3 years ago…April 8
Orange Tabby Bar and Lounge
Manhattan, NY
11:45pm
“Jack and ginger,” a brusque voice demanded. Jourdain looked up from her post behind the bar. The man’s eyes were staring down at the Blackberry in his tanned hands. Another phone, an iPhone, was buzzing and lighting up, neglected on the bar countertop.
Jourdain knew his type--- high-maintenance, self-entitled, pretentious. She rolled her eyes. That was the normal fair at the Orange Tabby. Quite frankly, she was sick of it all--- the assholes that would come and hit on her and leave her outrageous tips to show off their wealth, or order fancy drinks in their hopes to seem worldly. But the money was good, and much needed to put her through law school. She was in her last year, due to graduate next month.
She finished, placing the drink and the cocktail napkin in front of him. “You’re welcome,” she said smartly, even though no thank you had been issued.
The man looked up at her, shocking her with his disconcertingly emerald green eyes. Eyes of which were currently locked with hers in a hard stare. Now that he looked up, however, she could make out more of his features, specifically, his thick, curly black hair that reminded her of Adrian Grenier’s. He also had facial hair, a neatly trimmed beard that framed a perfect set of lips and a chiseled jaw. “You think you’re funny?” There was a slight accent in the question, Italian, she guessed.
Jourdain blinked. “Not at all.” With that she turned to serve the other patrons, but the handsome stranger never returned his attention to his phones. Instead, his distracting glare followed her every movement, making her nervous, clumsy. When she almost dropped a bottle of Moscato, she’d had it. Slamming the bottle down she asked, “Are you going to stare at me the whole night? Either order another drink or please sit somewhere else.”
His finger flicked to his empty glass. She refilled it. “You are a clumsy bartender,” he stated, as if what he said was the God’s honest truth.
Her lips twisted wryly. “Good thing I wasn’t looking to make a career out of this then, huh?” Jourdain moved on, tending to the needs of other people at the bar. Briefly she looked up, seeing the growing crowd in the lounge, as it became twelve o’clock. The music was turned up just a notch louder, and as an influx of people swamped the bar, she became so engrossed in carrying out orders that she forgot about the handsome stranger.
When she returned to him, he slid her his credit card: a black American Express. Jourdain wanted to scoff. Typical. “People say that when men look for potential mates, they end up the most happy with the one who reminds them of their mother,” the stranger said quietly. Jourdain paused, before going back to typing in the numbers for the check. This had to be the oddest line she’d ever heard.
“What are you saying? That I remind you of Momma,” she paused at looked at the name, “Nicoletti?”
Matteo G. A. Nicoletti IV, as stated on his credit card, smirked, a brief tug of the corner of his lip. “No. You remind me nothing of her.” Before he walked away he left an appropriate tip.
Asshole, she thought. What did that mean anyway? That he wasn’t interested in her? Jourdain rolled the thought around in her head a little bit. Matteo G. A. Nicoletti IV. Jesus. Even his name sounded pretentious. Two middle names? The fourth generation? Yes, Mr. Nicoletti was not her type.
****
Jourdain Wright, however, was Matteo’s type all across the board. What Jourdain might have considered a chance meeting, was in actuality a perfectly orchestrated plan. Matteo planned his own fate.
When the owner of the Orange Tabby had come to Matteo several years ago for a loan, Matteo conceded. The bar was located in a good, up- and- coming spot, the Meatpacking District, and promised to bring in a lot of revenue for the Nicoletti family. Not that Matteo needed it. Matteo backed the bar and lounge opening, naming himself a silent part owner. As predicted, the Orange Tabby was a hit. Within its first years of opening, it had received a wide amount of public recognition. It became a very popular establishment for celebrities and other old money folk. Matteo for the most part let his partner run the day to day necessities, but he always had Sergio Buttone, his personal assistant and accountant, look over all the papers and numbers. Matteo took care of the hiring---and firing--- of the Orange Tabby employees. Many undercover cops and enemies had discovered Matteo’s hand in the club, despite the fact that he was a silent partner.
Those people never stepped foot in the door, or went back home…
All potential employees were required to take a Polaroid picture before handing in their application, which was then run through an extensive background search.
When a new pile of employee hopefuls crossed Matteo’s desk, he had never expected to see Jourdain Wright’s application. From the moment he saw her picture he was… interested. The first thing that caught his attention was her rich skin tone, smooth brown with golden undertones. The next, her smile; Jourdain was smiling brightly in the picture, almost all of her white teeth exposed from the shield of her pouty pink lips. Her dark brown hair was straight, landing somewhat past her shoulders. She had very little makeup on, but her beauty was understood. After reading her application, Matteo was even more thoroughly impressed. She was a soon to be NYU Law graduate--- smart and beautiful. Matteo found it amusing that he was interested in a lawyer. He usually tried to stay as far away from the law as possible with his given profession.
When Matteo walked into the bar that night on April 8, he was not sure what to expect. What he found was equally amusing and annoying. She was sarcastic as hell, and clearly through dealing with his “type.” He clenched his teeth whenever she talked back to him. It had been a long time since he was spoken to this way; it was refreshing and aggravating.
