‘Staff do?’
‘Have you forgotten? You approved the idea. Twenty-first of June—next Monday night for those who forget to look at the calendar. Formal or fancy dress or Celtic, yet to be decided. A money raiser. Charity to be determined by the boss.’ She tapped his chest. ‘That would be you.’
He grunted. Someone had come up with the idea in February for a winter solstice celebration as a morale booster, he remembered, but he’d been working in Sydney for most of this year and it had slipped his mind.
‘So are you going to bring her?’ she asked again.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Because…? He preferred the idea of something more intimate for their first date, not a roomful of colleagues garnering Ellie’s attention. When he and Ellie got together—and they would—he didn’t want an audience. ‘We’re not involved.’
‘Yeah, I noticed,’ Yasmine said dryly. ‘Bring her anyway. Make Belle happy.’
It would be a way to keep his word to Belle that he was looking out for Ellie. ‘We’ll see,’ he muttered, more to shut Yasmine up than any promise on his part. But for now…He clicked open a folder on his computer. ‘Moving on to more important matters,’ he said, ignoring Yasmine’s grin. ‘Bring me up to speed on the Dalton project.’
‘Six beers, two tequilas, one rum and Coke,’ Ellie recited to herself, sliding the requested drinks order onto her tray. She started towards the table of rowdy guys, wishing her black skirt was a few centimetres longer.
The atmosphere inside the club oozed sweat, cheap aftershave and testosterone. A lone pole-dancer was doing her thing to bad music over a poor sound system. According to Ellie’s fellow waitress, Tuesday night wasn’t usually busy, but an entire football team had turned up after training and were jostling for viewing space.
Her throat felt scratchy with the constant strain of having to raise her voice over the noise. They were one staff member short. Sasha, who’d arranged the shift for Ellie and was supposed to be here to help her through the first night, hadn’t turned up. Ellie suppressed her annoyance. Perhaps Sasha was sick, but she should have phoned.
Well, she was doing just fine tonight without her help, thank you very much. Only a few more hours with Sleazy in the cheap business suit mentally undressing her from his corner table and she was out of here.
She offloaded the beers, carried the rum and Coke to Sleazy’s table.
‘How about a nightcap when you finish up here?’ he asked her breasts as she set the glass down.
‘No, thanks.’ Booze had made him more obnoxious than he’d been an hour earlier.
‘Come on, babe. We’d make a good team, you and me.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She turned to leave but he grasped her wrist. She wrenched her arm away, toppling his drink. Liquid splashed the table, sloshing over the edge and onto his shiny polyester trousers.
‘Everything okay, here, Ellie?’ A familiar deep voice behind her.
She darted a look over her shoulder, glimpsed Matt and groaned inwardly. With relief, with embarrassment. ‘How long have you been here?’ And how come she hadn’t seen him arrive?
‘Long enough.’ Then to Sleazy, he leaned low and murmured, ‘I suggest you leave while you still can.’
Sleazy glared at Ellie a moment as if deciding to make something of it, then rose. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he muttered, swiping at the damp patch on his leg. He didn’t give eye contact to Matt, she noted, but he sent Ellie a final glare, then pushed his way towards the bar.
‘You okay?’ She felt Matt’s hand at her back but shrugged it off before she did something stupid—like arch against it and purr. ‘I’m fine. Please let me get on with my job.’
He stepped back. ‘Fine. Get on with it.’
His clipped reply reminded her that she’d been prickly and ungrateful—a survival mechanism, but rude nonetheless—so she followed up with, ‘Would you like a drink? On the house.’
He nodded. ‘Mineral water. Thanks.’
She watched him return to an empty table on the far side of the room, away from the tables she was serving, and flick open a folder he’d left there. His dark eyes met hers again, sending ripples of awareness down her spine.
Smoothing her skirt, she headed to the bar to place his order and paid for it herself. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to come to her rescue. Even if she hadn’t needed it. She reminded herself she didn’t need anyone, particularly Matt McGregor, stamping all over her independence.
So when she came by with his drink a few moments later, she couldn’t help herself. ‘There are much better strip clubs in town, as I’m sure you—’
‘Yes. I know.’ He studied her a moment, an almost-grin lurking around his mouth. Then picked up his glass, raised it to her, took a long slow swallow. ‘But the evening’s young yet.’
Something hot quivered low in her belly, prompting her to say, ‘Unless the stripper’s a personal friend of yours?’ She saw his eyes narrow and leaned towards him a fraction. ‘You’re checking up on me,’ she accused. ‘Did you think I was lying to you this morning?’
‘Would you lie to me, Ellie?’ His gaze slid to her lips. ‘About how you feel, for instance?’
Her pulse jumped up a notch and she took a swift step back. Away from the incredible aura he seemed to exude. ‘Why would I?’
‘Only you can answer that.’ Still watching her, he took another swallow from his glass.
‘Listen, I don’t need a minder—’
‘Belle’s idea.’
She huffed an impatient breath. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean for you to intrude on my private life.’
‘I have a moral obligation since I don’t consider this a safe working environment. And hasn’t that been proven justified?’
She looked away, only to catch the disapproving eye of the bar manager. So it seemed it was okay to be sexually harassed and threatened but chatting with the customers was frowned upon. ‘I need to get back to work.’
He set his glass down, flicked an eye over his folder, then drew out his phone. ‘And I need to make a call.’
She knew Matt was there, was conscious of his eyes following her for the next couple of hours, even though whenever she glanced his way he had his nose buried in his folder or was speaking into his mobile phone. At one point he was smiling while he talked and she just knew he wasn’t talking business—unless it was funny business. And that, she told herself, was none of her business.
It was sometime after midnight when the manager paid her at the end of her shift and told her that her services were not required. He told her there’d been a complaint, that she’d come on to a customer, then deliberately spilled his drink when he’d knocked her invitation back. So the manager had docked her the cost of the drink for the damage that the customer had caused.
Resentment spiked through her bloodstream. ‘That’s not how it was and you know it.’ Giving him the best evil eye she could manage, she stuffed what was left of her night’s pay into her bag, buttoned her coat with quick jerky movements. ‘You can take your lousy job and stick it in a very dark place,’ she snapped out on her way to the nearest exit.
Ellie was accustomed to people expecting her to be an easy walkover. Usually she fought back. She could have argued her case; she was the injured party here. Tonight, as she manoeuvred her way through testosterone city, all she wanted to do was get out of this pit and lay her throbbing head on a pillow