Paradise City (22 page)

Chapter Forty-One

I splashed water onto my face, flooding my cheeks with the coolness I so desperately craved. Clasping the edge of the basin, I took in my flaming complexion, praying the dull lighting in the bar would hide it from the others.

I ran my fingers through my hair nervously – excited Ballantine was here and wanted to see me. I made my way back to the bar. I was relieved that Dean was gone – probably up to his lair, I thought, as I glanced up to the office with the one-way glass. I pictured him sitting on a throne-like chair, watching his minions.

Sherry swooped in, silently raising an eyebrow. She wasn’t much of a communicator.

‘I think I’ll have a raspberry tonight, I’m feeling kind of dangerous.’

‘Can you pay for it this time?’ she deadpanned.

I smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I can.’

She nodded, plunging a glass into the icy recess.

I wondered where Ballantine was. He was obviously out the back in the kitchen doing . . . what? Chef’s apprentice? Dish boy?

‘Hey, Sherry, what does Ballantine do here?’ I asked.

She looked at me as if she wanted to be anywhere else than here exchanging small talk. She had a rather intense ‘kill me now’ kind of body language. ‘He’s a dish pig. Two-fifty,’ she said in a no-nonsense manner.

I scoffed, totally unsurprised by her answer. ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking my drink and handing her a five-dollar note. ‘Keep the change,’ I said, giving her my own deadpan expression as I made my way back to the bistro.

I had just sipped the bubbly excess off the top so it wouldn’t dribble over the edge. Which didn’t help in the slightest because I didn’t see the upsweep of a set of menus until they hit me, dumping raspberry lemonade all down my white top.

I froze, arms outstretched as I looked down at myself, stained like there had been a massacre. My eyes locked with Lucy’s, who stood before me with her hand covering her mouth in feigned horror.

‘Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you coming.’ She blinked innocently. ‘Boy, I hope that doesn’t stain,’ she said, grimacing.

‘Oh my darling.’ Aunty Karen’s heels could be heard a mile away, clicking quickly towards me. I appreciated that she saw it for what it was – an absolute fucking disaster of biblical proportions. She dabbed at my top with a scrunched-up serviette.

‘Oh, we need to get some club soda right away.’

‘I think it’s too late for that,’ I said, pulling out my shirt, trying to prevent it from sticking to my skin.

‘I am so sorry, Mrs Burnsteen, I just didn’t see her coming,’ added a fake, yet still visibly upset Lucy. Oh she was good, really good.

Aunty Karen turned to Lucy, and for the first time ever, I saw the bright sparkle dim in her blue eyes. ‘Oh, make no mistake, Miss Fell, I saw exactly what happened and I know what a nasty piece of work you are.’

A shiver ran down my spine, partly because I was wearing my drink but also because when Aunty Karen turned on her badass, wow, she really turned it on.

Lucy’s cheeks reddened as deeply as the raspberry I was wearing.

‘I’m sure Grant would be very disappointed in you, Lucy,’ came my uncle’s voice from next to my aunty.

‘I–I’ll get some soda water,’ she said, quick-stepping out of the room, tears visible in her eyes.

‘Don’t bother,’ Amanda called after her, before cutting me a pitiful look. ‘Can’t take you anywhere.’ She shook her head.

‘Oh, honey, do you want to go home?’ Aunty Karen’s eyes took in my dismal state; it was then that I glanced around the restaurant and noticed every table was looking at me.

I breathed. ‘No! We’re here for a nice, family dinner. I won’t let someone like Lucy Fell-on-her–,’ I paused. ‘Um, I mean I’m not going to let her get the better of me.’

‘Good! Because I am freakin’ starving,’ said Amanda, heading back to our booth.

I smiled at my aunty and uncle. ‘It’s okay, there’s a hand dryer in the toilets,’ I said. ‘Back in a minute.’

I had a sense of déjà vu heading back past the bar, and funnily enough, there was no Lucy fetching me any soda water. She was nowhere to be seen.

‘Hey, you!’

I stalled, looking to where Sherry was standing behind the bar. She looked over my drenched clothes with disdain, before pointing towards the stairs. ‘You’ve been summoned.’

