The Broken Sister Part 4

Kylie's smile was quick and bright as she met his gaze with surprise he'd said that. He grinned back finally. "I used to wait tables. In college. I know how it works. That's why I try to never p.i.s.s off my waiter."

"I'm a college student too." It blurted out of her without any real meaning or context. She bit the inside of her cheek. She doubted this man with his charming, dimpling, boyish yet sophisticated charm could ever p.i.s.s anyone off to the point they'd do anything to his food. Or if he cared she was a student. "And I recommend the eggplant parmesan."

He nodded and clicked shut his padded leather menu and handed it to her without ever looking at his other choices again. "All right. Sold. Give me that. A student, huh? Where?"

"Peterson, in town here. Have you heard of it?"

"Yes. I've heard of it."

She took the menu from him as she tucked it behind her paper pad. "Are you staying in the hotel here?"

She cringed. It sounded like she was inquiring for lurid reasons. He'd think she was coming onto him. Horrified, she blushed fiery hot as she mumbled quickly, "I meant... I mean, are you from out of town? Visiting Marsdale on business?"

His tongue poked out the side of his cheek. She was sure he was holding in a smile. "No. I work just around the block. Live just a couple more past that."

"Oh. Right. We just get a lot of out of towners in here." Okay, time to make her exit before she said anything even stupider, or he thought her even more amusing and annoying than he had to already find her. She turned quickly and scooted towards the bar to drop his drink order and rushed into the kitchen to get his dinner order in. She came back out and scanned her section. She needed to refill the family at table twelve's drinks and check on their entrees. Their kids were getting antsy. She grabbed another sheet of paper and dropped it off so they could scribble on it as they'd already doodled all over the kids menu. Kids came in until about eight, often with families staying at the hotel. They were Kylie's favorite.

She tried to keep them supplied in bread, crayons, paper and whatever drinks they had. The family tonight thanked her after she made polite conversation with the parents and then gave the littlest girl an extra compliment on the drawing she made of what Kylie guessed was a horse. The girl squealed in delight that Kylie had gotten it right. Kylie was shocked she had too. She smiled and made her way to a lone businesswoman in her forties, and a couple in their fifties. She supplied menus, drinks, bread, refills and took orders. Then the handsome business guy's drink was ready.

She steeled her nerves, which were strumming oddly. Almost every night she worked, she served guys like the blond. Charming, handsome, successful, sophisticated. Why was this one getting her nervous? She didn't think it was interest in hooking up with her. She wasn't that girl here. Most looked over, under, and through her. Only in a party environment could she become that girl men might think about propositioning. But not here.

"Here's your drink. I checked on your entree and it should be out in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"

He again lifted his gaze from his work and seemed to hold her suspended in his gaze. Wow, this guy had natural animal magnetism. He must not know what to do with that and it spilled out even when he hadn't meant for it to, like with his local, friendly waitress. He took a long drink of the vodka tonic while watching her. His throat vibrated and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Her own mouth went dry. It was like the entire sip, swallow, and setting down of his gla.s.s happened in slow motion, when in reality it was seconds. She shook her head as if to wake herself from a trance.

"Good drink. Thank you, Kylie."

His voice was deep with a kind of husky tone to it, like he was crooning when he said her name. Like it was an intimate secret between them. She stepped back. "Uh, sure. You're welcome, sir. I'll check back."

She whipped around before he could say anything so she didn't embarra.s.s herself by having to try and converse with him.

Finally his entree was up. She had just delivered a table of six's orders and was relieved to carry his light single plate. She first dropped off a refill soda and then proceeded to his table. It was getting busy in the restaurant. The piano player had started playing. It crooned through the place. She set his plate before him. His eyes watched her as he pushed his computer out of his way. "What are you studying?"

"What?" His question came as she was just retracting her hand from setting his plate down. She was bent over his table, her head now eye level with his. The candle between them flickered over his face. Her breath caught at the way his blond hair went honey and white.

"School? What are you in school for?"

She shook her head as if to get the cobwebs out. Of course; in their last little interaction, she told him she went to college. "Um, social services."

His gaze fixed on her face. His eyebrows shot up. "Social services? Is that sociology?"

