Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “Well,” I say. It’s my turn to be confused. “What the fuck were you talking about that day? You seemed pretty pissed off. I assumed it was because Evangeline heard something she shouldn’t when she was hanging out with Chella.”

  “The game you’re fucking playing with me and Augustine, asshole.”

  “You and—Jesus!” I laugh. “Augustine? Shit, I gave up on her.”

  “You brought her here,” Ix says. “You brought me here to get her here.”

  “Well, that was months ago, man. I’m over her.”

  “Are you over me yet?”

  The question lingers in the room. Darrel looks kinda uncomfortable. Finn peeks over his shoulder at me.

  My phone buzzes again. “Jordan?” Eileen says through the speaker.

  “What?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

  “She’s refusing to be called back.”

  “Who?” I ask, annoyed behind belief.

  “Oaklee Ryan? Do you know her? She’s not a client.”

  I look over at Darrel and he nods, indicating her game is still in play.

  “Tell her I’ll call her back in ten minutes.”

  “OK,” Eileen says. “But she’s a little bit pushy.”

  Some days I just can’t with people, so I take a deep breath and say, “If I were over you, Ixion, and you were over me, then this conversation wouldn’t be happening, would it?”

  “What the fuck do you want from me?” he asks.

  “How about some understanding? How about you flick that fuckin’ chip off your shoulder and let the past go? That’d be a great start. How about you fuckin’ forgive me? How about you say, ‘Hey, Jordan, you’re not the asshole I thought you were?’ How about that?”

  “Because,” he says, getting to his feet, “you are the asshole I thought you were. That’s why.”

  “I brought down a crooked FBI agent, a pedophile rapist, and a corrupt senator in span of thirty-six hours and that’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

  Ixion stares at me. Then he laughs. “Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better about you, Jordan. Thanks.”

  “Fuck this guy,” Darrel says. “We don’t need him.”

  Ix turns, eyes narrow, practically shooting beams of anger at Darrel. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”

  Finn isn’t watching the door anymore. He’s watching Darrel. I’m not watching Ix anymore. I too am watching Darrel.

  Darrel says—and I’m pretty sure we’re all leaning forward to hear his response—“I’m the truth you never want to hear. I’m the nightmare you never want to have. I’m the goddamned Four Horsemen all wrapped up into one well-dressed ex-FBI-agent who takes down untouchable people as a hobby. That’s who the fuck I am. Jordan didn’t kill Senator Walcott. I did. And Jordan didn’t kill that pedophile rapist, either, he did.” He points at Finn. “Jordan is the game master. He makes the plans, the rest of us execute them. So do you want to be part of something bigger than yourself? Or do you just want to go through life being some walk-on cut-out character who makes no difference whatsoever?”

  Ixion just stares at him. And then he opens his mouth to say—

  “Jordan?” Eileen says through my phone speaker.

  “Jesus Christ, Eileen. What the fuck is it?”

  “Lawton Ayers is here, he’s insisting on—Hey!” Eileen yells, but not to me. “Hey, you can’t go back there!”

  All four of us stare at my phone and then two seconds later we can hear Eileen yelling in the hallway outside my door. Darrel draws his gun, Finn opens the door, and then Lawton Ayers comes rushing in looking like… not himself.

  “Dude,” Law says. “Duuuuude,” he says again.

  Eileen appears. I look at Darrel, but he’s got his gun behind his back. She says, “I’m sorry. He got past me!”

  “It’s OK, Eileen. I’ve got this.”

  “And I’m outta here,” Ixion says. And he is. Because he leaves.

  I take my attention to Lawton, who is a real cool guy. Fucking loaded real-estate agent. I bought that foreclosed house next to the Botanical Gardens off him last year. He got me a sweet deal. So when I was short a player for Oaklee Ryan’s little Boyfriend Experience game, I asked him to fill in.