My eyes glanced up at the one-way glass window.

Oh great.

‘What does he want?’

She shrugged, going back to serve a customer.

I sighed. He was probably worried I was going to sue him or something, and then I thought how quickly news travelled in this place. As I made my way up the stairs, feeling sticky and gross, I was in no mood to have to explain the reason why Lucy was a massive bitch – and why he clearly hired staff who had zero personality, except Ballantine, of course.

I made it to the top of the landing and knocked on the door, deciding that if he didn’t answer within five seconds, I would be hightailing it back down the stairs.

‘Enter.’

Damn.

I twisted the handle and gingerly pushed it open.

There wasn’t a vulture on his shoulder, or even a throne; instead, he sat behind a very normal desk, in a very normal office, with a couch, filing cabinet and little kitchen area. It all looked very civilised. He even had a framed black-and-white poster of The Beatles mounted on his wall. My eyes drifted out the window through the glass, which had an impressive view over the bar, but did not extend into the bistro. My eyes wandered to a wall of monitors that covered all of the other parts of the building as well as one showing the bar. BINGO!

No wonder news travelled so fast.

Dean leant back in his chair, taking in my attire. ‘Red suits you,’ he said.

‘Yeah, well, who should I send my cleaning bill to?’

‘I’ll trade you,’ he said, getting up out of his chair, heading towards the top drawer of his filing cabinet, opening it and pulling out a black square of material. He then threw it over and I caught it clumsily.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, unfolding the material to see it was a black tee with ‘The Wipe Out Bar’ scrawled across the back, and the same insignia that was on the beer coasters printed on the front.

‘Am I being inducted as a staff member?’

‘I don’t think so,’ he deadpanned.

‘Oh, do you doubt my skills?’ I asked, interested in his disinterest. Surely I could do what Lucy Fell could do: be fake and pour drinks on customers.

‘Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, Lexie Atkinson.’ He brushed past me, reaching for the door handle, amused; my gaze followed him.

‘How do you know my last name?’ I asked, curving my brow.

Dean shrugged. ‘Apparently some chick called Lexie Atkinson is shagging the owner of the Wipe Out Bar,’ he said, grinning as he opened the door.

I tilted my head. ‘Ha ha.’

‘Get changed in here if you want; sink’s over there.’

I turned to see where he was referring. ‘Oh, umm, I don’t know. I’ll just –’

‘Relax, I’m leaving.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he said with a pointed look, before stepping out and slamming the door closed.

I breathed out, taking a moment to lift up the shirt, knowing it would be too big, but what did I care? Free top! Although, with Dean Saville, maybe nothing was ever free. I smelled the fabric: clean and crisp. I made my way over to the sink in the corner. Setting the t-shirt aside on the back of the chair, I washed my hands and arms with hot, soapy water, removing all traces of the sticky mess. I glanced at the screen, noticing that Dean was behind the bar, no doubt ordering his staff around. Knowing he was safely downstairs, I made quick work of removing my top. Plunging it in the sink and dowsing it with water and soap, I knew that there was no salvaging it. I looked at my reflection, grimacing at the pink tinge in the middle of my bra. I glanced back to the bar on screen before removing my bra and adding it to the sink. I took no chances, grabbing for my new top because somehow being half-naked in Dean’s office didn’t seem right at all, and just as I draped the material over my head, pulling down and turning myself into a piece of walking merchandise, I froze, hearing the door screech slowly open and a tentative cough.

I was no longer alone.

Chapter Forty-Two

I saw him in the reflection of the mirror first, but I didn’t truly believe it until I spun around to see Ballantine, standing in the doorway of the office. He stepped in, closing the door behind him, leaning against it, folding his arms and looking all cool and calm. The only giveaway was the deepset intent of his eyes that flicked from my bra hanging over the sink and then back to me.

This was not ideal.

Standing in Dean’s office with my bra and top in his sink, wearing his t-shirt. It was a definite mood killer. I scrambled to push them deeper into the sink and added more cold water to the pale pink mess.