"A variation of. A sociology degree deals more with the study of human society and social behavior, whereas a social services degree, at least where I go to school, is supposed to be a more direct link to being a social worker."

He blinked. "Like welfare services? Child protective services? That kind of social services?"

Kylie nodded, warming to the topic. It was the first thing at school that had finally sparked her interest. Last year she'd taken a general survey sociology cla.s.s and it had entranced her. Her professor had been an older man in his seventies who was still absolutely inspiring with his enthusiasm towards the subject. His avidness had transferred over to Kylie. She had always felt huge amounts of empathy towards others and their differences. And in sociology, she found a formalized science that worked at studying the differences of peoples. In one of her professor's rants, he emphasized that sociology was the study to help "us" as a whole understand not only our society but also others, their motives, aspirations, statuses, occupations, traditions, customs, and inst.i.tutions. It was almost that exact sentence that caught Kylie's interest and determined the course of not only her college studies but, she hoped, her lifetime career. It was also the only cla.s.s that had ever truly inflamed her interest. "Yes, those are typical entry-level jobs of graduates with that degree. It opens up for a lot of avenues. From counseling work, substance abuse recovery, social work, community work, working in schools or youth centers or even adoption centers."

Blondie hadn't even looked at his entree. "So you want to help people? That's your goal?"

She blushed and shrugged. "Well, yes. I think so. I would like to work with the homeless, I think. I obviously don't know yet what that job will look like or be specifically. But I like studying it. I mean, my parents are spending all this money on an education for me, so I guess I'd like to do something that could give back."

"That's very... n.o.ble."

"I'm not n.o.ble," she insisted vehemently. "I like the subject. Probably not one you studied, huh? Were you a business major?"

"Yes. Concentration in management. Practical. Essential. But you're wrong, business has a lot to do with social work. Efficient management of the administration side. Running charities at their most efficient allows more money to go towards the needs the charity is trying to meet. And businesses like mine give substantial amounts to charities."

She realized she was still bent over his table, almost caught in a trance of his deep voice and compelling gaze. She jerked upright. He had a clear, logical voice. "You're right, of course. I mean, I know that some businesses are good, of course. Just not all. What company are you with?"

He still had not acknowledged his food yet. "Tamasy Industries. Ever heard of it?"

Her stomach dropped. Yes, she had. Tommy Tamasy's family owned and ran it. It was something he had worked into almost every conversation she remembered him having. Bragging was not just a way of life for him, but all he seemed capable of talking about.

"Um... yes. I've heard of it. What exactly does it do?" She'd never really known their exact function. Something to do with supplying stuff for airplanes. A few years back there had been a story in the local news about Tamasy Industries threatening to move their facilities to another state if some tax regulation or another wasn't changed. They had enough clout to have political pull. The thought made her stomach twist... yeah as if she could ever consider going up against the Tamasy family. Here she was, a broke college nothing, against a family who ran a company with political clout.

"We make metal stuff for companies."

"What does that mean?" Her eyebrows shot down.

He grinned. "Imagine any metal part of any thing you've ever come in contact with. There is a chance Tamasy Industries has made such a part. People might upload their specifications of what they need if it's made out of metal, things like stainless steel or aluminum, and our fabricators make it. Sometimes we don't even know what the part is exactly for. It might be a piece of an airplane or a piece of ductwork."

"What do you do there?"

"Nothing that skilled. I'm just a mid-level manager with hopes of climbing up a little higher on the corporate ladder."

"It's a big place, isn't it? I mean, in the community." It employed many and was rumored to have excellent benefits.

He nodded. "Yes, Kylie. It's a very big place. It does a lot of good work, however." He smiled then, an almost odd smile that she swore was daring her. "You should look into it. It has a whole nonprofit division that works to abolish childhood hunger through school lunch programs."

"I-I don't want to work at a large place. Besides, that's a lot of cla.s.ses from now before I'll be anywhere near ready. Enjoy. The eggplant, that is," she said, fl.u.s.tered by his intent gaze. Her cheeks were warm again and hot ripples ran down her chest. Jeez, he was intense and interesting, and all she could do was stare at him. But why did he stare at her?

And why did his casual mention of the name Tamasy have to cause sickening lead to fill her stomach?

Chapter Six.

