Strike Three

 

POV: Brigail

"Consider this your strike three, Brigail. First you piss off a big kahuna like The Ghost. Then you disobeyed a direct order to stick to the recipe I gave you. And then you talked back to him like he was one of the drunkards from the backwater dump you used to work at."

Tara spat the words between gritted teeth. "This isn't Louisiana. If you want to last at least a month in this town, you play by the rules. This restaurant is my baby. It has been with me for six fucking years. We only have two rules here: we keep our heads down and our food warm. If you draw unwanted attention to my restaurant again, I will be so far up your ass you won't be able to sit straight in a week! Am I making myself clear?"

Brigail bit her tongue before she nodded her assent. She wasn't naïve. She knew what she was getting into when she agreed to take the job. Besides, she was used to people belittling her because she was poor and didn't have a proper education.

But the lashing she incurred from Tara was enough to last her a lifetime. And while she knew she deserved it for being callous with a big shot like Eli Michealson, Tara was grating on her last nerve.

Brigail knew if she didn't tamp down her temper, she would lose it, along with her golden ticket that would pull her and Jerry out of the pit their father had dug for them.

"It won't happen again, chef," Brigail said timidly. "Can I go home now, or would you like me to help prep for the dinner service?"

Tara looked at the forlorn Southern Belle. While Brigail's ignorance was no excuse, Tara couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Not everyone was cut out to survive in Vegas. She should know, considering her humble beginnings herself.

After a while, Tara shook her head and casually dismissed Brigail.

Brigail arranged her knives in her pocket knife roll before she took off her chef's jacket. She quietly exited the kitchen through the back door.

Stupid Eli Michealson! she thought angrily.

She was so consumed with her frustration that she didn't notice the black sedan following her as she made her way toward the bus terminal.

As she silently marched down the street, the black BMW pulled beside her and honked.

Brigail was flabbergasted. What the hell?! Does this asshole think I'm a hooker? Freakin' great!

It was only four o'clock in the afternoon and it wasn't even dark yet.

Her steps quickened on her way to the bus stop, but the car kept following her. Finally, she mustered enough anger to lash out at the horny idiot. She bent toward the tinted window and tapped it with her fingers.

It rolled down to reveal the driver. But just as she was about to spew mean words at the man behind the wheel, she recognized him.

"Barry!"

"Can I give you a ride, Brigail?" Barry, ever the polite gentleman, asked.

Brigail was hesitant for a moment. Barry Carrolton had been a close family friend of the Havens for a long time because of the proximity of their farmhouses. She'd known Barry ever since she was a little girl. He was twelve years older than her, so she and Jerry rarely hung out with him.

Corbett and Barry were more alike, talking about grown-up things and, of course, card games. Barry's parents moved to Florida right after Barry finished college and the young gentleman migrated to Las Vegas. Brigail had barely seen him since.

Then, two weeks ago, Barry resurfaced in New Orleans to close the sale of the Carrolton manor. She, Jerry, and Barry got together at Latoya's. Barry found out about the Havens's financial woes and felt sorry for the siblings.

Barry left New Orleans the next day but promised to help the Havens out. True to his word, Barry called three days later and offered Brigail the opportunity to work in Fiordillatte.

Barry went to business school with Tara's husband, JV, at Louisiana State University, and that was the leverage he used to earn Brigail a spot in the kitchen.

Jerry, ever the protective brother, argued at first. He told Barry that he would be more capable of working in the big city than his younger sister. But Barry told Jerry it was harder to find occupation for Jerry in Las Vegas because, like Brigail, he only made it to high school.

Jerry was reluctant to let his sister go, but the younger Havens would not take no for an answer.

After much deliberation, Jerry finally yielded, but not without making Brigail promise she would always stay in touch and not "pull a Corbett" on him.

"I'll call you every day, Jerry," she swore.

Brigail looked at the knife roll she was clutching and thought that if Barry decided to do something nasty to her, she could always slice and dice him Vegas style.

Brigail, who needed an ally to air her grievances from the brutal day she just had, decided Barry might be the person for the job.

She got in the car.

"Are you on your way home?" Barry asked as Brigail strapped on her seatbelt.

Brigail nodded. "Long day."

"I bet," Barry commented offhandedly. "I heard Eli Michealson paid you a visit in Fiordillatte." It wasn't a question.

Brigail grimaced as the image of the arrogant bastard popped up in her head again. "Wow, news does travel fast in Vegas."

Barry sniggered. "Eli Michealson's a vampire, Brigail. He only goes out at night. So when he does come out at daytime, it's big news around here."

Brigail snorted. Of course! I bet nothing's too trivial for the great Eli Michealson, she thought acerbically.

"So? What does he want from you?" Barry resumed his query.

"You," Brigail snapped.

Then she realized she wasn't being fair to Barry. He wasn't the one who ambushed her in her workplace, and yet she was venting her ire at him. She tried to soften her voice. "I don't know if that a-hole's just extremely paranoid or you've really done a number on him. I reckon it's the last one."

Barry chuckled again. "Ding-ding-ding! Jackpot! Eli and I do have a long history together."

Brigail glanced at him, puzzled.

Barry shook his head. "It isn't a tale for kids, Brigail. Let's just say, while some people collect stamps, Eli collects enemies."

Brigail became pensive. Eli did mention the bad blood between him and Barry. But she wasn't one to pry. She had enough problems of her own to burden herself with other people's grudge match.

"Why don't we grab some dinner, then we can talk some more about everything I missed in New Orleans," Barry invited.

Brigail was starving. All she'd eaten that day was the rock-hard blueberry muffin she had for brunch. She hadn't had the chance to eat anything at the restaurant because Eli Michealson decided to pester her before she could take her break.

"I'd like that. Thank you, Barry," she acquiesced.

Barry made a turn at the Luxor hotel before he parked his car at the lobby. He handed his keys to the valet before he opened Brigail's door.

Brigail was stunned to discover that the famed Vegas pyramid was what Barry meant for dinner. She suddenly felt underdressed for the grandiose surrounding.

"When you said bite, I thought you meant Burger King." She said hesitantly before she shook her head. "I don't think I'm up to something this fancy tonight."

Brigail refused to step out of the car, which earned her a confused glance from the valet service. "I think I'm just gonna head home. It's really a long day and—"

"Brigail," Barry started as he offered his hand to her. "Please let me do this. It's the least I can do for getting you in trouble last night and today, too."

"Ma'am?" the valet guy asked her, as though telling her to get out of the car so he could do his job.

Brigail, who was still hesitant, got out of the passenger's seat while still holding her bag of knives close to her chest.

"I don't think they'll let you inside when you're holding that much lethal weapon," Barry joked.

Embarrassed, Brigail left her knives in the passenger seat. She shortened the strap of her ratty messenger bag before she slung it on her shoulder.

She ran a hand on her black tank top under her red cardigan, all the while thanking her lucky stars that she'd decided to wear a pair of skinny jeans that emphasized her rear. Her tattered black converse completed her attire and she knew she either looked like a lost tourist or a bug-eyed redneck.

Either way, she definitely didn't feel like she belonged to this place.

Barry put his arm around her back as he gave her a reassuring pinch on her shoulder. But it wasn't comforting at all because the minute he touched her, she felt goosebumps break across her skin.

To make matters worse, Brigail saw her. The leggy blonde from the interrogation room last night.

And she was walking straight at them, with a sly grin on her face that reminded Brigail a lot of Eli.