by Amber Malloy
“But we wanted to do it with you,” the best coder in the group whined.
“Uh, don’t worry,” Lexi’s assistant Tracy groused. “I’m not standing here or anything.”
Limited on time, Lexi refused to acknowledge the little feud that had been brewing between them for weeks.
“Trust me. You guys are in good hands. You’re all set for the Fire Code submissions, and… Well”—she took a deep breath because goodbyes were always hard—“every single one of you is intelligent, awesome and there’s nothing you can’t and won’t do. Now make me proud!” She pounded her fist in the air with more enthusiasm than she actually felt.
Chairs scraped against the tile floor, the sounds bouncing off the concrete walls as the girls unexpectedly rushed her. Lexi stumbled back from the weight of their enormous group hug. For a moment, she allowed herself to open up, and lowering her head on top of her students, she soaked up all the good feels.
“Ms. Lexi.” The smallest in the class reached up and pulled something out of the messy bun piled on top of her head. “You have glass in your hair.”
“Oh?” She took the chunk out of the girl’s hand. “Mirror broke.” With assistance from her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s golf club—she had smashed it into a million pieces. She was snatched out of the warm comfort of her hugs when the community center secretary waved from the small window in the door. “Okay, time to go. Take care, girls.”
Determined to not get emotional, Lexi slipped away from the girls’ surprisingly strong grips. Grabbing the doorknob to open the door, she turned back to wave goodbye, leaving her home away from home.
“Ms. Stewart—”
“Waters,” Lexi corrected the nervous woman. She needed to distance herself from her ex-husband’s name ASAP.
“The community center’s director doesn’t understand…”
Flinging the piece of mirror into the janitor’s cart on her way past, Lexi tuned the woman out. Josh had always loved her hair long, but the weight of her curls had grown into a burden. Lexi couldn’t wait to change it. She had narrowed down the haircut she wanted to either a symmetrical chic or a perfect Toni Braxton à la Betty Boop pixie cut.
“Ms. Stewart!” a couple of boys on the basketball court yelled.
She waved at the teens, fighting off the mist in her eyes. The kids were about the only thing she wished she could take with her.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“The officers wouldn’t tell me what they wanted to talk to you about,” she nervously babbled, “but I put them near the back door like you suggested.”
“Did you get the numbers that I sent you?”
As they walked through the corridors of the enormous Inglewood Center, the secretary fumbled with her phone. It took every ounce of Lexi’s patience not to snatch it from her hands. “Moe’s Blues and Jazz, Sugarfoot Moe Waters and or Simone, the manager of the club, correct?”
“Yes, perfect,” Lexi told her.
“And forgive me for being obtuse, but why did you send me these numbers?”
“Bail money.” She walked into the administrator’s front office. Thankfully, there was an exit away from the classroom, where none of the kids could witness their mentor’s arrest. #superembarrassing. “If you would be so kind as to call them and let them know that I will need to be bailed out, that would be awesome.”
“Excuse me?”
“The asshole I will soon be divorced from froze all my assets.” She shrugged. “So, yeah, there’s that.”
“Lexington Stewart?” Two officers waited for her.
“Waters,” she corrected the cop. All she’d done was smash every breakable item in Josh’s secret hideaway. Considering it was her hard work that had paid for that crap, it technically shouldn’t have been a jail-able offense.
“Lexington Waters, you have the right to remain silent.” The stocky officer who demonstrated a severe case of Napoleon complex grabbed her arm a little too harshly and handcuffed her.
For a minute, it crossed her mind to feign innocence, but she was super guilty, because…
Fuck Josh. That’s why!
* * * *
July
Mold. The courthouse actually smelled worse than fungus, but Lexi had finally put her finger on the suffocating stench.
Avoiding eye contact with the bailiff, she waited for him to relieve her of the intrusive ankle monitor she had named ’Roach’. No one liked a roach unless a joint was on the other end of it. The device was listed in the ‘wouldn’t miss’ category she had made, a lot like the state of California or her ex-husband. In less than two hours she would be on a plane to Chicago, two thousand and fifteen miles away from the mess that had become her life.
“Good to go, ma’am. I bet you’re happy to get that off.” Lexi had intentionally worn high heels and a skirt for this celebratory moment. Feeling lighter but not necessarily better, she eyed the bailiff without allowing him any indication that she needed to chat. He may have wanted to extend a bit of levity to a crap situation, but chit-chat was never her thing.
“Ms. Stewart.” She lifted her eyes away from the angry welt the monitor had made and toward her attorney.
“Waters… The last name is Waters.” Lexi bent over to rub her ankle.
“Let’s go over the terms of your probation,” Maureen Wendt said.
“Uh, didn’t we already do that?” she asked her no-nonsense lawyer.
“Yes, but I want to make sure you fully understand.”
At the age of twenty, Lexi had built her own company from the ground up. Of course, everyone thought Josh was the man behind the firm and not her because Fuck Josh. That’s why! Before SugarTech had made major strides, Wired Magazine had declared it the most promising firm since Macintosh.
