Chapter 2

• It only happened because, despite offering her a place to crash, James started to feel bad about finding her curled on the sofa - a relic of the manners that had been drilled into him most likely. She'd lasted one night in his bed, despite his best efforts to hide the stiffness in his back from sleeping on the sofa, she'd noticed it on the drive to work. Noticed the way he winced ever so slightly when they hit a pothole.
• It had made for an awkward conversation at the end of the shift - her near begging him to switch back, him stubbornly refusing to 'let the lady sleep on the sofa', till Ella reached the end of her patience. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, it's a damn king, there's plenty of room for both of us.” she'd huffed, folding her arms loosely as he approached her with a slight frown. Well, not quite a frown - she could read him like a book, he'd quite obviously got the wrong end of the stick, earning him a deadpan expression as she spoke dryly “Frank, relax, I'm not trying to fuck you.” His response was an awkward and almost relieved noise of amusement.
• Since then, it was just a thing. Sure, some days that meant spooning with her best friend but there was nothing there. They'd tested it as a theory at one point, more out of drunken bad decisions than anything. But even after multiple drinks deep, they still concluded that while the other was objectively good-looking to them and a person they liked, there was a distinct absence of any attraction there.
• A point only emphasized by the fact Ella was rudely awoken by the alarm and the slap of an armed landing across her head as James attempted to fumble the clock into silence. “Tell me again why you won't just move the damn thing to your side?” she grumbled, reaching to switch it off with practiced efficiency as she hauled herself from under the covers. “For the hundredth time, there's no plug for it on this side,” he muttered with a yawn, padding off for a shower as she disappeared to get coffee brewed.
• A practiced routine that meant they switched and soon he was at the door with her keys in hand as she wandered out jamming the last few pins into the twist in her hair in an attempt to hide that she'd run out of time to get it all the way dry.
• * * *
• Predictably, the day manager was waiting to give James the run-through as they walked to clock in and stow away their stuff. He was oddly smug about a client booking one of the suites as he added that they had booked the lounge for a private function till midnight. “Special request that she serves them,” he added with a nod at Ella over Frank's shoulder. Leaning around her friend, she managed a small but sickly-sweet smile as she bit out the response of “Mixologist, not waitress.” She nearly slammed the locker door shut. “You may want to get her to rein in that attitude once you see the room.” he drawled, handing a printout to James before he left without so much as a backward glance.
• There was the sharp hiss of a breath pulled between teeth that got her attention, reading over his shoulder “Stewart. I don't like sending anything less than a duo where he's concerned, especially not that far from everyone else.” referring to the lounge on the floor below the suites, fairly regularly used by occupants of the suites above it but not usually with such specific requests.
• Ella frowned for a moment, knowing acutely that there was no saying no. It was, technically, a reasonable request and he was one of their more well-known regulars in the city. Namely, people still trusted him, he still held sway with local law and despite no longer being a DA he was still someone the bosses wanted to keep happy. “Barback.” she spoke suddenly, dragging his piercing gaze to her “Fulfill the request, send me with a barback. I can grit my teeth and play waitress for the night, but we'll still have numbers.”
• It was obvious from his expression that James didn't like this, but it was the safest solution either of them could see. Calling over one of the back-of-house staff, Ella had to wonder if his choice had been deliberate given that young Sam was training for the fire department so looked suspiciously like he could be a bodyguard.
• Escorting them personally to the lounge, he didn't miss the slight quirk of Clyde's brow at the addition of the barback - holding the former DA's gaze until he'd backed out the room with the usual respectful incline of his head and gentle click of the doors.
• As Ella directed Sam to sort ice and make a start on garnishes, Clyde spoke up from the middle of the half dozen or so companions seated around him, “Frank seems intent on keeping a man at your side.” he commented smoothly, watching her with that same easy confidence as last time “Anyone would think he doesn't trust me around you.” there were a couple of chuckles from his suited buddies as Ella grabbed the pad and pen from behind the bar, approaching with her best attempt at polite and cheerful “Health and safety. We all take our jobs very seriously.” holding his gaze stubbornly before letting it swing round the group “Drinks?” never dropping her eyes too long as she noted the orders.
• The night went along much the same way. In the downtime, she would quietly teach Sam some basic bar skills, the numbers gradually dwindling until it was just Clyde and them waiting out the clock.
• The second the clock hit midnight, Ella was quietly covering the trays and setting up the clean glasses. Clyde watched intently as he leaned his forearms on the bar, eventually extending a large hand towards her “Where're my manners? I’m—” it likely wasn't her smartest move but she cut him off as politely as she could, shaking his hand as briefly as could be considered polite before trying to retract her hand “Mister Stewart. We're briefed on all suite guests.” her customer service persona slipping just slightly when he didn't release his grip on her hand. “Please, call me Clyde. I didn't catch your name?” despite his charming tone, Ella couldn't help but feel like offering that information was a terrible idea. “Bentley,” she answered quietly, not about to give out any more information than he could get from the name tag pinned neatly to her waistcoat.
• Tags only ever displayed surnames, perhaps a first initial in the very rare cases where they had multiple staff with the same surname. Ella had never thought to ask why, perhaps it was just a personal preference of the bosses or maybe they had decided it was more professional.
• Finally releasing her hand, Clyde chuckled “Bentley and Frank?” though Ella didn't respond beyond a tight smile as she motioned for them to leave, locking the doors quietly once everyone was out. Trying to ignore the way Clyde leaned on the doorframe - objectively, still a reasonable distance from her but personally far too close for her liking.
• Swallowing the mix of suspicion and annoyance, she imitated James's respectful little nod with a politely spoken “Goodnight, Mister Stewart” before leading Sam back along to one of the staff lifts so she could check in with Frank and Sam could get back to his work.
• When her friend saw the slight frown furrowing her brow, he motioned her behind the front desk “Are you all right?” concern and a protective tone dripped from his words as she waved off his question. “I'm fine. He's just very... intense. It's the constant feeling of being watched, studied, it's exhausting,” she responded almost tiredly, briefly rubbing at her face with her hands before she pulled herself back together to ask, “Where am I needed for the rest of the shift?” which only got a response of it being a slow night so she could man the main bar, but it was unlikely she'd have much actual work to do.