TRISTAN WATCHED KYLIE MCKINLEY in the process of bending at her waist so she could let some little girl talk closer to her ear. She nodded and smiled and said something that clearly pleased the little girl. Tristan dug into his strange eggplant dish. It looked a lot like lasagna. He'd never eaten eggplant before. The tomato-cheesy combination was actually pretty good and filling, to his surprise.

Kylie was not what he'd expected. At all. Not one iota. Not one hair on her head or nails on her fingers. He hadn't even paid attention when she'd first walked up. He'd been convinced the other small girl was his quarry. The other waitress was small, blonde, and had huge b.o.o.bs and a big smile. Just what Tommy was into. So when the medium height, dark haired, solemn girl stood before his table, he'd barely cracked an eye upward to listen to her. He'd wanted Kylie, not good service. Not until her name was spoken did he actually believe it was who he was looking for. He hadn't bothered to take the time to search out her social media stuff. Now he realized maybe he should have.

She was hard to picture with Tommy. Why would Tommy even have had s.e.x with her? She was everything that wasn't his type. She had a small frame, was tiny-boned, but excessively thin. Her unis.e.x clothes were too big and baggy on her, but didn't totally hide the skinny, almost rail-like body underneath. She had nice hair. It was auburn red and thick, though held back ruthlessly in a slick ponytail with no bangs. She had a pa.s.sably pretty face. Not many could carry off the stark look of her hair with no bangs or anything to soften her. She was sharp; sharp plains and angles. There was an elegance to the way she carried herself. A quiet, subdued fragility that she portrayed. She didn't smile often. Again, not Tommy. He usually went for funny, loud, boisterous, smiling, obvious girls and women who were forward about what they wanted and showed who they were.

This girl. Nothing about her was usual. She blushed every single time he merely tipped his head or met her gaze or, G.o.d forbid, said anything to her. Kylie McKinley. He kept saying her name, because his disbelief that this was the girl he was supposed to "neutralize," as his grandfather so crudely put it, was hard to wrap his mind around. She was quiet. She didn't really speak unless he pushed her to. She was efficient in her job. Her steps were quick and smooth. She was on top of every single customer she had. He remembered the nuances of waiting tables and she was d.a.m.n good. He didn't do it at a fancy-a.s.s place like this, where people expected impeccable service. Kylie delivered that well.

Again, not what he expected. Social services major. Nice to kids. Good at her job. Quiet. The fact that she was pretty was well hidden. It was something you almost had to interact with her to find. You had to find that smile. That shy crinkle of her gray eyes or the way her face flushed from any direct contact. There wasn't a G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing obvious about her. What would Tommy ever want with someone like her?

He couldn't even imagine her having the guts to kiss a guy who talked her. Her shyness seemed to be to the point of painful. Her reserve was thick, a shield against the world. How could this strange, skinny, shy, blushing, quiet girl be the s.l.u.t Tommy proclaimed?

He thought Kylie McKinley would be easy to hit on, easy to sleep with, and obviously s.e.xy and pretty, so the deed wouldn't be too much of a ch.o.r.e for him.

But this?

He didn't know what the h.e.l.l to make of this. None of this was as he expected. There was no opening to flirt. She seemed incapable of it. Or if she did, she'd pa.s.s out from her nerves. Anxiety seemed to roll off her in waves whenever he merely glanced at her.

How the h.e.l.l could he seduce her if she looked like she was about to pee her pants when he spoke to her? He sighed as he dug his fork into his dinner. This might take some time. A bit of G.o.dd.a.m.ned finessing. d.a.m.n his screw-head brother.

And in all honesty, his stomach felt like it was gnawing on his stomach lining. It's not like he felt good about any of this, but he'd taken comfort in that a girl spreading vicious lies about his brother deserved a little revenge.

Who he had pictured Kylie-the-hara.s.ser as was not this quiet, easily spooked girl with an almost ethereal face. The more he watched her by the dim, romantic lighting of the restaurant the more haunting her features became. It was deep angles and interesting planes. She was mysterious. He could not read her facial expression nor did she give away a lot when she spoke. He sighed in disgust. How to proceed now?

She came back to check on him. "Is the entree to your liking, sir?"

