by Karla Doyle
Silence. No hint of emotion whatsoever on Curtis’s face as they loaded plates onto either ends of a barbell.
“That was the good news, by the way,” Jake said.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I should really be the one to thank you.”
Curtis trained his narrowed gaze on Jake’s face. “For?”
“Sending me to Lucky’s. Decided to sample the services while I was there. One-on-one in a private room was a hell of a lot more satisfying than watching strippers from pervert’s row.”
“Jesus, Campbell. You need an intervention. An STD screening probably wouldn’t hurt either.”
“I’m just fucking with you, man. I never made it past the front desk,” he said, grinning at Curtis via the mirror while getting in position for his first set. “Good to know you can still string more than two words together though.” He chuckled at his buddy’s irritated grunt. “So, what’s with the complete lack of enthusiasm to the Sara news?”
“It’s not news. She told me last night.”
Jake ripped off his twelve reps, then moved aside for his partner’s turn at the power rack. “Did you tell her that the asshole harassing her was actually your buddy, or are you going to let that information unfold on its own, when I meet her at your engagement party?”
The good-natured irritation he expected in response didn’t materialize. Curtis ignored the question altogether. He just did his set and stepped out from beneath the bar for Jake to take a turn. Whatever the issue was, Curtis clearly wasn’t interested in sharing.
So be it. Jake picked up a forty-five-pound plate and motioned for Curtis to do the same. “Load it up. Nothing better for a shitty mood than setting fire to your muscles.”
“Let’s do it.”
They spent the rest of the workout pushing their personal limits, beating the hell out of their bodies with only nods and grunts as encouragement and acknowledgement. Getting the job done, beast mode.
“Good workout,” Curtis said later, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt in the locker room. “I needed that.”
“Same. Especially after yesterday.” Jake waited for Curtis to issue the patented Lawler raised eyebrow before continuing. And there it was, right on schedule. “I told you I never made it past the front desk at Lucky’s. That was only because the fire alarm went off. If it hadn’t, one of the ladies there had me seriously considering a massage.”
“You want a massage, book an appointment with one of the gym’s therapists.”
“Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to work out all my kinks.”
“Jesus.” Curtis shrugged his gym bag onto his shoulder. “You really do need an intervention.” He shook his head at Jake’s wink and grin, then headed out of the locker room. “Forget the intervention, what you need is a girlfriend. Somebody who’ll take care of all your damn kinks without cash changing hands.”
“Got someone in mind? Friend of Sara’s, maybe?” Nothing like poking the bear to add some excitement to the day.
“Find a woman on your own, Campbell,” the bear growled, as they exited the gym. “And stay out of the fucking massage parlor. I don’t want to have to arrest your naked ass.”
Jake
Christ on a cracker, look at those curves. Jake slowed his pace after turning down the junk-food aisle. He was in no rush, especially not with the view ahead.
Denim molded to the woman’s wicked ass as she bent to survey a near-empty lower shelf. Her t-shirt rode up enough to show a band of skin above the waist of what had to be some of the lowest-cut jeans in the world. Also visible above the edge of her jeans—the thin, blue string of a thong. Sexy as hell.
The blonde straightened, emptyhanded. Her blue t-shirt fell into place, its loose fit covering her hips and hiding any hint of upper-body shape. A total contradiction to the body-hugging denim. She stretched, reaching for the potato chips on the top shelf. Even on her tiptoes, the shiny red bag eluded her grasp.
He increased his stride, grabbing the opportunity and the chips. “Here, I got it,” he said, placing a bag of Lay’s in her hands. “How many do you want?”
“One’s good, thanks.” She turned, tucking the hair curtaining her face from view behind one ear.
Boom. The riot that’d erupted in his gut at Lucky’s yesterday roared to life the moment he saw her face. “Hey, I know you.”
The appreciative, friendly smile faded from her lips. “No, you don’t.”
“Unless you’ve got an equally gorgeous, identical twin sister, yeah, I do.” He kept pace as she steered around him, pushing her shopping cart as if on a mission. “You’re Candy.”
