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If he were smarter, he’d just close the goddamn blinds.
Instead, he sat uselessly at his desk, his eyes glancing out into the kitchen at least once every thirty seconds.
Looking for her.
He knew she was here; he always knew. In all the years he'd been running this place, he’d never really bothered to look at the staff rosters, or to check the logs that recorded who clocked in or out– he'd always had people to care about all of that for him. Now, though, it seemed the program was permanently open on his laptop, just a click away.
And just over an hour ago, her name had appeared on the list– ten minutes before her shift's start time, just like always.
He’d gotten absolutely zero work done since.
He’d been better at this, before. He’d mostly been able to ignore the urge to check in on her, to see her and talk to her. He’d treated her like any other employee.
Okay, maybe not just any employee, but at least somewhere closer to it.
But that was before.
Before he’d kissed her.
Before she’d kissed him back, and then run from him only moments later.
Before her goddamn husband had showed up.
Yeah, it’d been a hell of a week.
They were careful with each other, now. Standing at an appropriate distance, keeping their conversations to appropriate topics; which was basically just work, really, since she seemed hesitant to even talk about Luca with him anymore.
It meant that every interaction– not that there'd been many, thanks to her new talent of managing not to be wherever he was– was short and stilted and impersonal, and he hated it.
And yet he kept coming back, kept seeking her out, even despite the seemingly impassable distance that now existed between them.
Because there was something in the way she looked at him that almost had him believing she hated it too.
With a heavy sigh, he abruptly shut his laptop and slumped back a little in his seat, rubbing at his forehead.
Maybe he'd do a round of the club, just to check in on everything. He needed to speak with Veronica at the front desk anyway– and if he happened to pass by Thony somewhere along the way, well then that was just purely coincidental.
He was on his feet before the thought had even fully registered, hands automatically straightening his jacket as he pretended like his heart rate hadn't just immediately kicked up a few notches.
Then, he stepped out of the office, trying not to look like he was looking for her.
She wasn’t anywhere in the kitchen, but he’d already known that. For a brief moment, his eyes fixed on the doors several yards ahead– his focus on the small porthole window into the bar area, where she would probably be– but then he pulled his gaze away and turned left instead, heading for the front desk.
He'd barely taken a step into the empty hallway when the door to the men's bathroom suddenly burst open only a handful of feet in front of him, a familiar figure darting out, her attention fixed back over her shoulder.
Thony.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the sound of a man’s voice calling after her, but it was all happening too fast– he didn’t even have a chance to react before her body collided hard with his, his hands reflexively gripping her elbows, steadying her against him.
For a split second, she resisted his hold, her hands pressing forcefully against his abdomen as her head snapped around, her eyes wide with alarm— and then he saw the exact moment she realized it was him, her body instantly going lax against his, a ragged breath escaping her as she dropped her head to his chest.
Before he had time to say a word, the door to the men's bathroom opened again.
"You know, I love it when they play hard to get,” called the voice, and Arman instantly tensed, recognition and sudden understanding hitting him like twin baseball bats to the stomach. Artie Waterhouse had been a regular for half a decade and a bastard for half a century, and Arman subconsciously gripped Thony tighter as he stepped out into the hall, his eyes turning first in the direction of the front desk, clearly seeking her out.
Then, his head swung around, eyebrows lifting sharply as he saw the two of them tangled together. "Oh, so that's why you didn't want to play with me. Already got your sights set on the boss, huh?"
He felt both himself and Thony stiffen at that, but while his instinct was to draw her closer, she immediately leaned away from him, trying to put some distance between them.
Stepping closer, Artie gave a wide, oily grin, his eyes fixed on Thony even as he directed his words at Arman. “Whaddaya say, Arman? I know she's a skinny little thing, but I still think there's enough to go round, don't you? How about she and I spend a little time in the private VIP room before you take your turn?”
For a moment he couldn't breathe, choked by the white-hot rage that had just exploded in his chest, instant and all-consuming, spreading under his skin with the ferocity of a wildfire.
Clenching his jaw hard enough to hurt, Arman carefully released his hold on her, one hand gently guiding her behind him. Then, he took two sharp strides and grabbed the other man by the lapels, slamming him forcefully into the wall.
"You just got a lifetime ban, Artie,” he growled, teeth bared. “Get the fuck out."