It was the first time he felt anything other than anger or indifference.
But as much as he would love to keep their little tête-à-tête going, Lorenzo was waiting for him with some important clients at the other side of the lounge. He left with a parting comment and made his way over.
****
Jourdain was annoyed. Not immensely so, but getting there. “What?” She asked, probably for the third time. Alicia, a friend and a waitress at the Orange Tabby sighed, “Please Jourdain? I really can’t do this.” Jourdain shook her head. “You want me to cover for you? I am not a waitress! I’m barely a bartender! No, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” “Jourdain, come on! My asshole ex is out there and I really, really do not want to sit there with a smile and serve him. I’ll cover for you at the bar. You can have my tips. Just say yes.” Jourdain relented, picking up a serving tray and a notepad. “What table should I see to first?” Alicia smiled widely, “Thank you! Thank you! Table four---five guys just sat down there. They are really cute too, a little dangerous looking,” Alicia winked. Jourdain chuckled a little. “You know I’m engaged to Maxwell.” Alicia rolled her eyes, “Please, Maxwell doesn’t have anything on these guys.”
Jourdain shook her head and walked over to table four. It was a moot point anyway. Alicia never liked Maxwell, and usually avoided hanging on with Jourdain when he was around.
****
“Cut the bullshit. When am I going to get my payment?” Matteo asked. The man in front of him swallowed.
“Listen, Gianni---”
Matteo licked his lips before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his spread knees. His brows furrowed in anger. “No, you fucking listen. The fact that we’ve been in the business for a long time together is the only thing stopping me from lunging over and slicing your fucking throat. I don’t give a fuck about your family, your company---none of that! You forget; I’ve got so much blood on my hands I should have permanent stains. I’ll shoot you without so much as a flinch.” Matteo sat back, right ankle on left knee, enjoying the fear on the other man’s face. He took out a cigar from his pocket; Lorenzo lit it for him. The silence was loud. The tension ricocheted between the two groups.
“Hello Gentlemen, I’m Jourdain, and I’ll be your server for tonight.”
****
Jourdain was mentally cursing Alicia out as five pairs of hostile eyes turned their attention towards her. She swallowed lightly as she met Matteo’s hooded gaze. The embers from the lit cigar burned brightly as he inhaled. Enough of this, she thought. “Matteo, what a pleasant surprise.” This time only four pairs of eyes lifted in surprise, before turning to the man in question. His lips twitched briefly before he removed the cigar from them and held it between two fingers. “Jourdain,” he said, nodding. It was easier to hear him speak in the lounge area, away from the noise by the bar. It was a throaty, husky voice, of deep decadence. It poured over her like heated, warm chocolate. She shivered.
It wasn’t until one of the men cleared their throat that she realized she had been staring. She blinked and looked away, throwing on a smile that was strained a little around the edges. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was wearing a smug look on his face. After taking everyone’s drink orders, Jourdain asked, “Is there anything I can get you guys?” She was purely being polite at this point. The thought of running away from the leering men and Matteo’s heated gaze danced through her mind. Brown eyes flitted over each man as they shook their head in answer before landing on and meeting the dark green gaze that she was becoming familiar with. He lifted a hand and flitted his fingers a little, the universal way of saying ‘go away.’ Jourdain stiffened briefly in irritation at being so haughtily dismissed before turning to fill the drink orders.
****
Matteo wanted to smile in amusement as he saw Jourdain’s irritated expression, but remembered the company he was surrounded by. He watched her walk away and found himself mesmerized, checking out her plump derriere.
Lorenzo discreetly nudged him, smirking. Matteo shook his head gently before returning to business.
“I want my money. By the end of this week,” Matteo said, all traces of humor gone from his face.
The man in front of him blanched before nodding. Matteo nodded to his bodyguard, and the brawny, gorilla like man escorted the pale wanna-be out of the Orange Tabby.
Matteo looked up as Jourdain approached the table with the drinks. She placed the appropriate drink in front of each patron, and stood confused when she had one extra drink on her tray. “Why don’t you come here and sit down, Jourdain?” He almost smirked when her head shot up, a shocked expression on her face before her eyes narrowed, “No, thanks.” Lorenzo chuckled silently in the corner of the booth.
It was Matteo’s turn to narrow his eyes.
“Why don’t you sit down and drink that extra gin and tonic?”
“I usually try to refrain from drinking on the job. My boss wouldn’t approve.”
Matteo clenched his jaw. This girl was so stubborn. “I am the boss.”
****
Jourdain was getting tired of going back and forth with him. While a secret part of her enjoyed their verbal repartee, another part of her was thinking she didn’t get paid enough for this shit. She took a quick glance around the lounge and noticed that there weren’t that many people left. Only a few people, drunks, remained slumped at the bar and a couple of tables were still filled with people, not much. I am going to regret this, she thought briefly, before putting down the drink and tray and making her way over to sit down.