She stopped on the spot, stared up at him with frosty blue eyes. “You really want to do this? Right here in the middle of Walmart? Fine, let’s do it,” she said, not giving him a split second to answer. “Whatever plan is going through that slick head of yours, I promise you it won’t work. Bigger jerks than you have tried and failed.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then I’ll spell it out for you—I’m off the clock.” She raised her hand when he opened his mouth to interject. “This is where you stop talking and leave me alone. You can buy time with me at Lucky’s, but out here in the real world, I’m out of your league, golden boy.” Shoulders pulled back and ponytail bobbing, she walked away, turned out of the row and disappeared from view. Seemed the blonde had a temper as hot as her body.
Not that he blamed her. To Candy, he was just some random guy who’d sauntered into Lucky’s and acted like a supreme asshole. Clearly, he wasn’t the first customer she’d encountered outside of business hours. Those idiots probably thought that because they’d previously paid for her services, they were entitled to something outside the massage parlor. Based on her comments, she’d assumed he fell into that category.
Shit. His motives may not have been pure, but they weren’t based on what she did for a living. His filthy intentions had been inspired by the wicked-hot ass he’d homed in on the moment he’d entered the aisle. He’d been in the process of hitting on her before recognizing her from Lucky’s.
He grabbed another bag of Lay’s from the top shelf. Ketchup, his favorite kind. The same flavor Candy had chosen. Made him wonder what else they had in common. She’d had a Blue Jays t-shirt on, maybe she followed baseball. Would she be kicking back on her couch later, eating chips straight from the bag while watching the game? Or would she be at Lucky’s, filling her mouth with salty substances of an entirely different type?
Potential scenarios flooded his brain. Sexy shit that should’ve affected blood flow below the belt, but it didn’t.
He hated to admit it, but Curtis might be right about needing an intervention. Maybe all those nights Jake had spent sitting in the front row, watching naked women roll their hips and rub their tits, had numbed him.
He tossed the chips onto the nearest open shelf space and headed for the exit rather than the checkouts. Appetite—gone. The empty-pit sensation in his gut remained, but it had nothing to do with a craving for junk food.
Candace
Candace’s temperature was still in the red zone when she loaded her shopping bags into the trunk. The absolute nerve of that guy, thinking he could put the moves on her in Walmart because he knew how she’d earned the money to pay for her purchases. The pig. He wasn’t the first pig and he wouldn’t be the last.
There was only one way to prevent this crap from happening. Quit her job and move. As far away as possible, someplace where she could simply be Candace, single mom of the best kid in the world. God, she’d love to do that. One day. Unfortunately, that day was not today, nor any day on the immediate calendar.
She sighed while exiting the parking lot. The weekly top-forty countdown reached its peak on the radio, filling her car with a catchy toe-tapping beat. Exactly what she needed right now. She cranked up the volume and joined in, belting out the lyrics she knew and making up words to replace those she didn’t.
Since she didn’t
have innocent ears listening from the backseat, her substitutions included some choice insults about a certain too-friendly helper from the chip aisle. Things she’d never say to the guy’s face, no matter how arrogantly he behaved. Even telling him off the way she had left a bad taste on her tongue. A residual effect of how she’d been raised. Her parents had always prioritized politeness above personal feelings. Above what was right.
She wouldn’t put that kind of pressure on her daughter. Teach her to be kind, patient and respectful, absolutely. Insist she nod compliantly, regardless of the situation, no way.
So far, she was doing a damn good job in the parenting department, if she did say so herself. Macy’s teachers at the private school often referred to her as “a lovely little person” and “a delight to have around.”
Macy got invited to birthday parties for boys and girls alike, and had friends calling for play dates on a regular basis. Unlike Candace’s social calendar, Macy’s was always full. As it had been this morning. She’d been so excited to go to her classmate’s party, she hadn’t noticed the extra-long hug Candace had given her. Letting her go was always difficult.
