by Meghan March
“My girlfriend is in there and we have unfinished business. Do you even know who I am?”
Peter stands like a gargoyle, massive and unmoving, as he stares down the nutless asshole who is trying to shame him into not doing his job.
“I’ll take it from here, Peter.”
As soon as LaSalle sees me, his face contorts with rage. “You motherfucker. You’re trying to steal my girl?”
Q and Peter stand behind me, blocking the people in line from seeing what’s happening.
Stepping closer, I reach out like I’m going to clap him on the shoulder, but instead, my hand lands just beside his collarbone. My thumb rests right at the side of his neck, and my fingers wrap around the base of his throat. All it takes is a minuscule amount of pressure before his eyes widen with fear at the pain he feels.
“Listen up, Chadwick. I’ll only say this once.” I keep my voice low and my tone civil. “You don’t have a girl in my club. You have an ex who doesn’t want to see you. Doesn’t want to hear from you. Doesn’t want to know that you exist anymore. Understand me?”
“You can’t—” He tries to speak, but I cut him off by pressing my thumb harder against his throat.
“I can. I’ll do whatever the fuck I damn well please. I’m not afraid of you, your money, or your privilege. You see, kid, when a woman says you’re over, you leave her the fuck alone. Do you understand that?”
He jerks, trying to get away, but I’m not about to let him go yet. His shoulders hunch forward with defeat.
“Leave Scarlett Priest alone, or I swear, you’ll regret it.”
I release my grip and Chadwick stumbles back a few steps, his hand clutching the base of his throat where he’s going to have a hell of a sore spot for days.
But, unfortunately, Chadwick isn’t as smart as I thought. His face twists into a sneer as he continues backing away.
“You think she’s some hot piece of ass you’re going to score with? Not even close. And trust me, she and I aren’t done. She’ll do whatever it takes to make her dad happy, and I’m his fucking favorite. So go ahead and fuck her. You’ll be sending her back to me with a fucking bow on her head, because you won’t be able to get rid of her fast enough. I’ll only make her pay for fucking a piece of trash like you for the first few years we’re married. Hope it’s worth it. Because then, I’m going to take everything else that matters from you. This club? Gone. Your friends?” He looks at Q. “Prison. And then maybe you’ll learn your lesson about not touching what doesn’t belong to you.”
He spins around, almost losing his balance, and stalks off down the street, still holding his neck.
Q steps up beside me. “I don’t like that fucker, and I’m sure as hell not going to prison.”
I glance back at the line, relieved that everyone seems focused on our doorman opening the rope to let another group in. Given the crowd and their rising voices, I think it’s safe to assume they didn’t hear what Captain Dickwad had to say.
“Keep an eye on him,” I tell Q.
“He’s all talk, boss,” Peter adds as LaSalle turns the corner and disappears into the night. “Rich fucks like him make threats, but they never carry through.”
“I guess we’ll find out. And if he makes a move, we deal with it then.”
“I don’t like it,” Q says, snapping his lapels straight. “He should walk the fuck away. He just got dumped, publicly, and apparently twice. So, why does he keep coming back after he’s burned that bridge? It doesn’t make sense. There’s gotta be something else going on here.”
“He mentioned her dad. Do some digging and see what you can find out. Just so we know what we’re dealing with,” I say to Q and then turn to Peter, shaking his hand. “Thanks, man. You did the right thing. You see him again, call me or Q.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Q and I march through the doors of the club, and by tacit agreement, we head for my office. As soon as the door is closed, he leans against it with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Please tell me you’ll stay away from her.” When I don’t answer immediately, he pushes off the door and stalks toward me. “You can’t have her, Gabriel. We both know it.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Marcus.”
My best friend stops before me, and we lock eyes. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never looked at a woman like you look at her. And then I fucking saw you dancing with her. I didn’t even know you could dance, Gabe. What the fuck is going on? You won’t take a single woman on a date for fifteen years, and now you’re out there making moves on the dance floor, trying to impress some socialite with more money than God? This isn’t you.”
