Chapter 8:

My stomach churned uncomfortably as I processed the scene before me, a lone drop of perspiration rolling down the nape of my neck. I cast a lingering glance over my shoulder and towards the heavens and released a breath of anxiety. Piercing through the smattering of clouds a beam of blinding sunlight penetrated my eyes, which reflected the void expanse of cobalt blue sky. Mum honked her horn at me encouragingly from the seat in her car and put her thumbs up next to her beaming smile. Biting my lip, I turned back to the huge oak door before me. Inside, row upon row of vacant tables gnarled back at me, only a few customers seated. I wrung my hands in anticipation and made my way to the bar at Mystic Grill.

With a renewed sense of purpose, thanks to my adrenaline induced emotional sanctuary, I plastered an overenthusiastic smile onto my lips and came to a halt in front of Matt, who, unsurprisingly, was working the bar. He was drying a glass with a fisted teacloth when he saw me grinning before him.

"I'll go get Giuseppe," He informed me, obviously having been forewarned about my arrival. He slipped into the backroom and left me standing idly by the bar.

Patiently, I waited for his return, fiddling with the front of my jacket. I wore a pair of dark jeans with a white flowing shirt. It wasn't what one would call 'elegant' or 'fancy', but since Caroline and Matt each wore clothes provided from the restaurant, I figured I was not an exception.

I was right in my assumptions. Matt returned several minutes later and lead me to Damon's office, much to my dismay. Apparently, Matt had bumped into Damon in the quaint corridor between Giuseppe's and Damon's respective offices, and Damon had ordered that I come to him. Matt obligingly conformed and I cursed under my breath as he led me to his 'office'.

Matt lingered by the door for a few seconds before Damon, his striking blue orbs not wavering from my face, told him to leave with authority evident in his caressing voice. Again, Matt obliged and left with a soft click of the door.

"Good evening, Elena," Damon smirked from where he was standing in front of his desk, leaning back onto it with the backs of his hands tingeing a whitish colour from the force he was exerting onto his desk with his relentless grip, the blood draining from them. He crossed his feet at the ankles and observed me as I took a pensive step towards him. He looked dashing, as always, in a pair of black jeans and a grey t-shirt with a v neckline. I spotted the smattering of chest hair splaying out from beneath his shirt and averted my eyes to the immaculately polished wooden floor.

I nodded my head in ascent of his greeting, having to clear my suddenly tight throat before I was able to reply clearly, "Matt said you wanted to see me."

He hummed in response and straightened up from his position against the desk, "I've been meaning to speak to you. I came to your home yesterday to speak with you about something, but your mother said you weren't in."

Of course, I already knew of this. Mum had been badgering on about it all evening yesterday, gushing about how tantalisingly gorgeous he was. I didn't fail to mention that she was near twice his age. She'd shrugged indifferently and the inquisition began. She asked me how I knew him, if we were dating, and if he had a dad. I'd burst into fits of laughter and pointed out that everybody had a dad, even if they didn't know them or they'd passed. Thoughts of dad had come to mind and the subject was dropped. Yesterday, a relaxing Sunday divulging on chocolates and watching old reruns of a few of my absolute all-time favourite TV shows, I had been in. When someone knocked, I'd peered out of the window and spotted Damon on my doorstep and I'd very nearly spewed the chocolate milkshake I'd been sipping on onto the unblemished windows. I had begged mum to answer the door for me, since I was only in my pyjamas and the distinct memory of what the boy had said in Mystic Grill the day before about Damon 'blackening my other eye' had, admittedly, scared the crap out of me. I hadn't been ready to face him then, and I still wasn't now.

"I was… busy." I explained pathetically, flushing all over.

He chuckled at my poor attempt of an excuse, "Don't lie, Elena, I saw you peeking at me through the gap in the curtains. Don't excuse me for an idiot because I assure you that I'm not. Now, all I want you to do is promise me that you will never get into another brawl, ever again." His expression transformed from laid-back and mildly amused to stern and seething in the blink of an eye. When I didn't reply, shocked to the point of being unable to form words, he added, "Promise me."

I flinched at his acid like tone and clenched my jaw in anger. If he wanted to treat me like dirt, then I'd return the favour. "As long as you put a leash on your girlfriend, then."

His eyes softened somewhat and his gaze drifted towards the right, undoubtedly confused, "Girlfriend?"