Candace pulled into the driveway of the huge, gray-brick house and joined the row of vehicles parked along one side. Her economy car stuck out like a sore thumb next to the Mercedes, Lexus, BMW, and Hummer nearby. Rather than push the Hyundai’s interior button, she used the remote to lock her car after stepping out, smiling strictly for her own amusement at the beep-beep and flash of its lights. When in Rome, after all.
She continued up the driveway, toward the front entrance. Even “huge” didn’t accurately describe the house ahead. Mammoth would be more appropriate. The place looked more like a small hotel than a home.
Dozens of shiny, oversized, helium balloons adorned the walkway and entrance. A sweeping, professionally printed banner hung from the portico roofline. Happy Birthday, Vincenzo III!
Candace shook her head while passing beneath the sign. They’d actually included “the third” on the little boy’s birthday banner. Snooty pretense—just what every child needed at their party.
So, maybe she was a touch envious. Not because she didn’t own a monstrous house or a ridiculously overpriced vehicle, but because she couldn’t give Macy a fraction of what her classmates had. She made sure Macy had everything she needed and then some, but it still didn’t come close to the lifestyle her peers enjoyed.
Heck, the gift for this party had set Candace back nearly fifty dollars, yet the small, wrapped Lego kit had been dwarfed by the rest of the packages on the table when she dropped Macy off three hours ago. Candace would never measure up to these families, no matter how many VIP massages she performed.
A deep, musical chime sounded when she pressed the bell button. Within seconds, one of the double doors opened and she was greeted by a formal, uniformed woman. A different woman than the one who’d answered the door when she dropped Macy off for the “parental attendance not required, as professional supervision and security will be provided” party. That’d been a first.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The woman’s uniform was plain, but there was no mistaking her for everyday house staff. Her rigid stance and inspective gaze exuded security.
“I’m here to pick up Macy Caine. I’m Candace, her mother.” She showed her driver’s license for identification, as requested on the fancy invitation. All of it seemed excessive, but she appreciated it just the same. Knowing Macy would be safe had made it easier for Candace to drop her off and drive away—something she rarely did.
“Thank you, ma’am. Please follow me,” the woman said, ushering her inside.
Candace followed her through the expansive house. She kept her lips sealed, preventing any commentary from escaping. Internally though, she was oohing and aahing nonstop. The place went on and on, each room more awe-inspiring than the last, all with stunning decor. The Balducci name was well-known for its chain of five-star hotels, but wow. Who truly lived like this?
Two steps onto the massive rear terrace, Candace had the answer to her silently mused question. A man who paid for sex lived like this.
She had never met Vincenzo’s parents, or so she’d thought. Turns out, she did know one half of the well-dressed couple hovering around the birthday boy. Intimately. He must be Vincenzo II. He’d called himself Enzo when he visited Lucky’s.
Her stomach lurched, threatening to leap from her mouth if she dared open it. Never in a million years had it occurred to her that Enzo, one of her longstanding, repeat clients, could be Vincenzo Balducci II, hotel mogul. Why would a man with so much wealth and power choose a massage parlor for his sexual dalliances?
God, this was so much worse than coming face-to-face with the guy at Walmart.
Recognition sparked in Enzo’s eyes. Heat too. His gaze traveled her body as she approached. A calculated smile tipped his lips. Lips that’d said all manner of filthy things to her in private.
She had to collect her daughter and get out of here. Now. “You must be Vincenzo’s parents,” she said, making eye contact with the boy’s mother. “I don’t think we’ve ever met at the school. I’m Candace, Macy’s mother.”
“Hello, Candace.” Enzo emphasized the ending of her name while offering his hand, thus leaving her no choice but to shake it. “So nice to meet you.” His grip may have appeared courteous and generic, but its accompanying squeeze held far too much familiarity.
She withdrew her hand as quickly as possible and focused on Mrs. Balducci. “Thank you for inviting Macy. I’m sure she had a great time.”
“I hope so. We tried to have something for everyone.”
