by JN Welsh
“Queen Roe. I’m performing tonight.”
“You alone?” The interrogation in his tone was all business.
Her face must have shown smug with a side of duh. “Yeah.”
“Password,” he demanded.
She recited the password.
The door swung open, revealing a bouncer three times her size in bulk. “You’re lucky they didn’t maul you. You see that crowd?”
“I didn’t realize that it would be this packed. This isn’t my regular spot.”
“Lady, either you’re bullshittin’ me or you have no idea how popular you are.” The bouncer’s head tilted up at her and she slid past his muscled torso. She may have been taller than him, but she was a waif compared to his size. He locked the door behind her. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Mike.”
They did a little dance to switch positions in the narrow corridor.
A leaner but still fit man in a dark blue shirt, jeans and brown leather shoes barked a few orders at a few people. He was way too casual, in a polished kind of way, for a club owner. This had to be the man whose restaurant life she coveted. This had to be Mike.
“Eh, Queen Roe,” he said when he saw her with the bouncer. “See? I knew getting you here would be a good thing. We can’t even fit them all in here.”
“You must be Mike.” She stretched out her hand for him to shake.
“That’s me.” He grasped her hand in his but looked around her. “Where’s Nance?”
“Nance?” Nyah asked.
“Yeah, your manager. She was nice. I wanted to meet her and thank her for finally booking you for my club.”
“Oh.” Confusion clarified. “She’s not here.” Yet another alter ego to keep track of.
“Sweetheart,” Mike cooed. “You have to have people. Who am I going to talk business with when you’re onstage?”
She hated doing this but if she didn’t do it now, this man would never respect her. “Mike, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Here’s the thing, Mike. I’m not a big fan of the term sweetheart. My friends and business colleagues call me Queen Roe or Queen. You may use either. And if you want to talk business, we can do that now or when I get offstage.”
“I don’t mean anything by it, sweet—”
“Well, I just wanted to clarify for you. Where can I get ready?” She purposely steamrolled him so he’d get the picture.
The buzzer to the backdoor sounded again. “Take care of that, Tiny. I’ll get our guest set up.” Mike nodded to the bouncer.
“You got it, boss.” Tiny left to tend to the door.
Mike escorted her to a small but comfortable lounge with a couch and mini bar. Like in many of the underground clubs, she had a locker to secure her personal items. She shrugged off her coat and stuffed it into the tall rectangular compartment. Instead of her shorts she wore the matching leggings to her bustier top, and she took a moment to double-check her clothing.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, you look spectacular, but this is why you need people. Do you know the things that are running through my mind, right now?” he asked. “You gotta protect yourself, hon—”
Mike cut himself off and she, at best, tried to appreciate that. She’d spent a lot of time exploring the city and the clubs, and she also did some other gigs in the boroughs. She’d mostly felt okay being at her gigs alone, until now.
The rumbling of male voices sounded outside the door and Tiny came in. “Boss?”
Tommy entered the room and his eyes ping-ponged between her and Mike. Tommy’s normally warm brown eyes darkened and he moved closer to her.
“Boombox.” Mike cheered. “Long time, my guy.”
“Mike.” Tommy’s eyes connected with hers. Nyah’s brain still tried to figure out what the hell Tommy was doing at her Boiler gig. “You okay?” he asked.
“W-what are you doing here?” A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She didn’t sense danger but Mike’s constant mention of “people and protection” had started to penetrate her New York City tough shield.
“You’re my client, remember?” He half smiled.
“How’d you even know...?” She remembered when she had sent him her signed contract that she’d also provided him with her comprehensive calendar. “Right. I sent it to you.”
“I figured it would be a good idea for me to just make sure everything met your needs.” Tommy’s gaze panned the lounge before returning to Mike.
“We’re taking good care of her,” Mike announced. Tommy’s eyes warmed up again, thawing her shoulders like a cozy fireplace.
“What happened to Nance? You replaced her with this guy?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, Mike. I did,” Nyah responded as she put the rest of her things in her locker except for her computer and headphones. There was something charming about Mike—not that she wanted to be friends with him or anything, because she could almost guarantee that “sweetheart” only scratched the surface of his chauvinism.
“That’s a shame. We had a connection, you know?” Mike said.
“Yeah.” Nyah choked back her humor over Mike’s obsession with nonexistent Nancy.
“Who’s Nancy?” Tommy asked.
Nyah shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”
“I got a club to run, so here’s the short stack. You can get ready here and chill out. Drinks are on the house. Anything you want. The stage is set up to the specifications in your rider. You’re on in thirty. I’m looking forward to the show.” Mike gave her bare skin and tight clothes a good twice over, and Nyah rolled her eyes.
“Do you often go to your gigs alone?” Tommy asked once Mike closed the door.
“Yeah, I guess.” She did.
He sighed. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself, but it doesn’t hurt to have someone with you.”
“At Rebel, I know everyone there. I’ve done other engagements, but it wasn’t until I got here and saw the crowd...and Mike pointing it out that I needed people.” She pointed at the door. “Whatever. I gotta get ready.”