I don’t need Q telling me any of this. I know what I did. How it would look. I just don’t care. And she’s still out there.
“Please tell me this is temporary fucking insanity, Gabe.”
I round my desk and drop into the chair. “There’s something about her.”
“No. For fuck’s sake. Don’t say that. I thought you understood who she was. I hate to agree with that piece of shit out on the sidewalk about anything, but she’s not just out of your league, man. She exists on another fucking social stratosphere. I bet she has Beyoncé’s personal number. That’s her crowd. The rich and famous.”
He pauses to take a breath and then keeps going, like I don’t understand the point he’s trying to make.
“I give you mad respect for what you’ve done. You showed up in Jersey with nothing. You busted your ass and took a beating to make money. Then you started giving the beatings for even bigger money. Now you’re trying to make good on a promise to Jorie. I know you’re still trying to be the guy she knew you could be so you can have the life Jorie wanted. Like I said, I respect the fuck out of you for that, Gabe. But don’t think for one second that means there’s a chance in hell you belong with a woman like Scarlett Priest. We’re talking about two different fucking worlds here, man.”
As soon as he says Jorie’s name, I’ve had enough. I shoot to my feet and plant my knuckles on my desk hard enough to damn near leave dents in the wood.
“You’re my best friend, and other than Bump, the closest thing I’ve got to a brother. That is the only reason I’m not coming at you right now for the shit you said. You know me, but you are not me. I don’t take orders from anyone, Q, and I’m not about to start.”
My best friend spins, smoothing his hands over his jet-black hair. “Fuck me, you’re already in too deep.”
My jaw slides from side to side in the same way it would before a fight. “I’m not in shit, brother. I’m assessing the situation. And that was the one and only time you’ll throw Jorie in my face. You got that?”
“What about Jorie?” Bump comes in the door with Roux on a leash at his side. “I miss her. She made the best peanut butter cookies. I miss those too. Can we get peanut butter cookies on the way home?”
Roux tugs the leash from Bump’s grip and comes toward me as Q replies, “Sure, bud. One of us will stop at the corner store and get some cookies on the way home.”
I shove my chair back and squat down to give Roux ear scratches and a few good butt pats as the image of a woman who looks only the tiniest bit like Bump forms in my mind. She’s not as vivid as she used to be. It’s more like an old photograph fading with every passing day. I can’t see her smile anymore, only the vague outline of her features.
Jorie Billips, the prettiest girl in Biloxi, Mississippi. The woman who taught me what it was to have a dream and go after it. The woman who died because of who she was to me, and Bump took a bullet for it too.
Regret and guilt fill me in equal measure, threatening to swallow me up like they did when I wasn’t sure if I could get Bump and me out of Biloxi alive.
Then something happens. Light fills me, and a new image forms. This one isn’t a brunette, but a blonde. She’s smiling and laughing as I spin her along my arm and then bring her in close to my body.
Scarlett Priest.
Fuck.
Q�
�s right. I am in too deep, and now I have to figure out what the fuck to do about it.
One thing is for sure—Chadwick LaSalle won’t get another shot at her.
Not a fucking chance.
Thirty-Four
Scarlett
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Harlow says, slipping her phone back into her clutch. “We’re going to drink and dance and party our asses off, and then we’re going to make a plan to get Scar what she wants—when we’re sober.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Monroe says with a shake of her head. “We have to strike while the iron is hot. But I agree on the drinking and dancing and partying our asses off.” She points at me. “If he sees you having fun like the gorgeous, amazing girl you are, then he won’t be able to stay away. That’s step one.”
I look from one to the other, and even feeling as tipsy as I am, I recognize that Harlow and Monroe are the voices of authority in this situation. Together, they’ve got a total of around twenty or so years of marriage under their belts, and a hell of a lot more dating experience than I have.