Fast forward to twelve years later and her ex-husband had decided to snatch the rug out from under her…literally. The fucker even took her rug.
Wanting to get the whole thing over with, she nodded.
“A distance of one hundred yards must be maintained between you and the company’s campus.”
“Never went there anyway,” Lexi mumbled.
Maureen shot her a glare before she continued. “Effective immediately, you must vacate your position in the company. Your seat on the board will be in question until a judgment has been rendered on the charges that were levied against you.”
“Hold on. I thought my criminal charges were dropped.” Lexi ran her hand across her fresh pixie cut. In ye olde tradition of pissed bitch, she had whacked most of her hair off.
“That was for the case with your ex-husband. Remember that the board members have levied their own criminal charges and a civil suit against you.” Maureen heaved a considerably frustrated sigh in her direction. “We’re still working to get those charges dismissed.” She checked her phone as she continued to reel off a long list of transgressions. “Until then, the conditions of your bail will have to stay in place.”
Grabbing her purse, Lexi stood. Maureen was seriously testing the boundaries of the little bit of patience she had left.
“This may not be the outcome we hoped for, but it’s the best we’re going to get under the circumstances. Perhaps next time you’ll control your temper and not break into your ex’s house to childishly destroy all his belongings.”
“Considering it was my money, I technically destroyed my own shit.”
“According to California law—”
In the past, she’d been accused of not expressing herself very well. Since her world had been flipped upside down, Lexi had communicated her emotions a tad differently. She pushed open the revolving door and stepped away from Maureen mid-sentence, leaving the lawyer—and soon California—behind her.
Chapter Two
Two months later
Banished from California and anything involving technology, Lexi stood in the middle of Moe’s Blues and Jazz bar. Mesmerized by the NASDAQ ticker at the bottom of the overhead television screen, she forgot about her surroundings. More enth
ralled with the fresh-faced singer who performed Nina Simone’s Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood on the tiny stage than her little trance, Moe’s patrons ignored her.
“Boss lady!” Simone, the bartender, waved her hand wide across the busy bar, snapping Lexi out of her haze. “Table three.” She slid the tray across the bar. Since they were a couple of waitresses short, Lexi had volunteered to pitch in for the night.
Grabbing the drinks, she maneuvered her way the packed room. The NASDAQ numbers went through her mind. Anything she created under the umbrella of SugarTech had been put on indefinite hold—which meant there was no way the company had time to roll out anything that could produce that type of jump in stock numbers.
Lexi stopped at the table of suits, who were probably scouts from one of the music labels.
“Talk to me, cutie?” one of the guys pressed. Ever since she’d renovated the dusty interior of Moe’s and added younger talent to the roster, the sharks in the water hunted for fresh blood. “Do you break the law often? Because I’d give you a speeding ticket for getting this heart of mine racing.”
She set their drinks down in front of them. “Well, I’ve never got a speeding ticket before, but if you want to charge me with assault…” Lexi scrunched up her face before throwing them a lazy shrug. “Holler if you need anything, fellas.”
As soon as she turned away from the buttoned-up trolls, Lexi’s mind went back to the end-of-day market. Until all ligations against her were settled, nothing with her name could be introduced into the public sector. Deep in the muck of her own thoughts, she slid up to the bar and waited for her next order.
“Can I offer you some friendly advice?” Simone cooed, while batting her purple-colored eyelashes at her. “Hire more servers.”
“But that was funny,” Lexi defended herself. “You told me to be funny.”
As she continued to pour the beer on tap, Simone threw a weary glance over her shoulder.
“Sorry,” Lexi apologized. Not used to uncomfortable shoes, she switched from one high-heel-covered foot to another. “I’ve been looking.” Attempting to ignore the pulsating pain in her arches, she waited for Simone to complete her next order. She didn’t think she’d be on her feet all day serving beers to blues lovers…cough, cough, posers.
Her father had wanted to help with her mounting legal bills and felt her tech background could be useful. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that coding and business weren’t exactly peanut butter and jelly.
“Not to mention that I can’t seem to find anyone more awesome than you,” Lexi cooed.
“Slick.” Simone, the tattoo-covered sweetheart, frowned. “Seriously, if you want to keep up this good flow, you better get new employees in here—and quick.”
Lexi probably should have kept a couple of people on staff, but she couldn’t overlook the missing toilet rolls or the occasional whisky bottle that grew legs and walked straight out of the door. If they weren’t garbage people who basically sucked, she would have kept them on for a little while longer.
“Trust me, girl. This cool-ass renovation job will all be for nothing if no one serves these people,” Simone said.
“Oh, so this is your fault,” a deep voice grumbled.
Lexi’s gaze went up the skyscraper that led to a solid wall of bulging muscle. Once she made it to the peak of the mountain, an incredibly pissed-off bronze man received all her attention.
Confused by the life-sized Mortal Kombat character in front of her, she slid the bartender a wide-eyed stare. “Hawk here works from time to time,” Simone rushed to explain.
