head of my team for the final six months of my employment. I love working with others, strive under pressure, and genuinely enjoy being busy. I do need good clear communication and would say it’s a shortfall on my part because it’s not always ideal in every setting, but it’s something I’m working on, and I’m aware of. I’ve never been reprimanded or fired from a job, having left FTR under exceptional and somewhat sad circumstances when the owner and founder passed away. I took five sick days in the three years I’ve been in employment—three of which were genuine. The other two were at the hands of some poor Thursday night choices on my part and copious amounts of alcohol. I think I could offer something to your establishment and am eager to get stuck in. I’m a fast learner and very laid-back for the most part. You won’t get any drama from me.” I take a pause. What else, what else? Maybe if I mention how I want to be a barrister eventually but ?—

“You’re unsuccessful.”

My heart lurches in my chest, my emotions slipping out from under my grasp.

She gives me a half-assed smile and picks up her pen.

“Wait. What? Why?” I say in a panic, regretting the champagne as I rub at my chest.

She doesn’t look up. “You spent your first minute telling me you need a job and listing useless, irrelevant qualifications to me and couldn’t find use for the final one. You get a gold star. Well done. Now, please, leave.”

She’s saying no. “I’m sorry?” This can’t be happening. I need this job.

I can’t go home.

“I appreciate your recognition of my loss of time, yet you continue to waste it.”

I turn away from her, my eyes really burning now. Because I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to tell Jovie that I couldn’t do it or Mum and Dad that we need them. Because we don’t. We did, but we don’t anymore.

I stare down at my feet. Edna’s worn pair of trainers reminding me of what a god-awful day it’s been.

“My favourite pair of heels broke today,” I murmur, my eyes brimming.

Bronwyn tuts.

She’s a sucker for a sob story .

“My favourite pair of heels broke today,” I say a little louder, turning. I continue. “And no matter who’s asking, I’d tell them it’s the worst thing that’s happened to me all day. Maybe ever. I’d say it’s tragic and sad and that I’m going to go home in trainers that don’t feel like my own. Shoes I don’t want to be in at all. Shoes I never should have been in.” I shake my head, maybe a little bitter. “I may have wasted two minutes of your time today, and I’m sorry for that, but whilst walking here, I had hope. I still had a little hope standing outside that door.” I shrug. “Delusion, that maybe the shoes didn’t matter. That maybe my purse that was swiped on the tube this morning or the spot I’m currently taking up on my ex-colleague’s sofa doesn’t matter. That this stupid card Ed gave me would be my win today, and I could keep pretending my feet aren’t too big for the shoes despite how unbearable they feel because my favourite pair of heels broke today, and my mother would relish in that.”

Embarrassed, I look to the ceiling, anger swirling in my eyes and making them burn.

I do not cry.

Ever.

There’s no way I’m going home.

I have to think of something else.

Maybe Ginny will let me stay a little longer. She said this week would be the last, but surely she wouldn’t kick me out with nowhere to go.

I feel Bronwyn watching me, a calm about her and all around this place that I can’t fully explain. “What would your mother think of this place, Lissie?”

I bring my gaze back to where she sits but can’t help staring beyond her, unable to focus. I shake my head in answer and shrug.

She folds her arms on the desk. “Edna Harrison sent you.”

I hold up the card in my hand, ready for the champagne nap that’s coming.

I’m so tired.

Of it all.

Three years spent chasing a dream, and I’m currently no closer than the day Jovie left London.

“Bar work?” Bronwyn asks.

A tiny spark of hope flares in my chest. I make myself focus on her. “The other stuff isn’t really my thing. No offence.”

“I don’t need bar staff.”

Shit .

She reaches for a diary on her desk and opens it in front of her. “How many nights a week?”

“Seven.”

I think she just smiled.

“Four.” She peers up at me. “For now.”

My eyes widen. “Four nights a week in the bar? You’re giving me a job?” I try to do the math based on the numbers Edna gave me on the pay here at the club.