  “What the fuck is going on, Lawton? Oaklee Ryan just called me, seemingly distressed. And why the fuck are you dressed up like a… a…”

  “A thug?” Law fills in, his voice a little bit panicked.

  “No,” I say. “Like a hot dude. Is that a… did you get a tattoo?”

  “Oh, that’s funny,” Law says, peeking out my door, looking both ways down the hallway, and then closing and locking it. “Real fucking funny, Jordan. Do you have any idea what kind of game this chick wants me to play with her?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, looking at Darrel, who is laughing. “Little bit of wine, little bit of food, send her flowers at work, maybe some dancing and then cap it all off by taking her to her sister’s wedding or something, right?”

  “Uh, no,” Law says. He’s taken up Finn’s position at the window, but I’m pretty sure he’s not on the lookout for my father.

  “Class reunion?” I try again.

  “No,” Law says. “And when I say no, I mean no to all of that shit. Do you have any idea what she thinks the job of a boyfriend really is?”

  I thought I did.

  But apparently I don’t.

  Because when Lawton tells me what Oaklee Ryan wants him to do as her boyfriend… I can only shake my head and laugh.

  She might be my biggest rule-bender ever.

  But hey, if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.

  So I look at Law. Sit back in my chair. Steeple my fingers under my chin and say, “Just play, brother. Play your fuckin’ heart out. Because winning might not be everything, but it is better than losing.”

  I might have to put that on a poster for Issy Grey.

  Copyright © 2018 by J. A. Huss

  DESCRIPTION

  From NYT Bestselling Author, JA Huss, comes a new sexy standalone in the Jordan's Game series.

  I NEED A BOYFRIEND… and I need one now…

  WANTED

  One bad-ass man with boyfriend experience.

  Must be willing to fight dirty and work weekends, nights, and overtime.

  Bad attitude a must. Bonus points if you’re hot, athletic, and sporting tattoos.

  When I asked Jordan Wells for a Boyfriend Experience game I didn’t expect to get stuck with billionaire real-estate agent, Lawton Ayers. He doesn’t exactly fit the job description.

  WANTED

  One professional woman with business experience.

  Must be willing to build a future together.

  Successful entrepreneur a must. Bonus points if you’re a crazy local legend.

  When Jordan Wells offered up Oaklee Ryan a last-minute business partner to seal a deal I’ve been working on for years, I didn’t expect beautiful, sexy, and multi-orgasmic to be on her list of qualifications. But that’s what I got. And she’s perfect just the way she is.

  Too bad she doesn’t want me to be HER boyfriend. Because she bought me for someone else…

  CHAPTER ONE - JORDAN

  Lawton Ayers is dressed for success. He’s got the suit, the tie, the watch, the shoes, the haircut, the cufflinks, and the pair of designer shades. We’re sitting outside today. It’s officially spring, so the Tea Room owner, Chella Baldwin, has outdoor seating. It’s really just a small area separated from the sidewalk by yellow velvet ropes hanging off black poles, and there are only half a dozen tables, but it’s nice. Really fuckin’ nice.

  “So what do you think I should do?” Law asks.

  “About?”

  “The fucking TV show I’ve been telling you about for the last ten minutes!”

  “I mean, what do you want me to say, Law? It’s pretty much in the bag, if you ask me. You’re what TV people look for, right? Young, good-looking, professional, wealthy.”

  “Yeah, but there are a lot of guys who fit that
demographic.”

  I side-eye him for using the word ‘demographic’ to describe himself. He’s way too focused on all the wrong things if you ask me. “Just be you, man. You’re a fucking salesman. And you’re not even selling them a house. You’re selling them you selling other people houses.”

  He stares at me for a second. Tilts his head a little. “Home TV made a name for itself by selling people, so you’re right there.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “But,” he continues, “all those other shows have couples, ya know? Like, teams. I don’t have a team. I just have me.”

  “You’ve got a team. Get your partner in on it. They’d love Zack. That guy is fucking hilarious. People would tune in just to watch him talk shit to you.”