"Yes, Damon. Do you need me to spell it out for you?" I snapped icily. He didn't reply, "G-I-R-L-F-…"

"Tessa isn't my girlfriend, and I wouldn't want her to be. We're just fuck buddies occasionally. Where did you ever hear that from?"

"It's none of your business." I mumbled in more subdued tones.

"It is most definitely my business if she's spouting crap about me."

"It wasn't Tessa," I muttered blankly. I needed to fuse my argument; I couldn't have him thinking that he'd one-upped me. "So why are you trying so hard to protect her?" I questioned, grasping for something to say.

"Sheesh, you just don't get it, do you? I'm not trying to protect her, Elena; I'm trying my damned hardest to protect you." He fumed, throwing his arms up in resignation.

I froze at his words. Did he actually just say that? I raked my eyes up and down him, watching as his heaving chest rose and fell with each intake of breath. Yes, he most definitely just said that. I helplessly glanced at him and his face softened at my expression. My eyes were wide and puppy-like, my lips parted in confliction and my stance was stoic and taunt. "And why would you do that? Did you want to be fuck buddies, too?" I breathed quietly. I didn't have a clue if he heard me, but he must have because he responded several seconds later, an all-knowing grin on his lips.

"Essentially, yes."

I was all flustered and having a hard time trying to regulate my breathing, but I somehow croaked out, "Excuse me?"

He chuckled at my reply and strolled meaningfully towards me. Each stroke of his languid foot hitting the ground set my heart racing. "You were the one who said it, I just went along with it," He defended himself innocently, still smirking. He stood directly in front of me now.

"B-but I didn't mean it." I stuttered. He pressed his finger to my lips and my eyes drifted closed of their own accord. He let his finger trail down to my bottom lip, making it jut out. I reopened my eyes as it bounced back into place. His beguiling blue orbs were all-consuming as his hand ran gently over my cheek. My lips parted with my undoubtedly audible intake of breath and I could have sworn his gaze flickered to my lips for a fraction of a second. Then again, I was too caught up in the moment to really take notice; I was too busy focusing on controlling my laboured breathing.

Breathe, Elena!

Shuddering as I took a forced ragged breath, his hand fell away from my face and I immediately missed his sensual caress.

"Of course you did. Your reaction to me has just proved my point." Seemingly unaffected, he shrugged and padded back to his desk. His hand slipped into a drawer and he retrieved a crisp navy blue t-shirt folded neatly in the palm of his huge hand. Emblazoned across the left breast read 'Mystic Grill', and placed delicately on the top of the pile was a white identifier with 'Elena' written in bold capitals across it. I felt giddy all over and couldn't hold back the smug grin that tugged on my lips.

He placed the identifier neatly on the edge of his desk and threw the t-shirt in my direction. I caught it effortlessly and examined it blindly in my hands. My scattered thoughts were still concentrated on Damon's touch.

I quivered.

"What do you want me do with it?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing as I stared at the garment unseeingly.

"Put it on, of course." When I looked up, he was shaking his head at me and chuckling under his breath.

"Where?" I glanced towards the door.

"Here will do."

"Here?" I stuttered, still bedazzled.

"Yes, Elena."

"But you'll see me."

Jeez, you sound as if you're on Scopolamine or something!

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Miss Gilbert. But I'll comply if that's what you really want."

I nodded my head and waited for him to turn around. He rolled his eyes before turning toward the wall length window. Luckily, it didn't look out onto any pedestrian based areas, just some sort of garden. It was blocked off on either side by a vast Beachwood fence with an intricately designed diamond shaped topping. The garden itself must have belonged to him.

Making sure he wasn't peeping, I peeled my top over my head and thrust it towards him. It landed on the mat of hair atop his head and I giggled as he took it off and passed it from hand to hand speculatively, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed. His hair was even more unruly than ever.

I slipped the employee t-shirt over my head and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. When I looked up, I noticed that he was staring at me with a hungry look in his hypnotising irises.

"You said you wouldn't look." I blanched, gulping.

"You teased me."

I bit my lip and blushed. It was true.

He picked something up from his desk and made his way towards me, fiddling with the object as he neared me. He reached out his fingers, palm turned up, as if to cup my breasts in his talented hands. I didn't move. I blamed it on nerves and shock.

Keep telling yourself that, my inner monologue admonished me.

