Chapter 5

5

It had been a week and Gabriel was ready to wave the white flag. Not just ready; in his mind he'd bought the material, sewn it together and planted it on a pole. Only Goodnight pride stopped him from hoisting it, but he doubted any other Goodnight had ever dealt with anything like this. Not only had he completely failed at being a competent bartender—messing up the drink orders, incorrectly counting change, dropping so many glasses he was pretty sure he'd have nothing left of his salary—but he'd utterly failed at keeping the Goodnight dignity intact.

And all because of one blonde human.

Leah . Even her name made his teeth grind together.

Admittedly, he hadn't handled their first encounter well. Curse him for it, but it wasn't like he was known for his smooth charm, even under normal circumstances. Hearing that Toil and Trouble had a secret human owner was far from normal. Excuse the hell out of him for needing a moment. For needing to ignore her.

Maybe he'd have managed that—if the human in question hadn't been Leah Turner. Because ignoring Leah was proving to be impossible.

He couldn't ignore the way his ears rang every night—seriously, how could one tiny human talk so much? And move so much; she was never still, bouncing in place or fidgeting with her hair, sending clouds of frothy coconut scent his way.

He couldn't ignore her so-called jokes and the nickname she'd decided on for him—despite his insistence that his name was not Gabe—or the way she watched him make multiple mistakes over and over with a satisfied smile, crooning about being there to help him. Yeah, she'd help him. Into the path of an oncoming car.

He wasn't going to even think about the few times he'd forgotten himself and used magic around her, something she'd thankfully missed or they'd all be in deep shit. He was just grateful he could add "unobservant" to her list of flaws—and there were many.

Worst of all, he couldn't ignore that he'd been reduced to trading insults with her, all veiled of course, and each insult that made her eyes narrow proved immensely satisfying.

Like the time she'd suggested a costume day at work and he'd finally got the last word.

"Something fun on today's agenda, Gabe!" she'd sung at him, a mean glint in her eye. "We've decided to have a theme night. How do you feel about The Wizard of Oz ?"

"My name is Gabriel. And I don't wear costumes."

"Well, with that stick up your ass, I think we've found our scarecrow! Oh, Gabe, it was a joke. Lighten up."

"I don't wear costumes," he'd repeated.

"All right. How about a Fifty Shades theme? You already wear suits all the time; you can be Christian Grey. How does that sound?"

"Will I get to gag you?"

Her lips had thinned and every square inch of him had crowed in victory.

Unbelievable. One week in the human world and he'd forgotten everything about being a Goodnight.

And it was all her fault.

A loud whoop by the large mounted TV drew his brooding attention from the glasses he'd been drying to the small crowd watching the sports game. He noted Leah, ridiculous cap concealing all but a few curls, slap hands with a burly human wearing jeans and a beige sweater.

She grinned, mouth moving fast as she gestured to the screen. The group of men around her laughed, all appreciation.

Sure, she might smell nice and, in some eyes, might be considered attractive, but he doubted they'd be so quick with their interest if they worked with her. That one in front most of all needed a wake-up call; he'd already found three excuses to touch her.

Gabriel rammed the next glass into the stack with his mouth a flattened line.

After a few seconds, she winked at burly beige sweater and swiveled to Gabriel. He stuffed his cloth inside the next glass, purposefully watching it twist. He didn't care that she'd prefer to flirt than be at the bar but if she caught him looking, that would be it. She'd get that look in her eye, the gleam of battle. He'd sooner—

"Hey, cutie."

His gaze swung up at the drunken voice. Leah had been caught, clutched by a customer he'd served three neat whiskeys to over the past hour.

Gabriel narrowed in on where the stranger grabbed her. Can't use magic , his practical side warned as his fingers curled to telekinetically shove the man away. Can't risk exposure.

But as he should've expected, Leah didn't need rescuing.

"Sir, you need to let go." Although an easy smile accompanied the friendly warning, Gabriel noted she'd closed her hand into a fist.

"But I wanna talk to you," the guy slurred, his free hand waving a near-empty glass. "C'mere."

"And wouldn't that be fun?" She nodded in Gabriel's direction, still with that smile. "But you see that brooding tall drink of water at the bar? He's going to scare all the customers away if I don't help him."

When red eyes swung his way, Gabriel stared back without expression.

Leah patted the man's shoulder, easing her elbow out of his hand. "How about we get you some coffee on the house?"

She got him settled, then walked to the bar and around.

Gabriel argued with himself for several long beats before giving in. "Would you have punched him?"

She didn't look up from where she was fixing a strong coffee. "Him? No. Can't own a bar without dealing with frisky drunks." She let the machine do its thing, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her smile was sweet. "Or other annoyances."

His jaw set.

"Now, out of the bar," she mused as the coffee continued to drip. "That's different. I can throw a punch if I need to."

Don't ask , he told himself. "Have you?"

"Punched someone?" The considering expression slid into a wicked smile, an edge to it. "Oh, yeah. And it hurts like a bitch. Another reason for diplomacy. Having said that ," she added, taking the mug when the machine beeped, "I'd do it again if the situation called for it."

He arched an eyebrow.

She smirked. "Don't worry your pretty head, Gabe. I won't hurt you."

His spine snapped straight. "It's Gabriel."