  “No,” he says. “Zack said no way was he going on TV. Says just thinking about it makes him itch. He’s flat-out refused to be a part of it. Which is why I had to start a whole new company. Rocky Mountain Millionaires. That’s what I’m calling the show, too. I need…”

  He hesitates.

  “What? You need what?”

  “I need,” he says, leaning across the table like he doesn’t want anyone to hear him, “I need an edge. I need these Home TV people to see me as one of them. I need… a girlfriend.”

  I sit back in my chair, smiling.

  “It’s not fucking funny,” he says.

  “I said nothing.”

  “You’re thinking it. You’re thinking, Oh, the great Lawton Ayers has finally come to his senses. He needs a girlfriend. And how many times have you tried to fix me up—”

  “And you said no,” I finish for him.

  “And now he’s here, begging me for help.”

  I hold my hands out, like… I called it. “So you want me to find you a girlfriend?”

  “A pretend one,” he adds quickly. “A prop. For appearances only. Someone who could show up for this pitch next week and wow them.”

  “A looker?”

  “Yup. She’s gotta be pretty.”

  “A businesswoman?” I add.

  “That would be helpful. One in real estate would be perfect, except—”

  “Except you’ve already done the dirty and disappeared afterward with all those ladies.”

  He sighs. “I’ve asked everyone. Every girl I know in the business.”

  “Did they dump a drink in your lap? Or slap you in the face?”

  He shrugs. “Both.”

  “So,” I say, feeling smug and not trying to hide it. “My warnings were right.” I lean forward and point at him. “I told you to stop fucking around last year, but did you listen?”

  “I don’t need the lecture, OK? I just need help. I want this deal. No… I need this deal. I’m bored, Jordan. Fucking bored of this shit and I’m not even thirty years old yet. I can’t just sell real estate for the rest of my life. It’s depressing to even think about it. I need more. I want this show. We’re in the final stages of negotiation. I’m this far away,” he says, holding his thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart, “from getting what I want. I just gotta close.”

  “And then what? What if you do get the deal and they like her? What then?”

  “I give her a cut. She shows up when I need her and disappears when I don’t. I won’t screw her over. This is business.”

  I pause for a moment. To make him think I might say no. Of course, I’d never say no to a game. Especially when it involves one of my best friends. But this game is a little tricky, so I gotta tread carefully.

  And the truth is… I accepted his invite for coffee at the Tea Room this afternoon because I was gonna ask him for a favor. It’s like the stars have aligned.

  “I have a game,” I say. “In play. Well, about to be. And a girl. The perfect girl for your little business venture.”

  “Who?” he asks.

  But this is where it gets tricky. Oaklee Ryan is a handful. I’ve already given her profile to six other men and they’ve politely backed away. She’s beautiful, so it’s not her looks. And she’s successful, so it’s not her drive.

  But her personality is… well, she’s what I like to call unpredictable. Or crazy, if I’m being honest. She’s fuckin’ crazy.

  But I only have one more day to get this game started or she gets a refund. And she paid seventy grand for a twenty-four-seven two-week stint. Seventy grand of liquid cash that I already have plans for. That I need. In fact, I need Lawton for that as well. I need both of them on board to get what I want.

  So maybe I can get two games and the money all done in one deal?

  “If I help you, I need a favor in return.”

  “Shoot,” Law says.

  “You know the Club?”

  “Turning Point? What about it?”

  “I need you to find out who bought it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s been sitting empty for more than a year now and… and… well, what the fuck is going on over there?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I just do. Can you find out?”

  “Probably.” Law shrugs. “Shouldn’t be too hard. It’s all public record.”

  “I know, but it’s just a shell company. I need you to find out.”

  “Shouldn’t your guy be doing this?”

  “I don’t want this inquiry to be traced back to me. So I need you to do it.”

  “You thinking about buying it?”