All the "sirs" were irritating him. He was older than her but he felt like his freaking grandfather by the way she so politely and earnestly referred to him as "sir." "Yes, it's amazing. I never knew I liked eggplant parmesan." He smiled up at her. Trying extra hard to convey some silent attraction. But she merely set down a dessert menu.

"Would you like dessert with that, sir? The chef makes a killer chocolate cake."

He pushed the plate away. "No, thanks."

She smiled and waved at his plate. "Would you like me to take that away, sir?"

She was exceedingly polite for one so young. He saw now why the owner of the restaurant had hired her. "Yes." She reached over and tugged the plate closer before she lifted it and set it on the tray in her hands. She took his empty drink gla.s.s. "Anything else, sir?"

"Tristan," he snapped without thinking. The "sirs" were making him feel guilty or... something. He was feeling weird. Like he was sitting there thinking about seducing a girl who was way too young for him, instead of the predator he knew Kylie to be. But G.o.d d.a.m.n, he didn't mean to give her his real name. Then again, he'd already told her the truth about where he worked. He had to see her reaction. She was a cool customer, he'd give her that. Her eyes had twitched and she had recognized the name.... And he was sure it made her think of Tommy. But she didn't overtly react. He knew keeping his story as close to reality as possible gave him credence.

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Tristan. You don't have to address me as 'sir.'"

She flushed at his sharp tone. "I apologize if I annoyed you, s-I mean, Tristan. The manager stresses to the staff to address the clientele as such."

She spoke with an oddly formal, almost sophisticated tone and cadence to her voice and structure to her sentences. Every part of her was unusual. He instantly regretted being here. Her soft tone put him in his place and he felt like he had kicked an innocent kitten in the face. She was conscientiously trying to do her job, he couldn't deny that. "It just makes me feel old." He flashed a smile, trying to ease the situation and get back in her good graces. "I call my grandfather 'sir' like that. I'm not that old yet. So... Tristan. You can just call me Tristan."

A genuine smile crossed her face and her lips parted enough to let out a sweet little laugh. It was the first time he'd heard her show some real personality. She nodded her head. "Very well... Tristan. I can understand that."

He smiled back, and strangely, it was a genuine moment. "And yes, I'd like my bill."

"I'll be right back with that."

That had to be faked, didn't it? The almost shy-sweet thing she had going on as his server? Sure. It was an act. Still, he'd given her every chance to flirt. Something. But nothing. He'd thought this would be a night thing. They'd hook up and his duty would be done. But now it looked like this might turn into a longer proposition.

"Here's your bill." She startled him. He'd been staring in deep thought at the candle flickering, contemplating how the h.e.l.l to proceed with a task he had zero interest in pursuing but knew he would proceed with. She was fast too. He pulled his wallet out and started to grab his credit card but his thumb rubbed over it. Tamasy. There was his name in all its plastic glory. He quickly pulled some bills to cover dinner and a generous tip. That would ensure she'd not forget him. He tucked it in the leather billfold.

He smiled his most charming smile. The one he'd been told on more than one occasion could melt a few hearts. It came in handy sometimes. "Thank you, Kylie. I sincerely appreciate your efficiency and service tonight."

"It's my job." She smiled. "But in your case it was a pleasure."

Her entire face turned red and she had to be well aware of it, for she spun on her heel and scurried away to disappear through the door to the kitchen. He watched the door flap back and forth for several swings before it calmed down. She didn't come back out. He sighed and scooted out of the long, curved booth that was overkill for a single guy to be sitting in for dinner. He grabbed his long gray trench coat and slipped it on. He shook his head in disappointment. With what? Himself? Maybe. Or the fact that Kylie was nothing like his brother's usual girlfriends. He wasn't sure how to proceed with this.

Or why.

He pulled his cell phone out when he hit the lobby and called his grandfather and tried to explain his predicament. The girl was nothing like the usual. He wasn't sure what to think or why she wasn't typical. Yet all those things Tommy said about her blew his mind when trying to apply them to the girl he'd just met. His first impression wasn't anything that made sense. He wandered out the front doors and let his grandfather ream his brother out for another twenty minutes. Into what a worthless piece of s.h.i.t his brother was, directly learned from their father... and on and on Grandfather went. Tristan didn't say much. He knew the spiel. It always made him feel guilty, like he had somehow done it. Like it was his fault his father was a womanizing, lackl.u.s.ter man whose entire life had been bought and paid for by grandfather. The position at the company was directly linked to Grandfather. He was cursing ever having set Dad up there. He'd thought JR would be the least problem there. He never foresaw a rape scandal of all things.

