Page 19 of De-Witched

It was Sunday evening; the crowd was hopping with office folk craving one last shot of freedom before the daily grind. Tia had been scheduled, but a sudden family thing had summoned her to New Orleans. With Emma out of town with Bastian, Leah had agreed to pull a double with Gabriel. Tia had again lectured her on staying safe, making her promise to stay focused on the work, not the warlock. Honestly, if it wasn’t painfully obvious how much Leah and Gabriel rubbed each other the wrong way, Leah wondered if her babysitters would’ve left her at all. And didn’t that make her feel irritated all over again.

Shaking that off, she placed the tray on the bar and cut into the customer’s rant. “Gabriel, take these, will you? Hi, sorry to interrupt. Is there a problem?”

It would’ve been beneath Gabriel to stomp, but she felt his desire to as he silently took the tray away, leaving her to fix his mess. Again. Another man might’ve said thank you, but he only took up a position as far down the bar as he could get. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t irritated by that. Just as she’d be lying if she said the increase of female traffic to his side of the counter didn’t burrow under her skin.

It was the suits, she supposed, keeping an eye strictly for managerial purposes as she served her own customers. The three-piece tailored look swept snugly over his lean, muscular body and only added to his aloof air. Throw in that black hair, those unfairly green eyes, and the rest of what made up a staggering face, and she couldn’t blame anyone for drooling. After all, they didn’t know his personality sucked.

Don’t encourage him, she wanted to shout at the fawning women and men who made eyes at the warlock. He was already arrogant enough for ten men. Not that he ever took any of the unspoken invitations, at least as far as she knew. Maybe Tia was right, maybe he really hated the idea of their worlds colliding.

Or maybe he couldn’t get it up. Her smile was on the mean side as she decided she preferred that. Be a dick, lose a dick. Sweet, sweet karma.

When they hit a lull, she deliberately disregarded his no-entry body language and wandered over, nudging a hip on the counter and staring at him.

He ignored her, wiping down the already-clean bar, his favorite job to do when she was nearby.

“So, Goodnight, huh?” She slid her tongue along her teeth as his shoulders visibly stiffened. “As in Goodnight’s Remedies?” She wasn’t sure why she was playing with fire except that the flame was there and she couldn’t stand being ignored. By him. By anyone. “How did you end up working in a bar? Black sheep?” she prompted. “Rebelled against the family’s plan? Maybe you wore jeans one day and this is your penance.”

“Why would wearing jeans get me sentenced to this?”

The way he said it, you’d expect him to be cleaning sewers.

“This,” she stressed, “as in the job we generously gave you? You’re welcome, by the way.” Her grin had bite as he shot a sneer at her. “As for jeans, you never wear them, so I figured there had to be something in the Goodnight charter. Thou Shalt Not Wear Denim.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw but he didn’t say anything.

He hadn’t learned yet that silence didn’t work. Leah would only continue to talk at him, and talk and talk until she nudged a reaction out.

“You might not know this,” she mused as he dragged the cloth up and down in agitated patterns, “but Turners are Chicago elite, too. Oh, we’re more casual than most. Notice, no pearls, no diamonds. I don’t even really have a trust fund anymore. Invested in this bar, my place. But my mom is the name on the guest list, the donation in the pocket you want. Still, we’re not on the Goodnight scale,” she allowed, slightly embarrassed she’d felt the need to point out her family’s pedigree. Like she cared what he thought. “Your products are in every drugstore across the country. Which again makes me ask, why are you here? Mommy and Daddy catch you getting a little too familiar with a commoner?”

She realized her mistake as soon as he froze in place, audibly sucking in a short breath. Like she’d taken her fist and thumped him solidly in the gut.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, straightening from her slouch. No matter how irritated she felt, there was no excuse for bringing his parents into it, even if she had forgotten they’d died. “Emma and Tia...they told me your parents were...” She swallowed as he continued to stare at her. “I didn’t mean to...”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the towel he’d been using smoke under his fingers. She took a step to—what? Warn him? She wasn’t sure.

But he moved as if it were a dance, stepping back to her one forward. His expression wiped clean as she watched. Without a word, he walked past her to serve a waiting customer down the bar, leaving her alone. The old insecurity slid around her shoulders like an arm from an old friend.

She didn’t go after him.

They managed not to cross each other’s paths for the next two hours, keeping busy with individual tasks and avoiding even looking at one another. With every minute that passed, Leah felt worse. She wasn’t the type to hurt people and though she hadn’t meant to poke a sore spot, she had been needling him. And why? Because she couldn’t handle the rejection, the obvious distance he wanted to keep between them.

Get real time: she was being a child. It wasn’t a realization that went down smooth and she washed out the bad taste with a sip of ice water, battling the urge to exchange the drink for something stronger. Gabriel was in an unfamiliar world in a job he sucked at, away from his friends and family, so he could inherit his parents’ company. As much of an ass as he was, she didn’t need to be a bigger one.

Casting a veiled look at where he was clearing tables, Leah’s chest tightened. She’d have to apologize again. And stop...everything. The teasing, the nickname, the pointed comments and catty smiles. His attention needed to be on the job, not on an internal battle with her.

It was the adult thing to do.

Chugging the rest of the water, Leah cast both her glass and the odd depression at the realization aside. It was still a couple of hours until closing and there were enough tables that needed clearing that one tray wasn’t going to do it. Grabbing the other from under the bar, she slipped around the counter.

She kept an eye on Gabriel, as did, she imagined, much of the room. He didn’t blend like Emma or Tia, or even Kole. He was simply too commanding to merge with the crowd, even as he picked up half-drunk beers and empty cocktail glasses.

She moved to the table next to his. Bracing herself, she dared to look at his face, pointedly turned away. She cleared her throat. A muscle flexed in his jaw but he refused to acknowledge her. The message was clear: he wasn’t going to engage.

“Gabriel,” she said, low.

He didn’t let her finish. Stiff, he twisted away in a sharp movement. Too sharp.

He slipped, staggered.

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