“You want me to go?” Tommy stepped toward the door.
“No!” The words rushed out before she could formulate a less animated response. “No.” She tempered her tone. She’d been fine for three years. Part of her hated the vulnerability that surfaced. She was tougher than that.
“I just want to know you’re safe.” His tender delivery defused the charge running through her. “You’re my client now,” he added.
“You kind of busted in here like someone set the house on fire.”
“Yeah, well, I know Mike, and he speaks his mind without much of a filter.” Tommy scratched his brow with his thumb then rested his hands on his hips.
“That the only reason you came?” She didn’t even regret the question but couldn’t deny that she wasn’t usually this direct without a little liquid courage.
“Yes.”
She barely heard him. Liar.
She stepped closer to him, her boldness, she only assumed, coming from her need to get back in control after feeling like a woman in distress. Tommy felt safe. Even those years ago when he’d snubbed her as talent he wanted to work with. No matter how he came to be here, he was here for her. She lowered her gaze a hair to meet his eyes. She had less than thirty minutes, more than enough to drown in their toasty depths.
His aftershave tickled her nose, supplying another level of familiarity and security. He withdrew. “I see you’re all set. Have a good show and I’ll check in with you afterward.”
“Right.” She might not have room in her life for a relationship but she sure as hell knew if someone liked her, and Tommy liked her.
* * *
Tommy slung back his vodka and water with a splash of bitters and undid the top button on his shirt. He wanted to kiss Nyah and that was both the first and last thing he should do.
First came attraction, then wild sex, then him wanting more. That’s how it had gone with Isabelle. He’d been a smitten fool for her. He hadn’t even ventured to touch Nyah, yet his obvious desire to do so frustrated the shit out of him. He had a lot riding on Queen Roe and though dating clients wasn’t off limits, he didn’t generally do it. Somehow, the loophole grew more appealing by the second. He hadn’t even broached the subject of her possibly playing Sunburst and he had a long way to go before earning her trust, especially since she was anti-festival.
“Coming to the stage...the one, the only...you know her, you love her and we’re glad to finally have her at The Boiler tonight. Show your love tonight, party people, for QUEEN... ROE!”
The crowd’s cheers did nothing to wipe away the image of Nyah’s lips only inches away from his. He had to get a hold of himself and stop leading with his dick because his heart often followed. His aunt Carmen had taught him how to treat women, how to be a gentleman and how to be tender. You have to pay attention, pa. No matter how hard or how soft she may be, she will always appreciate it if you pay attention. His father taught him how to be a responsible man, to persevere and keep his word. The combination, he thought, would eventually lead him to the love of his life when he was ready. So far, he’d struck out, and the most recent fail had left a lasting mark.
He’d been attracted to Nyah since that first contentious conversation at Rebel. He no more fooled her with his professionalism than she fooled him with her tough exterior. Smart, talented, overachiever. He thought he’d seen it all with his clients and how hard they worked, but Nyah? Two demanding careers? She was in high demand and bound to crash eventually without assistance. He’d seen it many times, but he refused to let that happen to Nyah. Her kingdom surrounded her, cheered for her, reached for her and she exploded onstage, dancing, singing and doing what she did best, working the dials to perfection. Despite his own warning, he wondered if she gave that kind of energy in bed.
“She’s fucking amazing.” Thankfully, Mike interrupted the wild jaunt Tommy’s thoughts were about to take.
“Yeah, she is,” Tommy said.
“So, let me talk to you about a residency. I know Oscar’s got her locked in for one at Rebel but I’d like to have her here.” Mike began his pitch.
The semi chub that pulled Tommy’s pants taut simmered down and he agented up. “I can pose it to her. She wants to stay in the underground. What frequency are we talking about?” Tommy negotiated effortlessly as he quelled his desire.
“Twice a month.”
“She’s in high demand and is very selective about the gigs she takes.”
“But you can talk her into it, no?” Mike asked.
“No one gets Queen Roe to do anything she doesn’t want to do, but you’re welcome to try.”
“I’ll add a little sweetener.”
“I’m listening.” Tommy doubted Nyah wanted a residency at a club so close to Rebel, but he didn’t know for sure. He envisioned her taking a more upscale residency, but it would take time for her to see the benefit of expanding her vision.
“A little signing bonus. Maybe a couple grand.”
The sweetener paled in comparison to what he usually negotiated, which made him feel like a novice haggling his first deal. “We’ll discuss it and get back to you.”
Probably not the answer Mike wanted. Bodies packed the standing-room-only club like anchovies in a jar of oil, in addition to a line out the door. Tommy understood the lure.
“Yeah, all right.” Mike dawdled. “And here I thought I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. What she must be like? You two bangin’?”
“What?”
“She’s a beautiful woman, man.” Mike kissed his fingertips. “My dick doesn’t discriminate, but I’m a professional.”
Before Tommy could stop himself, his palm whacked against Mike’s chest and he grabbed his shirt and probably a few chest hairs.
Mike pushed at him. “Get the fuck off me, man.”