Instead, his deft fingers pinched the t-shirt right where my left nipple was located and I swallowed. He shot me a disarming smile when the faint outline of my erect nipple became visible through the thin fabric of my top.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…

"Yep, you definitely meant it." He winked sardonically at me. I pursed my lips at his words and observed as his fingers worked quick to pierce the head of the pin through the material he'd cinched their and fasten the latch on the unknown object. Looking down, I realised that the foreign object had in fact been my personal identifier. His eyes flashed to mine as the back of his hands ghosted over the taunt fabric there, reluctant to leave.

His hands felt fantastic, and so I didn't move a muscle in fear that he'd retreat away from me. A shuddered breath escaped me and I bit my lip to refrain from ruining the moment. It had been a long time since a boy had touched me this way, and even he didn't stir these traitorous feelings from within me the way Damon most definitely could.

Hesitantly, he retracted his hand and let it hang limp by his side. My gaze flickered from his hand to his crotch. I quickly averted my eye and squeezed my eyes shut.

"So, you're not mad at me."

"Of course I am, but not for the reasons you suspect." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and let his fingers trail down the corner of my swollen eye. I winced at the slight pressure he exerted on it as he scrutinized every angle of it.

"Does it hurt?" He looked genuinely concerned for a moment, his fingers still tracing the outline of it.

"A little," I replied honestly, meekly. Of course I'd applied minimal makeup in a vain attempt to conceal the bruising. The yellowish tinge fading around the edges had helped in that matter.

The gentle caressing of his nimble fingers against my cheekbone and each corner of my gradually healing eye, contrasted against what the young waiter had commented on Saturday afternoon. If Damon really wanted to hurt me, why was he trailing his hands all over my bashed up face? And why in the hell would he ask me to be his 'fuck buddy'? This was all too confusing and I desperately needed answers.

"I thought you were going to hurt me," I whimpered shallowly, my voice breaking.

"Hurt you?" He echoed, dumbfounded, "Where on earth did you get the impression that I'd hurt you?"

His movements stilled and he took a step back to distance himself from me. The look in the fiery depths of his eyes was bewildered and utterly heart-breaking. But he was a heartbreaker, ironically, and I couldn't –wouldn't- get involved with someone like that. I'd already had enough heartbreak to last me a lifetime.

I sighed and shook my head dismissively, "Nobody. Just tell me what I have to do and get it over with."

He raised his eyebrow suggestively at my remark, waggling them at my 'provocative innuendo'. I folded my arms across my chest and gave him a scathing, condemning look, "Okay, okay," He muttered resignedly, raising both of his hands in the air as if about to be arrested.

Hmm, Damon in handcuffs…

"So, you'll just be taking orders and serving for today in your section, since you're experienced in that field of work…" He continued to drone on about my agenda for the day, how to be courteous to the customers, how to handle a grumpy once; the basic necessities.

He handed me a foreign blue contraption and I twisted it aimlessly between my fingers. He then explained that it was used for clocking in and out, and guided me out into the hallway to a small integrated black box mounted onto the wall. There was a tiny screen with the date and time displayed on it, and beneath the screen rested two signs reading 'IN' in a bright green and an 'OUT' in a blood red colour. Below these two words were two golden shaded, metallic circles. He pressed the key fob to the metal circle that read 'IN' and sent me on my way.

The night passed in a blur. Mystic Grill was mainly uninhibited, save for a couple of family outings and a few romantic candlelit dinners for two. Overall, it was relatively easy work.

Occasionally, Damon would check up on me, watching from the back entrance as I juggled demolished plates and vacant glasses in my hands. I could feel his stare boring into my back. I could also feel the response to his presence down there. It was like my mind was choreographed to know when he was there. When serving a particularly fussy diner just before closing time, I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, watching me intently. Whenever I looked up, he'd be slouched against the doorframe on the threshold of the back entrance, his arms folded across his chest and his feet, yet again, crossed at the ankles. He looked like a Greek Adonis like that, the lighting of the twinkling branches across the bar making his eyes stand out evermore.

Holy shit!

His eyes never once faltered from mine, like he knew what he wanted and he was intent on getting it.

Giuseppe was there, too. He also observed from afar, scrutinising my every gesture and move, but he wasn't as present as Damon. He'd wander back off after a couple of minutes, either back into the confines of his office or outside for a sneaky smoke. I was stunned at this revelation, Giuseppe just didn't fit into the smoker category; he didn't suit the part. But clearly he did because I could always see him outside puffing away on the sordid sticks of death. That's what mum had always referred to them as, anyway, and her judgement was reflective of what I perceived cigarettes as.