"What the fuck?!” Artie gasped, wriggling in his hold. “What are you doing, Arman?! We've been doing business for years!”
"Yeah, and that's over as of right now," he said roughly, releasing him and pointing sharply to the exit. "I said get out."
Eyes a little wild, Artie spluttered in disbelief, his face going even redder as he drew himself up to his full height– still a good three inches shy of Arman. "Are you seriously throwing me out just because I got a little handsy with some– some foreign whore?"
There was a split second in which no one moved, the word hanging in the air.
And then Arman punched him in the face, hard.
There was the familiar crack of bone under his fist, a vicious satisfaction immediately joining the fury that burned through his blood.
With a cry, Artie staggered back against the wall and doubled over, blood streaming from his nose.
"What the fuck!" he howled, hands cupping the front of his face. "You broke my fucking nose!"
Grabbing him by the back of the collar, Arman forcibly pulled him upright, leaning in close.
"Be glad it wasn't your fucking neck," he said, his voice low and dangerous and full of threat, every muscle taut with the effort of holding himself back. "But if I ever see you in here again, it will be. Now get the fuck out."
Yanking Artie away from the wall, he shoved him hard in the direction of the exit, eyes fixed on his back as he stumbled and nearly fell, barely managing to catch himself in time. Before he'd even fully righted himself, one of Arman's security team appeared from the direction of the front desk, clearly having been watching and awaiting orders.
"Get him out of here,” Arman snapped, gesturing sharply towards the elevators. “He's 86'd."
With a curt nod, Jon wrapped a large hand around Artie’s arm and practically dragged him over to the elevators, completely ignoring the string of curses and threats of legal action that spewed from his mouth.
For a moment Arman just watched them go, breathing hard. Then, he abruptly turned back to her, swiftly crossing the space between them.
"Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely, stepping in close, his hands automatically reaching for her before he hastily dropped them. “Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Arman,” she said gently, her voice far steadier than he felt. “I'm safe."
But she hadn’t been, just moments ago. He could still see the evidence of it– the mussed hair half-falling out of its ponytail, one of the buttons on her uniform hanging loosely by a thread.
Much like his control.
"Get your things," he said tightly. "I’m taking you home."
Thony shook her head. "Really, I can stay. I'm okay."
He could still feel himself shaking, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I'm not. Come on."
Without waiting for an answer, he briskly stepped around her, half-turning once he was several feet into the kitchen to make sure she was with him. In truth, part of him genuinely expected her to refuse– to insist on staying, rather than having to spend an entire car ride alone with him– but barely a second later she was stepping into place at his side, the two of them wordlessly making their way through the noisy kitchen and to the small locker room out the back. Pushing the door open, he entered first– no way in hell was he letting her out of his sight right now– then positioned himself by the doorway, giving her a moment while she collected her bag.
As she came back to him, her eyes sought his, but he just turned and held the door for her, his gaze falling literally anywhere else.
He knew he'd already given away far more than she wanted to see.
Shoulders stiff, he kept a careful distance between them as they rode the staff elevator down to the parking garage and started heading for his car– she didn’t need another man getting into her space right now, and he didn’t need the cameras capturing any more evidence of just how close their connection was.
It was becoming all too clear exactly where his Achilles heel lay– which, right now, was about two feet to his left– and if the wrong person discovered that, Thony could face far greater dangers than a sleazy club patron, dangers that he might not be able to protect her from.
Too close to him, and she became a target for his enemies. Not close enough, and she was left vulnerable to the rest of the world, outside the circle of his protection.
But somewhere in the line that existed between the two, she was safe.
It was a line that was becoming harder and harder to walk with every day that passed, but he'd do it.
He had to.
Neither of them spoke as they reached the car and started on the familiar route to her house, the usually comfortable silence that existed between them now feeling heavy and oppressive, weighing in on him from all sides. Even with the growing distance from the club– and from that damned worthless bastard– the tension gripping him still didn't ease, every muscle remaining tightly wound, his fingers clenched tight around the steering wheel as his mind played through a dozen different versions of what could have happened in that bathroom, images that he knew would be haunting his dreams for weeks.
She already haunted them often enough, but never like this.