However, I shouldn’t make decisions like this while I’m tipsy, so I just nod. “Let’s have fun. Do what we came here to do, and make sure this club is off the chain by the time we leave.”
Kelsey laughs. “Girl, mission fucking accomplished. Do you see what’s happening out there?”
She waves an arm over the balcony, and I edge closer to see the dance floor. Unlike when we arrived, it’s not just a crowd of thirty or forty people. It’s packed. Like wall to wall, body to body, and the line at the bar is insane.
A sense of pride grows as I watch for a solid minute before I turn around.
“We did it.” I look from Monroe to Kelsey to Harlow. “We actually brought this club back to life . . . in just one night.”
Kelsey’s perfectly sculpted brows pinch together. “Why do you sound surprised? Did you doubt for a second you could pull this off? You’re Scarlett Priest, honey.”
The way she says my name makes me sound like I’m not a normal woman with two arms, two legs, ten fingers, ten toes, and one asshole ex-boyfriend who showed up trying to start shit. She says my name like the brand that is Scarlett Priest, not me. There is a difference and Kelsey knows it, but other people don’t.
Does Gabriel Legend know there’s a difference? I can’t help but wonder. There’s no answer from the mouthy part of my brain, who has gone strangely silent since we left the dance floor. Maybe the champagne and shots have clouded my thinking.
“Ms. Priest, you didn’t just bring the club back to life, you brought a man back to life.”
We all turn and see Zoe standing just behind us.
“What do you mean?”
Her lips press together, and she looks from side to side before joining our circle. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me. Can I get Astra to bring you another round? Or are you ready to call it a night? I can have our car service see you all home, if so.”
“Hold up,” Monroe says, scooting closer to Zoe. “We need you to elaborate on the ‘brought a man back to life’ piece that you shouldn’t have said.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I misspoke. I don’t want to lose my job.”
I’m ready to apologize to her for prying, but shockingly, Kelsey leans in. “You’re not going to lose your job. You’re like family, aren’t you? I know it when I see it, so don’t try to bullshit me.”
“Kelsey, it’s okay. She doesn’t have to spill. It’s fine. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him . . .” I trail off, and Zoe’s attention rivets me.
“You’re into Legend? For real?”
Oh God. My entire body tenses as her questions put me in the spotlight. I just declared to my friends that I want Gabriel, but to someone as close to him as family?
“You saw them, right? On the dance floor?” Monroe asks Zoe.
The dark-haired woman nods. “I’m pretty sure everyone saw them.”
Monroe keeps pushing. “And Legend doesn’t usually come out on the floor, we hear.”
“That’s right.” Zoe shifts her gaze to me. “But he’s . . . he’s taken a personal interest in Ms. Priest.”
The words personal interest have never filled me with this much hope before.
“Well, I’ve also taken a personal interest in him,” I say, and it comes out sounding demurer than my bold declaration from before.
Zoe looks around to ensure none of the other employees are within earshot, and then surveys me. “Do you have any idea what type of man you’re dealing with? Because Legend is one of a kind.”
“Tell us everything, Zoe. My girl needs your help.” This comes from Harlow, and I could hug her right now.
Zoe glances up toward the ceiling, and my gaze follows her. Is it a camera? It has to be. Is he watching us? Watching me?
“I can’t say much. Truly, I can’t. But I will tell you that he’s acting differently about you than he has any other woman in a very long time. Actually, for as long as I’ve known him. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, though, because I don’t know what’s going on. But he’s breaking some of his rules when it comes to you.”
“We’ll take that.” Monroe answers for me, slipping one of her business cards from her wallet. “Thank you, Zoe. If you ever want to chat or have lunch, here’s my number. And if you like baseball, I can hook you up with the most badass seats imaginable. My husband never uses all the tickets we get.”
Zoe stares down at the card, hesitation clear from her slow movements, but she accepts it from Monroe anyway. “Thank you, Mrs. Grafton. I’ve seen your husband play before. He’s impressive.”