‘I’m just trying to salvage these,’ I said, glancing at his still form in the mirror. ‘Bloody Lucy spilt my drink all over –’

‘I heard.’

I stopped scrubbing. ‘You did?’

Ballantine pushed off from the door and started towards the monitors, his eyes flicking over the black-and-white security screens. ‘News travels fast in this place.’

I abandoned my clothes to soak in the sink, brushing my hands on my jeans to dry them as I came to stand next to Ballantine.

‘I get it, but aren’t all these monitors a bit over the top?’

‘You’d be surprised what goes down in Arcadia Lane; it’s a full-time job dealing with all the freaks that can wander in at any given moment.’

‘And that’s not including the staff.’

Ballantine laughed. ‘Especially the staff.’

‘I mean, no offence,’ I teased.

‘No, you’re absolutely right. Why do you think I’m kept out back, chained to the sink?’

‘Why don’t you work in the bar? You’re old enough and I think you’d make a great barman.’

‘Because of my immense charm and irresistibility?’

‘Well . . . there isn’t a whole lot of that happening behind the bar right now,’ I said, focusing on the grainy black-and-white image of cyclone Sherry working the bar, expertly pulling a beer, dumping it in front of a patron, scooping up the money, then whizzing around Dean, who was standing in the way. He seemed intently focused on listening to a tourist couple at the bar with great, if not faked, interest. It amused me no end: he was trapped, trying to edge his way out politely but then the husband, who sported a snazzy-looking bum bag and trusty knee-high socks, pulled out a map, unravelling it over the bar. I watched on as Dean gathered patience and morphed from owner of the Wipe Out Bar to Tourist Information Guide; it was hilarious and I suddenly wanted a bucket of popcorn and to pull up a seat, the view was so entertaining.

I pointed to the bistro screen to where the image flicked onto our table. ‘Heads-up: avoid table twenty-two, my uncle’s here.’

I was trying to make light out of the insanity of the situation but Ballantine didn’t look amused, his serious gaze was set on the bistro screen.

‘What did my uncle say to you?’ It was the one thing that had haunted me since that night; as much as I’d like to think that my uncle had simply stormed back into the bar and ordered a tequila slammer to calm his nerves, I seriously doubted that was the case.

Ballantine breathed out a laugh. ‘Let’s just say he made his point very clear.’

Oh God.

I grimaced. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘So, at a guess, I’m thinking he would not be very happy to know you’re up here talking to me.’

I watched on as our meals were delivered to our table, and interestingly enough, not by Lucy.

‘Um, no, he wouldn’t.’

I felt bad. I felt bad that Ballantine was probably being judged for leading the sweet, innocent farm girl astray, but I had discovered that anytime I was around Ballantine, I wanted to be anything but sweet or innocent. Maybe he brought out that side of me? It was a side I had never met before and it scared me. Actually, it excited me.

Ballantine sat down in Dean’s chair, setting his elbows on the armrests and linking his fingers together. ‘So, am I to be your dirty little secret then?’ he asked, a devious spark in his eyes as he swivelled from side to side in what was like a chair fit for a Bond villain.

‘Yeah. You don’t mind, do you?’ I teased.

‘Ignore me by day and have your way with me by night?’

‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’

‘What way can it be then? Tell me.’

Once again I glanced towards the screen. I studied the serious lines of my uncle’s face as he salted his plate, the scornful way Amanda ignored her parents by playing on her phone, the way Aunty Karen chatted, oblivious to everything that surrounded her. How could I fit Ballantine into my life? I didn’t want Uncle Peter watching me like a hawk or handing down ground rules so early on; I didn’t want Amanda to blackmail me or use my time with Ballantine as a bartering tool. Sweet Aunty Karen would probably be quite carefree and liberal about it all, but I’d give her less than a minute until she accidentally name-dropped Ballantine to my mum and then it would be game over. As much as I liked to think I had some control over my life, I really didn’t. I had one more year to ride out after this one – my last year of school – and then I was free, free to do and
be
with anyone I wanted. The very thought gave me hope.

My silence pretty much answered Ballantine’s question.