It was decent, and she was certain it would have gone up.

“You have two weeks to prove to me it’s not a bad idea.”

“Oh my god. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Thank Edna.” She gestures for me to leave. “Request Dan on the door. He’ll figure out getting you set up with a uniform, shifts, and payroll. Are you able to be on the payroll?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good.”

Holy shit, it worked. I quickly make my way from the room, feeling like she’s the type to change her mind.

“Lissie,” she calls, and my stomach ties up in knots as I come to a halt.

“Yeah?”

“A broken pair of heels are replaceable. You’ve just got to have the balls to go out and get yourself a better pair.”

I nod, knowing it’s not quite as simple as that.

I slip out of her office and practically float down the corridor, the weight that’s been hanging over my head for the past month slowly lifting.

The Nightingale might not be the job I was looking for, the hours likely to be much different from my old nine to five, but bar work, this place, it’s different for me . Maybe it’s exactly what I need right now.

I will be able to find a place to live.

The drainpipe energy I walked in here with ebbs away in my gut, excitement taking its place.

I should probably think about this. Take a couple of days to figure out if the money will be enough to set me up somewhere new. Maybe call Jovie and ask her, talk it over.

I peer up the stairs that lead to the club, my shoulders sinking further as I let out a weighted sigh. I should think it over, but with the need to be anywhere but my childhood bedroom, festering in wait for an apology I know won’t ever come, I know that I’ll take the job.

Truth be told, I could work the bar for free if it wasn’t for my pride.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I take a better look around the level of the club I entered. It really isn’t like anything I thought it would be. There’s a dance floor and bar, and above me, I can see at least two more levels.

Intrigue stirs in my gut as movement catches my eye on the third level. I squint my eyes to get a better look. The lighting is different up there, warmer. I walk to the steps and place my hand on the railing, the metal cool against my warm palm.

Bronwyn didn’t mention a tour of the place. But she also only gave me two minutes of her day, and considering the bar is located on this level, I suppose there isn’t a need to go upstairs.

I peer over my shoulder.

With no one paying me any attention, and the champagne still warming my stomach, I make my way up the steps to the next level as if I’ve climbed them a million times before.

There’s got to be some whips and chains around here somewhere.

I smile to myself, a little giddy and adrenaline rushed. I already know I’m going to have a tale to tell Jovie later.

As I reach the top step, I slow, not expecting so many people to be occupying the upper level. They litter the space in clusters, some sat in the lounge chairs, some in the moon-shaped booths, and some stand, chatting, watching on. The decor is a mirror of downstairs, the dark green, all-black metal with gold accents giving the club a rich feel.

I wonder how much memberships go for around here?

I continue to survey the area as I walk the length of the back wall. This level looks like another space to socialise in.

I can see the bar at the far end of the club, and four rooms spread out across the entire left wall, but nothing is screaming sex to me.

Because let’s face it, I totally just got a job in a sex club.

I’m not sure why I feel compelled to prove that fact, especially after Edna and Christian made it more than obvious what happens around here at night, but I do. I guess you could say I’ve always been a little bit curious when it comes to sex. Even from a young age I was rewatching scenes in Love Actually of when John and Judy were rehearsing for their porno. My parents weren’t around to tell me how inappropriate it would have been for a twelve-year-old.

I spot another set of stairs and head for them, knowing the last thing I want today is someone asking me questions and getting me in trouble.

When I reach the next level, I enter onto a large landing area. Beyond is a dimly lit corridor with the only light coming from the skirting boards, giving it a darker, more seductive feel than downstairs.

With my interest well and truly piqued, I make my way down the corridor.

As I near the first room, I notice the large floor-to-ceiling windows attached to it. I’m not so innocent that I don’t know they are viewing windows.

I smile, biting my bottom lip.

With a little trepidation and excitement stirring in my gut and with the room clearly not being occupied, I try the handle.

It’s locked.

“Hm.” I cup my hands and lean into the glass window, trying to get a better look inside.

“What are you expecting to find?”