"Uh-huh." That smirk only grew, lifting his irritation with it. Her sweater slid off one shoulder as she folded her arms. "Luckily," she continued, "I'm pretty good at talking people into or out of things. And it'd be rude to be punching people all the time."

"Wouldn't want that," he murmured.

"Manners matter," she quipped, heading past him with the coffee. Her elbow grazed his hip but he barely felt it as the words sunk in.

Manners matter.

The memory fluttered, a butterfly caught in webbing. He watched her lips curve as she handed over the drink.

The balcony. The witch who'd punched that pathetic excuse for a Higher son, Laurence Brochard. She'd said it, too.

It was probably a human saying, one of many he'd not heard before. Other witches that spent time with humans used them all the time.

Still, he sent a wary look at Leah, the profile of her lips and chin recalling another's, cast in moonlight. Something twisted before he shoved it away. Ridiculous. Ignoring the prickling sensation prowling down his neck, he concentrated on the female customer smiling at him.

It was incredible, but Gabriel was getting worse with every shift.

Leah winced as he served Scotch to a customer who'd ordered vodka on the rocks, giving them an impassive stare at the subsequent complaint. As if he expected them to simply accept the mistake because of who he was.

Newsflash, she felt like saying at least once every hour. Nobody cared he was a Goodnight, a Higher warlock, or about the fussy designer suits that he clung to. They cared about getting their money's worth.

As the man bristled on the other end of that look, his gestures agitated, she hefted the tray of empties she'd collected with a small sigh and went to play peacemaker for the third time that evening. Her feet ached in her ankle boots and she cursed the decision to wear a heel just so she didn't feel tiny standing next to Gabriel. If she'd known she'd have to run after him putting out fires, she'd have stuck to flats.

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.

And the tray shot out of his hands.

Whether by luck or by magic, the glasses themselves tumbled to the floor, missing the nearest table, a group of chattering women, by inches. The drinks, however, hit the targets dead-on.

Leah winced as they screeched. Chairs scraped back as outrage boiled the air, voices clamoring as everyone zoned in on the culprit. Ruddy color stained Gabriel's cheeks.

And she knew what she had to do. To make it right.

Leah smoothly dropped her tray behind her and inserted herself in between. "I am so sorry, ladies. My fault entirely. I walked straight into him." She saw his gaze slide to her, a blink the only indicator of surprise. "Please accept my sincerest apologies," she said, laying it on thick. "All your drinks are on the house, of course, and another round can be on its way."

"This is Dolce," one of the women hissed, pinching the top in question. "Do you know how much it costs?"

Considering she'd been raised in the cradle of wealth before choosing to strike out on her own, Leah could guess down to the cent. But she bowed her head. "I'd be happy to pay for dry cleaning."

"Forget it." The woman grabbed her purse, the rest of them following suit. She brushed her hair out of her face, embarrassment flagged in her cheeks. "Bad service and now this. We won't come here again. Absolute incompetence." As she shoved her chair out of her way, she pierced Leah with a snooty look she'd seen dozens of times before. It was designed to put Leah in her place, remind her that she was at the bottom of the social ladder.

If there weren't people watching, Leah might have responded, but the customer was always right, so all she did was keep up the apologetic expression as the four of them sailed out.

There was a beat. Then, "How 'bout you come spill something on me, Leah?" Tommy, a regular, called out. "I could use a free drink."

Laughter rippled around and Leah sent him a grin before turning to Gabriel.

He was staring at her, eyebrows tugged low. His suit was splattered with pink, remnants of a Cauldron Cosmo if she had to guess.

She nodded toward it. "You should take your shirt off."

Something flared in his eyes. It was gone before she could question it, leaving her throat dry.

Because of that, her voice was a touch hoarse as she clarified, "The stain. We could run it under water before it sets." When he still didn't speak, she avoided that piercing gaze by bending to pick up the broken shards from the dropped glasses. "I have something you could wear. It might be a bit tight, but—" She froze as his hand suddenly touched hers. He removed it instantly but not before the brush of skin to skin had sunk into her bones.

He'd crouched next to her, reeking of alcohol. His hand, the hand that had touched her, fisted in his lap. His eyes bored into her. "Why?"

She didn't pretend not to know what he meant.

"Because," she said, feeling unsteady, "everyone deserves to have someone in their corner." And I'm sorry , she wanted to add, but if she did, he'd think she'd done it out of pity. And while she wanted to make up for the line she'd crossed, she didn't pity him. He just seemed so remote, so alone. She knew how that felt.

"I didn't need you to intervene." Although blunt, the words lacked his usual combative air.

She only nodded and continued stacking shards on her tray, saying nothing when he joined her. In fact, neither of them said anything until after shift in the office, where she brought out the oversized hoodie she'd left at the bar a couple of days ago.

Surveying the Cubs sweatshirt, he grimaced. "No."

Leah chose not to be offended by his dismissal of her beloved team. "You don't have any other choices." Unless he wanted to conjure something, but she knew he couldn't explain that away to a human.

She swore she'd aged ten years by the time his pride finally bent to unbuttoning his shirt. Right there, in front of her. Muscled golden skin revealed inch by slow inch. He'd had to pause, look at her before she came to her senses and rushed out, cheeks burning. The sudden spike of desire unnerved her.

But when he appeared in the sweatshirt, logo straining against his chest, and one hundred percent sulking, she flashed him her first smile since their argument.

"You're welcome."