Just like Lucky’s, with its variety of massage attendants. The thought turned Candace’s stomach. Turned it again.
“I’d say you succeeded,” she said, glancing around in an attempt to avoid further eye contact with either Balducci.
Any kid would have a blast at this party. Bouncy castles, pony rides, a magician, face-painting and a dress-up station, plus tables loaded with pizzas, cakes, and every other kind of party food imaginable. The party was scheduled to end in five minutes, yet the activities appeared to be ongoing and enough food remained to feed the dozens of kids in attendance several times over.
Macy emerged from one of the bouncy castles, waving while skipping across the yard. She threw her arms around Candace’s waist, her beautiful little face beaming upward. “I had so much fun, Mommy. Can I stay longer? Please?”
“No rush at all. You’re both welcome to stay,” Enzo answered, before Candace had the opportunity to speak. Being genuinely hospitable, or did he have ulterior motives?
At this point, Candace didn’t care. She wanted away from him. Away from all men, frankly. “Thank you for the offer, but we have a prior commitment.” She squeezed Macy’s hand in apology. She’d make it up to her later, though how she could top everything her daughter had experienced here, Candace had no idea.
“I understand,” Mrs. Balducci said, then patted her son’s head. “Vincenzo, be a proper host and fetch one of the goody bags for Macy.”
The boy complied immediately, returning from a nearby table with a full-size gift bag. Considerably larger than the one Macy had arrived with.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the shiny, pink bag toward Macy. “You get a girl one.”
Wide-eyed, Macy accepted the bag with both hands, yet it still almost dropped to the patio. “It’s heavy.”
The boy nodded. “We put lots of stuff in there.”
“Thank you,” Macy said, poking around the tissue paper at the top, obviously trying to get a peek at the bag’s contents.
“Yes, thank you again,” Candace said, steering Macy away from yet another situation gone wrong. The story of Candace’s life. A story she’d better rewrite before it ended badly—for her and her daughter.
Chapter 3
Candace
A light tap on the door preceded a soft, female voice. “Candy? Are you available?” The new girl would have to get o
ver her shyness soon, or she’d never make it at Lucky’s.
“Door’s unlocked,” Candace said. “Come on in and talk to me.””
The handle turned, the smile on Adrienne’s freckled face becoming a gaping O as she laid eyes on Candy’s bare breasts. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. The last guy left ten minutes ago, so I thought you’d be, um…”
“Decent?” she asked, fastening her bikini top in place.
Adrienne nodded.
“It took extra time to wash up. The girls got extra greasy with that last massage.” Candace’s explanation garnered a wide-eyed blink from the new receptionist. Not a good sign. “Honey, if seeing me topless has you blushing like a nun at an all-male revue, we need to invest some time in desensitizing you to nudity. You’re going to see a lot of skin working here, and it won’t all be as pretty as my boobs.”
The warning, intended to make Adrienne laugh, instead served to tint her cheeks a deeper shade of red. “I’ve seen naked people before and I know what happens in these rooms, it’s just…” Green eyes that looked too large for her face blinked rapidly.
“Go on, say what’s on your mind. I realize it’s only your second day here, but if you can’t talk to me, how are you going to handle talking to the guys…especially when the time comes for you to do more than talking inside one of these rooms?”
“I-I don’t know. I thought it would be easy to-to…” Ginger hair fell over Adrienne’s face as she lowered her head. “Maybe I should just quit.”
“Maybe you should.” Candy nodded toward the door when Adrienne’s head snapped up and their gazes met. “I don’t say that to be mean. But you should know right now, upfront, the money is good, but earning it isn’t easy.”
“I’m sorry, Candy. I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t.”
“I’m not offended, just giving you the truth because I think you need to hear it. Our last receptionist was awesome and I miss her like crazy, but she didn’t realize that working out front was a temporary, introductory phase of the job. If this is where you want to work, I’ll teach you the ropes. All the ins and outs, literally. But be sure it’s what you want to do—or, at least, what you’re prepared to do—because time is money, and I don’t appreciate having mine wasted.”