"Take care of this, Tristan. I mean it. If this goes on it will ruin us. Singlehandedly, if you can't stop this, we are ruined."

Tristan stared up at the night sky, at the stars scattered out over the lights of downtown. The highest building was maybe twenty stories. There wasn't skysc.r.a.pers but the few buildings lit up the skyline before him. His stomach squeezed in revolt. His problem. Ruin them? Wasn't Grandfather a bit over the top in his zealousness to ruin this girl? Squash this scandal? Sure, it wasn't a good thing. No one deserved to be smeared like this, but Tommy wasn't even working at the company yet. There was some scandal to it, but not the lethal, devastating amount his grandfather was giving it. It was somehow on him to neutralize some little college student who had done nothing to him. Maybe his brother, sure. Maybe she'd just been lonely or sad, or had seen it happen to someone else so she'd latched onto the story she saw on the website. He just didn't see her as vicious.

Sad. There seemed something incredibly sad and fragile about Kylie. Not what he pictured for the girl he was going to seduce for no other reason than to discredit her if she ever came after his brother. She would be their insurance policy. He sighed. This was not what he ever signed up for in work.

He stopped dead when he was hanging up from Grandfather and there, just a few feet around the corner of the building, was Kylie coming out of a side door of the hotel. Staff must exit and enter there. He stopped dead, debating, but in the end just stood there. Her head was down and she was staring at her feet as she slung a dark backpack higher up on her shoulder. She dug into her pocket and brought out a cigarette which she cupped to light. She almost b.u.mped right into him in all her ministrations.

"That's a really filthy habit."

She jumped back a good two feet with a startled exclamation. Her gaze went to his and then her eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion at him. She tucked her face down.

He raised his hands as if proclaiming his innocence. "I was on the phone this whole time. Just got off. Happened on you coming out. Swear to G.o.d, I'm not..."

"What? You're not what?" Her expression was dark; just her lips twitched. She had a low voice. Almost gravelly. Almost more what a guy would have, but it wasn't mannish. It was low and reserved and he had to almost strain to hear her. It was oddly s.e.xy. There was something completely un.o.bvious, almost mysterious in how she presented herself.

He dropped his hands, shrugged, and finally half smiled. "Whatever I say will sound creepy. I was walking by and noticed you coming out. That's it."

She sucked smoke off her cigarette and blew it out. As if daring him, he suspected. As retaliation for what he'd said. Something pulsated in his stomach in reaction to her lips drawn back and then puckering to release the smoke. Filthy habit, but it was the first time he'd felt a startling s.e.xual draw to someone doing it.

She didn't answer him. He was unnerved. It wasn't often he wasn't in total control of a situation. But she didn't react. She didn't talk. He reached out, holding her gaze in his while he set his thumb and index finger on her cigarette, pulled gently and held it up between them. "This will kill you."

She slowly took it back while holding his stare. Her eyebrows raised up in a dare as she shrugged. "It might."

Was she flirting? Was there s.e.xual overtones to what she said? He wasn't sure. He didn't think there'd ever been a time he wasn't sure whether or not someone was being s.e.xy with him. He wasn't so sure it just wasn't her personality. Her dark tone of voice. Her odd reserve. Though, outside of the restaurant, the politeness seemed gone.

"You're not going to come back with 'something's going to, why not this?'" He nodded toward the burning stick.

She shook her head. "I don't like to think about how I might die."

He laughed. "Good point. You're done for tonight or on a break?"

"Done."

"You often walk this alleyway alone at night?" He watched her face intently. If a girl had been raped she would be sure to avoid dark, shadowy places in middle of city, wouldn't she? The door opened to a concrete step. To the right was a dumpster and to the left was a long walk to the sidewalk.

She shrugged the backpack up higher. "It's the only way in and out for us employees."

He glanced around. They were alone. There was one lone light halfway up the building and aimed at the door, leaving the corridor more dark than bright. "I don't like it."