‘See? It’s the way it has to be.’

As much as I wanted to shout from the rooftops and be public and loved-up like Amanda and Boon were, I understood that we could never be like that; well, not right now anyway.

‘How depressing.’ I sighed, looking down at Ballantine. ‘Living a lie.’

Ballantine smiled broadly. ‘Believe me, there will be nothing depressing about it.’

I turned my back to the screens and leant against the lip of the desk. ‘So you’ll make it worth my while then? You know us country girls get bored very easily.’

Ballantine stood from his seat, placing his hands on either side of my hips, caging me in as he looked down at me with a cocky grin. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he whispered against my mouth, before brushing his lips against mine, grazing my bottom lip playfully with his teeth, causing my insides to churn with excitement.

‘Come on, you better go. Your dinner will be getting cold.’

‘Let me guess: you leave, then I leave?’

‘See, this is going to be easy,’ he said, backing away to the door. ‘Watch the bar screen and as soon as I’m around it, head out.’

I straightened. ‘Luke.’

He paused midway out the door, his eyes flashing with a heated interest, the same way they always did when I called him by his first name. I would have to remember that.

‘Thanks for my picture.’

Something happened then. It was an unexpected shyness I had never seen in him before, as a boyish grin spread across his face. ‘No worries.’

‘Hey, do you want to try something different next week?’ I asked. ‘Do you want to try actually having a lunchtime instead of detention? I hear it’s pretty good.’

Ballantine laughed, warm and tender, until his eyes dipped to my t-shirt; it served as a trigger to wipe away his smile. He had said he believed that there was nothing going on between me and Dean, but the sudden coldness that swept over him said otherwise. I stepped forward, tilting my head to get into his line of vision, bringing him back to me. He blinked in confusion, which softened the hard lines of his face.

‘It’s you, Ballantine. It’s always been you,’ I said, taking his hand. ‘You have to ignore the rumours because that’s exactly what they are: rumours.’

Ballantine’s eyes ticked over my face, wide and taken aback. ‘I trust you, Lex.’

I gave him a small, sad smile. ‘I don’t think you do.’

Ballantine stared down to where our hands joined, thinking for the longest time. ‘I trust you,’ he said, lifting his eyes to mine. ‘It’s him I don’t trust.’

Ballantine had never hidden his disdain for his boss. I’d seen Dean the boss. He didn’t say much to his staff, and he ran the place with almost military precision. Had he and Ballantine fought over the way he was treated? I knew he wasn’t happy. Surely Paradise City was big enough for Ballantine to find employment somewhere else. There was nothing between Dean and me. Ballantine had to know that.

‘Well, you’re going to have to get over it,’ I said in frustration. ‘You can’t go living your life filled with all this anger towards him. Stop working with him, find a new job, a new hangout. Sever the bloody cord. Simple!’

A small smile curved the corner of his mouth. ‘Simple,’ he repeated.

‘Simple.’ I nodded with a sense of finality.

‘If only it was that simple.’

Now I was getting mad – mad and more frustrated – at the stubborn, gorgeous boy who stood before me. I folded my arms. ‘And it’s not, because?’

He sighed. ‘Because even if I quit my job, found a new haunt, or moved towns, it wouldn’t change things.’

‘Why wouldn’t it?’

Ballantine’s expression sobered as his dark, serious eyes looked down into mine. ‘Because he’ll always be my brother.’

•

Whaaaaat?
Brothers? They were
brothers
?

With nothing more than a peck on the forehead and a devious little smile, Ballantine had dropped the bombshell and left me in Dean’s office – no, wait, make that left me in his
brother’s
office – mouth agape, stunned.

What the hell?

I had no real recollection of going down the stairs; all I recalled was turning my dazed expression towards Dean as I walked past him at the bar where he was pouring a drink for a thirsty patron.

Fucking brothers?

I slid back into my seat, wearing my oversized Wipe Out Bar t-shirt. My heart sank as I took in the soggy plate before me. Parmi and what chips were left. I threw a knowing look to Amanda, who refused to look my way.

‘That’s better,’ said Aunty Karen.

