Page 8 of Worth Every Penny

She shifts into action, realising she’s let Nico knock her off her job. “Oh, yes. Sorry. Here you go.” She slides two tokens across the desk, one for me and one for Nico.

I snatch mine and move away, giving myself a shake as I go. I refuse to let Nico Hawkston ruin my night.

He calls my name but I keep walking, breathing a sigh of relief when his phone rings and he stops to answer it, allowing me to continue towards the bar alone.

4

KATE

My body is still buzzing with adrenaline as I push open the doors to the bar. I need to ground myself, or I won’t be able to focus on Jack, his birthday, and whatever his great surprise is.

Amazingly, I’m still early. The bar is almost empty and soft music filters through hidden speakers. The lighting is dim, and the floor is dark stone. On one side, the wall is entirely glass, leading out to the balcony and the glittering lights of London beyond. It’s glamorous without being too showy.

I spot Jack at the bar, perched on a red velvet stool. He’s flirting with one of the waitresses, who’s filling glasses of champagne. She stops what she’s doing and leans across to help him fix his bow tie. I want to laugh; I’ve seen that move before. He’s incorrigible.

“Happy birthday!” I cry as I cross the room towards him.

Jack spins to face me and his lips part in a huge, cheeky grin. He pushes off the stool, dwarfing the small waitress, who gawks as if his stature is both impressive and shocking. Even I can’t deny that he’s looking pretty damn handsome in his tux this evening—sleek lines and good tailoring accentuate his pale blueeyes, dark hair, and the slight cleft in his chin. I feel a burst of pride that this man is my brother.

Warmth spreads through me as he pulls me into a massive hug, like my nervous system is being dipped in a bath. It’s just what I need. My brother is eight years older than me, and being hugged by him is one of the most comforting things in my life, not least because it reminds me of Dad. They even smell the same; clean, like fresh laundry, but with a smokier element too, as though their jacket was hanging next to a wood-fire moments before they put it on.

Jack releases me and stands back to look me over, his lips tipping up at the corners, when suddenly his attention shifts to something over my shoulder.

“Nico!” he yells. “Get over here.”

My body goes haywire, every nerve ending firing off at high speed.So much for grounding myself.

I look back towards the door to see Nico pacing towards us, closing the distance with a few long strides. There isn’t a hint of hesitation in his graceful movement.

“Happy Birthday,” Nico says to Jack, and they clutch one another’s hands for a second, before drawing into one of those manly hugs that ends with a thump on the shoulder blade as they separate. They’re both grinning, pleased to see each other, and they exchange a few pleasantries.

“Little K,” Nico says to me with a respectful nod of the head, as if we haven’t already done this.

A brief silence follows, and Jack looks between us, his gaze settling on me. He’s expecting me to say something, but I’m too preoccupied trying to make sense of the way my body is reacting to Nico’s presence.

“It’s Nico,” Jack tells me, as if my silence means I’ve forgotten who he is. “Nico Hawkston.”

“I know.” My tone is cool, even though I’m fizzing beneath the skin.

“We spoke in the lift,” Nico explains to Jack. “And now we’ve exhausted all conversation.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking, but it’s a fair assessment of the situation. I’m not about to make small talk with Nico fucking Hawkston if I don’t have to. Jack’s perturbed gaze bounces between us.

“Don’t tell me this is your big news?” I ask my brother. “Nico Hawkston’s back in town?”

In my peripheral vision, Nico flinches. It’s not a bodily flinch, but a tightening of the muscles around his dark eyes. Maybe I sounded more sarcastic than I meant to, but I’m still wondering what Jack’s ‘huge-fucking news’is, and hoping this isn’t it.

Jack swipes a glass of champagne from the bar and hands it to me like nothing’s wrong, but when he smiles, his lips pull away awkwardly from his teeth. Nothing about it is natural.

It sets me on edge.

Jack hands Nico a champagne glass too. Nico takes it, a slight crease marring the space between his dark brows.

We stand—an awkward circle of three—until Jack thrusts his hand into the middle and raises his glass in a toast.

“To us,” he says.

I don’t move. Why is Jack toasting ‘us’ like we’re all best of friends when Nico screwed over our dad, disappeared off to America, and has avoided me for eight years?

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