“You’re here a lot, aren’t you?”
“I get the bar ready, tidy up, draw up stock lists...” she said. Her eyes met mine for one pointed moment. “... I look after Mr Morgan.”
“I’m sure you do a great job.”
Her eyes were guarded. “I love being here. I love my job.”
“And you don’t want me here, I can understand that.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t need to say it.” I pushed the cocktail instructions to the side. “I’m not your enemy, but I am your boss and I am planning on sticking around. Andy and I go back a long way, and our relationship is... complicated.” I fixed her firmly in my stare. “I’m not here to piss on your parade, Topaz. I don’t want to tread on any toes. Except maybe his. Sometimes.”
She sighed. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me... there’s nothing going on... between Mr Morgan and me, I mean.” Embarrassment turned her cheeks rosy. “He doesn’t even know I exist. I just make his coffee and clean the bar.”
“You like him,” I said. “He probably doesn’t have a clue, by the way. He’s got his face glued so tight to his paperwork I’m surprised he even remembers to take a shit.”
She scrubbed the bar until it squeaked. “It’s just a crush. Boss thing, you know? I didn’t think it was that obvious.”
“I’ve been around a bit. My female instincts are finely tuned...” I paused until I had her eye. “Is this going to cause a problem?”
She didn’t even flinch. “I’m a big girl, I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Not that big. How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” she said. “Old enough to know the difference between fantasy and real life.”
“Doesn’t make jealousy sting any less.”
“It’s just a silly crush. I’ll survive.” She looked beyond me towards the playrooms. “I walked past earlier. Coffee run. Tell me it’s none of my business if you want.”
“We were just working things out, Explicit style. Things escalated quickly.” I got down from the stool and grabbed myself a vodka Coke. “I could do with a drink, I don’t know about you.”
She joined me and grabbed herself an alcopop. Popped a neon blue straw in the top. “Is that why you came back from Italy? To work things out with Mr Morgan?”
“I came back for the club. I belong here. At least, I thought I did.” I resumed my seat and winced at the sting. “I’ve been gone a long time, I don’t have many friends here.”
“You’ll make friends,” she said. “They’re a good crowd.”
“And what about you? Are you part of the crowd?”
She slurped on her straw. “I’m just a barmaid, I’m always working.”
“Every single night? Are you not a member?”
She shook her head. “I was shy when I joined, and now I’m just part of the furniture. I never get noticed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Would you want to be?”
“Maybe sometimes.” Her smile was nervous, tentative. Something brewing under the surface. “I came here for research, though, primarily. I want to be a writer.”
“A writer?” A shiver crawled up my spine.
“Erotica. BDSM erotica.” Her eyes met mine, held firm. “I love reading. It’s all I do when I’m not at work or writing. I’ve read so many books, EL James, Sylvia Day, all the big names... Vincent Blackthorne... he’s my favourite...”
My breath hitched, and she was watching me, eyes like a hawk. “Then I guess you must have questions...”
“I don’t want to pry.” Her words were hollow, she edged around the bar, took a seat to my left. “But I heard, about Italy... I wasn’t going to ask, but is it true? That you met Vincent? That you lived with him?”
I downed my drink, fought the urge to grab another. “I didn’t live with him. I lived on his property. He has two houses, I lived in the guest house.”
Her eyes glazed. Starstruck. A look I was familiar with.
“I love Vincent Blackthorne’s books. I have all of them... Venice in Chains... Master Mine... To kneel and obey... and his Magpie series... Pretty Bird, Caged and Beautiful and Broken Wings...”
“He’s very good.”
“Mr Morgan would fire me if he knew I’d asked.” She smiled, anyway. “What’s Vincent like? In real life? His author blurb says he’s authentic, that he has a dungeon in the Veneto mountains. Sometimes he talks about it on Facebook.”