“As long as he stays in New York and doesn’t get traded, he’s definitely impressive.”
“Monroe.” Harlow barks our friend’s name to get her off the if he gets traded, I’m getting divorced subject.
“Okay, okay. Back to partying,” Monroe says as Astra approaches with her tray of drinks, then points at Zoe. “And if you see your boss watching our girl, give him a nudge. She’d love to dance with him again.”
My face burns with embarrassment, but I accept another shot and hope this one contains the liquid courage I need for the rest of the night.
I nearly lose hope that I’ll see Gabriel again before we leave the club. It’s almost two, and the DJ is still going strong, although Kelsey is starting to droop. Other than me, she’s the only one who has been up since the crack of dawn, busting ass. Harlow and Monroe are still shaking their shit on the dance floor, but I grab Kelsey’s hand.
“Kels, we can go,” I say with a yawn. “I’m tired too.”
Harlow sees me cover my mouth with my hand and snags Monroe by the wrist. “I think we’re good. You good?”
She’s asking if I’m ready to give up on seeing Legend again, but part of me hopes he won’t let me walk out of this building without approaching me one last time. Or maybe that’s the countless shots I’ve had talking. Either way, I’m ready to crash.
We form a chain of linked arms and make our way out of the crush on the dance floor. When we reach the lobby, Q is there.
“Ladies, can we get our car service for you?”
“I don’t want to go home yet,” Monroe says with a whine. “Nate’s out of town and the penthouse will be so empty.”
“You can come home with me, babe. Jimmy won’t care,” Harlow offers, covering her own yawn.
That’s when I feel him behind me. I’ve never been so hyperaware of another person in my life. As soon as he’s in my proximity, my body buzzes from head to toe.
If this is what living feels like, what have I been doing every day before this?
As if guided by invisible hands, I turn around to face him.
His black shirt hugs his broad shoulders and muscular arms before ending with a glint of silver at the cuffs. I drag my gaze back up to his face and find his blue eyes fixed on me.
“You should get a hotel. Q can get you a suite down the street. Safer. Easier. Quicker.”
<
br /> “Why?” I ask, taking another step toward him. It’s as if I’m sucked into his magnetic pull, and I couldn’t stay away from him if I tried.
“It’s just safer,” he repeats.
I get caught on the sharp planes and angles of his face as the word repeats in my head. Safer. I study his scar, his lush lips that I wish I could taste, and the five o’clock shadow that’s even darker than it was a couple of hours ago.
“Are you worried about us?”
For such a large man, he moves with easy grace as he closes the distance between us. “I’d be a fool not to.”
Like the rest of the world has disappeared, I hear nothing of the thumping bass or the chatter of clubgoers around me. Even my friends are invisible. All I see is him.
“You’re not a fool, Mr. Legend.”
“Just Legend. And you’re wrong, Scarlett.”
I hold my breath, searching for the courage to take another step closer as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
He’s just as unsettled by me as I am by him. I don’t know why the realization comforts me, but it does. Probably because it makes him seem more human. And if he’s sometimes a fool . . . well, that means he’s fallible.
“When?”
His brow creases with confusion. “When what?”
“When were you a fool?”
He inhales, making his nostrils flare, and lifts a hand between us, almost as if he wants to touch me. But he doesn’t. His fingers hold there, frozen. “Earlier tonight.”
“When you danced with me? That wasn’t foolish.” I’m proud of the steadiness in my voice and nerves.
“Knowing what you feel like in my arms will haunt me for the rest of my life.”
My breath catches, and I stare at him in wonderment. “You make it sound like I’ll never be there again,” I whisper.
The lines of his face harden. “You deserve better than that douchebag who was in here tonight. Stay at the hotel. Have someone get your key back from him. Don’t go home until you’re sure it’s safe.” His orders are final, but he still hasn’t answered my question.