Security in black materialized from the shadows, yanking the two men apart, but Tommy’s unyielding grip continued to punish Mike for his filthy fucking mouth.
“Not about her,” Tommy shouted, his temperature rising. “You understand?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Mike’s face splotched red.
Tommy let Mike go, shrugged off the bouncers and settled back in his seat at the corner of the bar. “She’s my client. Have some respect when you talk about her.” Heart and lungs pumping, he drained the rest of his vodka and ordered another. He blinked away his spotty vision.
Mike smoothed his shirt and nodded to his security team. The men backed up but stayed engaged with his and Mike’s interactions. Mike ordered a shot of rum. “I didn’t know you two were a thing.”
“Like I said, she’s my client.” Tommy prided himself on being too polished for violence, but he’d gone after Mike without even thinking. What claim did he have on Nyah? Tommy had heard men say worse things and he had no problem checking them, verbally. He didn’t like being a match easily lit by a few vulgar statements.
“That what we’re callin’ it nowadays?” Mike chuckled. “If that’s the reaction you have then you might want to check yourself. Luckily for you, I’m a forgiving man. We can still do business but don’t ever fucking put your hands on me again or I’ll throw you out on your ass so fast you’ll forget your own fucking name. Capeesh?”
“Fair enough.” Tommy’s eyes went to Queen Roe onstage as if she’d called him, and through her rose-tinted glasses, he felt her eyes on him. He wondered just how much she’d seen.
Chapter Nine
The Lyft neared Nyah’s apartment on West 94th Street. She had been biting her tongue the whole time as she listened to Tommy drone on and on about a residency at The Boiler, and the sweetener Mike wanted to add. But she had other questions. He and Mike had seemed to be fine when she descended the stage at the club. Both men had congratulated her, but she wanted to know what all went down with the shoving match.
“You didn’t have to come with me all the way home.” Her lies were piling up.
“What kind of gentleman would I be? It’s late. You know what they say about the freaks.”
She smiled at the Houdini reference. “They come out at night.”
He shifted in his seat and groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I should have pissed before I left the club.”
“Oh.” She didn’t need a reference to his dick to peek between his legs, but since he’d given her one, she gave a gratuitous glance downward. “We did flee the scene kind of quick.”
At the club, they’d wrapped things up with Mike at record speed. She wasn’t complaining. Her limbs ached, and her top and leggings were sweat soaked several times over. Had it not been for her coat, the car would have reeked. However, their departure hadn’t given her or Tommy time to do much more than share a couple words with Mike, get her stuff, and leave.
“Mind if I come up?” he asked.
She gulped. He wanted to enter her secret lair, her private nest and the place where she transformed. She now knew exactly how all the superheroes with day jobs felt. Not only was he asking to slip behind the veil, but their flirty discourse earlier had only added to the fact that fucking him steadily climbed to the top of her wish list.
“No, I mean...”
“If it’s a problem, I can always just go in the bushes or behind a building.”
She puffed her cheeks. “It’s cool. Come up,” she blurted.
They took the elevator to her apartment on the twenty-fourth floor. She flicked on the switch and the soft white light overhead illuminated the room, touching every corner of her living space.
“This is nice,” he said of the lavender walls and the mostly black and white photography on the walls. Her dark wood shelves were made feminine with the fluffy rainbow of
pillows and modern accents.
“Thanks.” She bent over and unzipped her boots. “No shoes.”
“No problem.” He slipped out of his dark tan leather dress shoes and paired them neatly by the door. He closed the space between them, the open flap of his suit jacket inches from her exposed belly. The Hemsworth suit he wore was also an item in her father’s closet and her palms itched to smooth his shoulders. She wanted to run her fingers over the lapel, open the suit jacket, and slide inside of it with him.
“Nyah?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“The bathroom?” he asked, as if not for the first time.
She jolted back from her fantasies and the heat on her face had to be visible. “Oh, right. First corridor, make a right and it’s the first door on the left. If you open the closet, you’ve gone too far.”
He inched past her, his body grazing hers. Once he disappeared, she jetted into her bedroom. She took a glimpse of herself in the mirror and groaned. Her hair had curled so tightly it’d be a nightmare to detangle, and though her makeup was still on her face, her blue eyeliner had smudged down to the tops of her cheeks, competing with her blush. “Wow.” She peeled out of her frowsy clothes and slipped on an oversized, gray, off the shoulder tee shirt and pink velour sweatpants. She needed a shower but right now she needed to not look so damn messy.
“Nyah?” Two knocks on her bedroom door followed.
“Coming.” She snapped a few Kleenex from the box on her dresser, dabbed it on her tongue and wiped to at least clear the mess under her eyes.
“I can let myself out if you’re busy.”
No way did she want his last image of her tonight to be her post-performance dishevelment. “I’ll be right there.” She finished up and opened the door. She peeked down the corridor but didn’t see him.
“I’m right here.” His lowered tone prickled the hairs at the back of her neck and she near jumped out of her pants. “You scared me.” She clutched her chest.