They'd made it almost the entire way to her place when he finally couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm assigning one of the male staff to clean the men's bathroom," he said suddenly, the sound of his voice seeming jarring and unnatural after the quiet. "I don't want you going in there anymore– or into the VIP room, either."
"Arman–"
He didn't stop, the words spilling out a little desperately as he pressed on. "And if anyone gives you any kind of trouble, or makes you feel even a little unsafe, you come straight to me, okay?"
“You don't have to do that.”
"Yes, I do. I promised to protect you,” he said fiercely, a sick taste in his mouth. “I gave you my word, and that bastard attacked you in my own goddamn club."
Abruptly realizing how loud his voice had gotten, he pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."
"You didn't," she said simply, and he could feel her eyes on his face, her body half-turning in the seat to face him. When she spoke again a moment later, her voice was soft.
"I know I'm always safe with you, Arman."
His breath stuttered in his chest, then eased at last, some of the tension in him finally releasing. Before he could stop himself, he glanced over at her, finding sympathy in her gaze– but also something else; a kind of awareness that he hadn't seen from her before, one he didn't know how to interpret.
He wasn't sure he dared to try.
Swallowing hard, he fixed his eyes back to the road, and they fell into a new kind of silence for a minute before he finally turned into her street, rolling to a stop in his usual spot, out of sight of the house.
Looking over at the gate, she let out a tiny sigh, then slowly unbuckled her seatbelt. Instead of getting out, though, she turned back towards him before holding out a hand, her eyes on his already-swollen knuckles.
"Let me see that hand." The words weren’t quite an order, but they were definitely close.
He shook his head. "It's fine. You go be with your family."
“Arman.”
After another moment's hesitation, he reluctantly unbuckled his own seatbelt, then twisted in the seat to place his hand in hers, trying not to think about the warmth of her skin on his or the gentleness of her touch as she carefully pressed over the aching bones.
“It doesn’t seem broken,” she said eventually, brow furrowed in concentration. “It’ll need to be iced, though.”
“That's fine. I’ll grab some back at the club," he assured her, then forcibly swallowed back his disappointment as she let go of his hand and straightened up, her eyes finding his.
"Make sure you do," she said quietly, then hesitated a moment before turning away, reaching for the bag at her feet. Then, finally, she opened the door, giving him one last glance before climbing out.
Less than a second after the door closed behind her, he was already fighting with himself, one hand running roughly though his hair before he simply gave in and shoved his door open.
Climbing quickly from the car, he called softly, "Thony, wait."
She stopped instantly, her eyes on his as he rounded the front of the car to stand before her.
"Could I– would it be alright if–” he began, then abruptly stopped himself. Dropping the hand that had instinctively started to reach out to her, he shook his head hard, already half-turning away. “Never mind. Sorry.”
"Arman," she said quietly, and he winced a little, turning back to face her with another apology already forming on his tongue. Before he could voice it, though, she simply stepped forward, her hands sliding under his jacket and pressing against his back as her body fitted itself to his.
Letting out a relieved breath, he wrapped his arms around her, keeping his grip gentle as he held her to him.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her hair, and she immediately tightened her hold a little, leaning into his embrace like maybe he wasn't the only one who'd been needing this.
Then, all too soon, she was pulling away and stepping back, her eyes on the ground between them.
Reluctantly letting his hands drop to his sides, he cleared his throat. “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for the lost hours tonight. And if you want to take a couple more days–”
Immediately, she cut him off, her gaze clear and intent as it lifted to his. “I’ll see you tomorrow night."
Ignoring the increasingly unsteady beat of his heart, he gave a slight nod, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Tomorrow night, then.”
Even in the dim glow of the streetlights, he saw the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes flicking to his mouth for the most fleeting of seconds before she quickly turned and walked away, disappearing through the gate without looking back.
For a long moment he just stood there, staring after her– then, he dropped his gaze to his hand, his other thumb tracing over the injured knuckles, skin tingling at the memory of her touch.
He hadn't done enough to protect her tonight. Somewhere along the line, he'd gotten complacent, viewing the club as his own little kingdom, a place where her simple proximity to him rendered her untouchable.
He'd let his guard down, and that was his fault, his mistake.
But it wouldn't happen again. He would find a way to protect her, to keep her safe from the dangers of his world, for as long as she chose to remain in it.
Which– hopefully– might just be the rest of his life.