  I am thinking about buying it. But that’s a conversation for another day because there’s a lot of baggage that comes packed with that admission and I don’t feel like talking about it yet. So I just shrug and change the subject back to him. “You ever go to that brewhouse over on Wynkoop?”

  He laughs. “Which fucking one? There’s like a million of them down there now.”

  “The one with the water tower.”

  “The old grocer building? Red brick, five stories tall. I live right behind that fucker. Can see that water tower from my patio. What’s that place called again?”

  “Bronco Brews.”

  “Right. How’d they ever get away with that name, anyway? You’d think the Broncos would be all up in their shit.”

  “They were, but that place has been called Bronco Brews for almost seventy-five years. So they won. I know the owner. They hired our firm for that lawsuit about ten years ago, but then the old man died and his daughter took over. Oaklee Ryan is her name. And it just so happens she called me up last month looking for a game called…”

  He waits for it.

  “The Boyfriend Experience.”

  He smiles. Which is cute. And good luck. Because this smile means he’s obviously never met Oaklee Ryan. “So what I’m hearing is…”

  “You be her boyfriend, she’ll be your girlfriend, everybody’s happy.”

  He’s nodding his head enthusiastically, but then he frowns. “Wait. Oaklee Ryan. Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “No clue,” I lie.

  He snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah. I remember now. She started some protest a couple years ago trying to have all the old mansions declared historical buildings so they couldn’t be sold off to developers. She cost me a major deal—”

  “But all that’s in the past,” I say, trying to smooth things over. “She’s not into that hippie shit anymore. In fact, she renovated her brewhouse last year and she got a crash course on property values since then. She’s not who she was.”

  “Then why have you been holding onto this game for a month?”

  He’s quick, I’ll give him that. Lawton Ayers didn’t become one of Denver’s most successful luxury real-estate agents because he’s slow. “I’ve been looking for the right guy. She’s picky. In fact, she might not like you, so I’ll have to run this by her first.”

  He looks offended. Which is also cute. “What’s not to like about me? I’m fuckin’ perfect pretend boyfriend material.”

  “That you are, Law. That you are. I’m sure she’ll love you. So you’re in?
You can handle the boyfriend experience?”

  “That’s like… what? Dinner and dates and shit like that?”

  “Exactly,” I say.

  “OK, but makes sure she knows what I need in return. I need polish. I need personality. I need a partner who will go in there on my arm and those people look at us and say, ‘Now that’s a Home TV couple!’ And that meeting is next week, so get this deal done today.”

  With that he slaps the table, stands up, buttons his suit coat, and drops down a twenty. “Call me,” he says over his shoulder as he leaves. “Tonight.”

  Oaklee Ryan isn’t so easy.

  “Who?” she says, her face buried in her computer screen. We’re in her office on the top floor of the Bronco Brews building in Lower Downtown. I can see the mountains, the Pepsi Center, Union Station, and Coors Field as I pivot my head and look out her floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Lawton Ayers. He’s a real-estate agent. Not just any real-estate agent, either. He’s like… top fuckin’ notch, ya know? He’s the perfect pretend boyfriend for you.”

  She pulls back from her computer, slides her glasses down her nose to peer over them. At me. Practically glaring. “Real estate?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “I don’t need fine. I need great.”

  “He’s better than great, Oaklee. He’s rich as fuck. Sexy as fuck. Intelligent, fit—”

  “How fit? Like huge biceps fit? Or lean fit?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” she says. “And I’m the one who paid you, so yes. It matters.”

  “He’s…” I shrug. “I mean, he’s got a nice body. I’d fuck him.”

  “I’m not asking about his sex appeal, Wells. I’m asking about his fitness level.”

  I hate the way she always calls me Wells. It’s like she sneers it every single time. I haven’t been taking it personally because Oaklee sneers every word that comes out of her mouth. She’s practically dripping with cynicism.

  But I’m starting to think she doesn’t like me.