An Unlocked Mind (Secrets #2)(8)
After Mr. Peterson told him he’d have to get up to speed or else lose his job, Rob began to wonder if anyone else had been subjected to the same treatment. That was the second shock—none of his coworkers had been through anything remotely similar, and that was when Rob realized he was being singled out.
There was always the option of taking the supermarket to an industrial tribunal, on the grounds of harassment, but he really didn’t want to rock the boat. Especially as there was stuff in his past that he didn’t want to come to light. Stuff that could get him fired on the spot.
When he received the letter to say his rent was about to increase, that was the proverbial final straw. He had to get away, even if it was only for a weekend. And he knew exactly where he wanted to go.
London was calling. Again. Rob couldn’t ignore the siren’s call, try as he might. He tried not to think about the amount of money that was bleeding from the laptop account, but there was nothing else for it. Maybe I don’t really need a new one. He’d put up with the cracked screen for so long now, he’d gotten used to it. And besides, changing laptops would mean transferring data, programs, more hassle….
It was amazing how many excuses he could come up with for spending his savings.
He snoozed on the train and woke only when a kind fellow passenger gently shook his shoulder at Euston. Then a taxi, and finally there he was again, outside Secrets, wondering just what it was that kept him coming back.
The doorman nodded as Rob stepped up to the heavy wooden door. Once inside, Rob felt as though he’d been tugged into another world against his will. There were so many more people than had been present at the opening, and just watching them, their interactions, the… connectivity… made something deep within him coil and writhe.
Why do I always feel like this? It was as if he was both repelled and attracted by what he saw. Is that even possible? To feel pulled in two opposing directions?
After he handed over his jacket, he took a seat at the bar. The bartender sauntered over, and Rob tried his best not to stare. The bartender seemed pleasant enough, if you could get past the fact that he was wearing practically nothing. His hairless chest, flat stomach, and slender form told Rob everything he needed to know about him. The pansy—such as he was—would never be a manly man, like Rob. He’d be another Alex.
“Welcome to Secrets,” he said, with a wide smile. “What can I get for you?”
“A beer. Anything on tap.”
The bartender bit his shiny pink lip. “I’m sorry. We don’t serve alcohol. We have mineral waters, tonic, Fanta—”
Fuck. They can’t even drink like real men.
“Forget it,” Rob snapped. It was a mistake to come here, and he understood that now. How many more times will it take me to learn this particular lesson? Maybe this was it, the last time, the one occasion when it finally really registered that he did not belong here.
He slid quickly off his stool and took a few steps before coming to a dead stop. In front of him stood a man, the likes of which he’d never seen before. Tall—fuck, he has to be at least six and a half feet—bald with a trimmed beard, and muscles on top of muscles. When he turned, Rob saw the way the vest cut across his chest, the dark hair sprinkled over the expanse of exposed skin. His face was angular, sharp, but still held a softness to it. Rob couldn’t explain why he found the guy so fascinating. Not that he was about to stay and find out. He needed to get out of this place, and back home where he belonged. In the morning he’d send them an email to remove him from their mailing list. Then he’d never have to think about this place again.
He pushed through the crowd and past the man who moments before had held his attention.
The giant glared down at him, his flinty gray eyes locked on Rob. “Polite boys say ‘excuse me, Sir,’” he said in a deep growl that sent shivers down Rob’s spine.
“Fuck you,” Rob spat, attempting to shove the man out of the way. It was like trying to move a bloody big rock.
The giant gripped Rob’s wrist with a big, meaty hand.
The man at the giant’s side laughed. “Feisty one, eh, Vic?”
Vic grunted as he kept his gaze locked on Rob. “Say it. Excuse me, Sir.”
“Get lost,” Rob barked. “Let me go, you fucking poof.” He jerked his hand, wanting to break free of the iron grip.
Vic curled his lip into a smile or a sneer. Rob wasn’t sure which. “Poof? Boy, I could break you like a twig, if I had a mind to do so. We don’t appreciate rudeness around here, so it’s probably best if you leave on your own. Otherwise I’ll have security toss you out.”
Rob jerked his hand again. “I’m leaving,” he snapped. “Or I would be if you weren’t in my way.” His gaze flickered to his imprisoned wrist. “Or preventing me from leaving.”
Vic’s eyes flashed, but he turned Rob loose, and Rob had to steady himself to keep from sprawling to the floor. “Then you have yourself a good night. There’s the door. Don’t let me keep you,” he added dismissively.
Rob’s chest heaved. How dare that bastard lay a hand on me? He wanted to lash out, to slam his fist into the man’s face, but knowing his luck, it would result in broken bones. He grumbled as he made his way to the exit. He needed to get out of this place. With one last look back, he saw the big man laughing, and Rob wondered, briefly, if it had been about him.