I pulled at the baggy tee. ‘Yep! I’m a local now.’

But not local enough, it seemed, to be in the know about certain facts . . . they were brothers? How had this not been mentioned? I felt like a giant mug. I remembered Laura’s eagerness to use Dean to make Ballantine jealous, but she never mentioned they were brothers.

I tried to be upbeat and cheerful, but after the Ballantine bombshell, well, I was a bit distracted.

‘You’re not hungry?’ asked Uncle Peter.

It was then that I realised that all of their plates were empty, and I was the one who was holding everyone up.

‘I just don’t feel very well.’ It wasn’t a complete lie.

‘Oh, sweetheart, I hope you’re not letting what happened get to you?’ Aunty Karen responded.

‘Yeah. No need to cry over spilt raspberry. Jesus!’ added Amanda, rather unsympathetically.

‘No, it’s not that; I just have a really bad headache.’ Okay, so that was a lie.

‘Well, we can go if you want?’ suggested Aunty Karen.

‘What! And miss dessert?’ said Amanda, pouting like a small child.

‘There’s ice-cream at home.’ Aunty Karen was grabbing her bag, ready to move, and Uncle Peter glanced at his watch. They had fulfilled their duty in pacifying us teenagers in a place they would otherwise not step foot in, so their eagerness to leave was not a surprise. I was relieved I wasn’t going to be forced to eat my food, as I really just wanted to get out of there. The only one who was put out was Amanda.

‘So precious Lexie wants to go home so we go home? Typical,’ she scoffed.

‘Amanda, we’d do the same if you felt unwell,’ said Aunty Karen.

‘Maybe it’s just the place that’s given Lexie bad vibes. What do you think, Dad?’

She was teetering on the edge of hinting at something more when Uncle Peter cut her a dark look, one that had her instantly falling quiet and storming out in front of us.

Aunty Karen sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with that girl lately.’

Uncle Peter guided Aunty Karen out of the bistro, placing a hand on the small of her back while I lingered behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bar. I wanted to make eye contact with Dean before we left, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was never more curious than now to look at Dean, really look at him, and see if I could detect any kind of family resemblance between the two of them.

I looked to the office upstairs, wondering if he was watching us leave. Before I knew it, our bill was paid and we were out the door, weaving down the arcade.

I blew out a long, steadying breath. Uncle Peter and Aunty Karen let go of their hand holding so I could pass them and walk in front with Amanda.

‘What’s wrong? Did you forget to give ol’ Deano a kiss goodbye?’ Amanda teased.

My head snapped around to her. ‘I didn’t know Ballantine and Dean were brothers.’

Amanda scoffed. ‘Yeah, duh . . . everyone knows that.’

‘They look nothing alike, they don’t even have the same last name.’

I mean, how the hell was a girl to know?

Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Different dads, idiot. Jesus, and they put you in accelerated classes?’

‘Shut up,’ I said, glowering at her. I forged forward, hating the fact that home meant more time spent with her and her moods. It was like living with a child, a spoilt child. Seriously, had my aunty and uncle ever thought about boarding school? Or a convent or something? A Tibetan monastery where she would have to take a vow of silence? It would be considered a community service.

At least by the time we got home, I could excuse myself in a believable enough way that had me fake-pop some Panadol and go to bed, while Amanda stuffed her face with ice-cream. I lay on my bed, unfolding the drawing that Ballantine had created. The inky magical world he had built made me smile, calming me with the knowledge that we were good, that we would make the effort to be together, even if we had to fly under the radar. I regretted not asking him what he was doing on the weekend, or where he would be, at least. I really didn’t want to have to hang out with Amanda socially if I could help it. Still, if it meant seeing Ballantine, I would suck it up.

I folded the paper and stuck it inside my pillowcase, covering myself with the doona, and wondered if I would get a knock on my window tonight or tomorrow night. When I started to drift off to sleep I smiled, thinking about the events of the day. From the way Ballantine had made me feel, it was no wonder I was exhausted. Then, inevitably, I thought back to Dean’s office and Ballantine’s revelation and it played over and over in my mind.