Caroline wasn't working that evening as she usually worked the daytime shifts apparently. Matt had left the bar to help out back with the dishes. As the last remaining customer uprooted himself from his seat, his greying hair toppling forward at the motion, I did an internal fist pump and frolicked over to the bar. Damon was perched on a stool there, typing vigorously into his phone. He jumped slightly when the chair adjacent to him, that I was leaning on, screeched against the hardwood floor.

"I'm done for the day," I said. He nodded his head and climbed down from his seat, leading me towards the back.

"Clock out," He called after me, turning left into his office. After contemplating what he was doing, I did as I was told and scanned my key fob over the red 'OUT' button. I smirked at my accomplishment and waited patiently for him to return, toying with the fob between two fingers.

Damon returned a few seconds later with my cream shirt, jacket and glossy black handbag in his hands. He looked inapt and out of place with them strung over his arms. I giggled at the sight of him and he glowered at my outburst. He dumped them into my awaiting arms, quick to be rid of the inane girly objects, and sent me on my merry way.

"Goodnight, Damon." I smiled warmly at him, hugging my arms around my midriff section as a gust of chilly air assaulted me at the open doorway. I held the door open with my hip and lifted my arm awkwardly to wave at him, my belongings strewn across that arm making it doubly harder for me to perform the gesture.

He mashed his lips together in a self-satisfied smirk and waggled his spread fingers at me mockingly. God was he conceited. But I guess I sort of liked that about him.

The shrill thump of mum's car door swiftly closing brought me out of my reverie, and after shaking my head and casting Damon a last lingering glance, I let the door close softly behind me. The door closed softly and I leaned back and rested my head against its cold surface. My thoughts drifted to that of his hands on my breasts and I dropped my head into my hands in shame and embarrassment, rubbing my hands down my face in mortification.

The thing that struck me the most was that I hadn't made a move to stop him.

I made my way over towards the car, muttering under my breath all the while about stupid nipples and even stupider fingers…

Mum, annoyingly, wasn't in said car.

Peering down the street for her, I realised that Giuseppe was leaning against the outdoor wall of Mystic Grill, concealed minutely by a jutted out green pillar. He was puffing unyieldingly on a lit cigarette –death stick- with the glowing embers at the end the only sign of him being there. He wasn't alone.

Mum was beside him, also leaning against the scenic building. Her hair was twisted into a sophisticated knot at the nape of her neck and she wore a casual pair of faded jeans and a marshmallow pink t-shirt with a plunging neckline. She looked beautiful and absolutely ravishing in the simplistic get up. She always looked so pretty. I envied her luscious figure and her way with men. Why couldn't I meet men like she always seemed to?

I turned away from them, feeling as if I was invading on some private moment between the two of them, and gave them a few minutes to chat and whatnot.

Although nobody would or even could replace Dad, it was somewhat reassuring to know that Mum was at least trying to move on. It might possibly not be the smartest of ideas to mess around with my boss, but it was her coping mechanism, just as mine was journaling.

My thoughts drifted to that of Dad and one of the last conversations we'd had. How we'd argued and fought, me being none the wiser to the fact that, within a few days, he'd be dead.

Mum and Dad had sat me down one night –the exact night my douche of a boyfriend broke up with me, nonetheless- and told me that they had something important to tell me, something that I wouldn't like but that was necessary if I didn't want to go on living my life based on a lie. Only God knows what they were spouting… Of course, me being under the influence of alcohol and highly conflicted and annoyed by the fact that Liam –my boyfriend- had dumped me, I'd raged that I didn't need to hear it now and that I didn't give a shit…

That was eleven days before the accident.

Understandably, I'd questioned Mum about it after his passing, but she refused to acknowledge my implorations for her to answer me. I dropped the subject after a while, but it still nagged and gnawed at me every once in a while. Take now, for instance.

I took a deep, heaving, ragged breath and turned toward them, padding softly so as not to disturb them. "…-see you tomorrow?" Giuseppe was saying.

Fuck!


A/N- So… what do you guys think? Giuseppe and Miranda have met officially! Oh, and what about the 'argument' with her parents? All will be revealed in fair time, although what her Dad was going to say will take a while to be publicized. Don't hate on me, I need some form of an on-going cliff-hanger! Also, what do you think of Elena's first day at work? See you in Chapter 9!