“Everyone had to reapply for their position,” Lexi told him. “If you don’t mind doing a background check, Simone can get… Ah, Hawk was it?” She wondered if it was hopefully short for something else. “She’ll get you an application to fill out.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh shit,” Simone muttered before she zipped her way to the opposite end of the bar.
“Like I said, everyone had to do it.” Why the hell was he mad? She hadn’t even fired him. Lexi would have remembered a dude this chiseled… Crap, she meant big. Nevertheless, her mind was on constant pinball tilt. It was hard to keep track of all the everyday changes she had recently undergone. There was no way a misplaced extra from Conan the Barbarian would have slipped through the broken cracks of her mind—or could he? “Well, Simone and Peaches didn’t have to, but they were the only two not smuggling contraband up their culo, sooo…”
The giant lowered his eyelids to tiny slits, which was a shame because his smoldering hazel eyes were beyond sexy. What the hell is that? she silently checked herself.
“Where’s Moe?” he growled.
“Un-avail-able.” She spoke slowly to the man-child who towered over her.
“Simone,” he hollered, staring daggers into her soul, “where’s Moe?”
“At home!”
“Did you just pull a ‘let me speak to your manager’?” she asked, blown away by the balls on this one.
“Cool.” Hawk turned away from her, and with the sheer force of his presence moved the crowd out of his path.
Cataloging one of the stranger encounters she had since moving to Chicago, Lexi grabbed the empty bottles on top of the bar and threw them in the trash.
Even the thieving-ass dishwasher who had tried to walk out of the door with three pounds of buffalo wings in his pants rated less awkward than her Hawk experience. Of course, it didn’t help that the sexy ogre smelled expensively delicious. The undeniable scent of cedar, spice and, if she was not mistaken, freaking violets lingered long after he had walked out of the door.
What the hell did the big dude steal to afford cologne worth over four hundred dollars? The fragrance had taken her back to her not-so-distant tech-loving past.
The aromatic reminder of her current predicament had Lexi fighting off the urge to unload a feral scream. A fierce type of yell that usually erupted from the belly was clawing its way out of her lungs to explode from her throat. Having to abandon the company she’d built from the ground up was a bitter pill to swallow—and for what? To serve a room full of corporate assholes drinks.
“Lexi, table five,” Simone called out, interrupting her mini breakdown.
“Got it!” she screamed back, unleashing a little bit of the buildup trapped inside her. Stacking the mugs of beer on her tray, she beat back the urge to fall into a crying heap across the floor.
* * * *
It took over twelve city blocks for Hawk to cool down. He had blown past his anger around block five and settled into mildly annoyed once he got closer to the Mavericks’ front office. As he jogged across the busy street to the stadium, a car screeched inches away from him.
“Whoa!” he yelled, slapping the hood of the taxi.
“Big man!” The driver poked his head out of the open window. “Got time for a selfie?”
Happy he didn’t have to beat the driver to a bloody pulp, Hawk relaxed his stance. “Sure.”
“Come on, dude. Hurry up! I have a plane to catch,” his passenger complained from the back seat. Hawk went to the driver’s side and ducked his head in the front window.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” the cabbie threw over his shoulder before he smiled and took the picture. “Thanks, my man. The fam will go crazy when they see this. We don’t have too many of you around, if you get my meaning.”
“Can we go now?” the passenger whined.
Hawk stepped away from the cab with a chuckle and trotted toward the stadium door.
“It’s O’Hare,” the driver grunted. “Your plane won’t be leaving on time.”
The automatic doors to the Mavericks’ football team’s executive office building slid open. Hawk stepped inside. All partied out from his hockey teams’ championship win, he’d taken over a month off. The second that his contractual obligations ended, he’d pointed his Harley north and ridden to his hometown of Ontario, Canada. For one straight month he’d traveled through North America on his hog.
“Silver Surfer!” the security staffer shouted.
He waved on his way past. Thanks to his relationship with all the team’s higher-ups, everyone recognized him. A sport star in his own right, Hawk realized early on that just because football and hockey weren’t exactly the recipe for Reese’s Pieces candy, they didn’t necessarily taste great together. “Your guy got a new office, top floor.”
“No shit.” Envious of the cushy life his best friend had carved out for himself, Hawk waited for the guard to call for the executive elevator. When the doors slid apart, he stepped into the cab and tried to tamp down his shitty mood.
Toward the beginning of his career, he’d made every rookie mistake in the book. Around his second season and first trade, the coaches had sat him down and told him he was officially out of chances. If he didn’t turn his life around, they would get rid of him mid-season—no ifs, ands or buts about it.
For eight whole years he hadn’t partied or touched a drink. Unfortunately, the press had never let him forget his drunken exploits or shitty soundbites from his early twenties.
He even had to stop his ‘hit it and quit it’ groupie love. Needless to say, the no-strings-attached sex was harder to let go than the drinking. Moe’s bar had helped keep him out of trouble. No one but old-timers and blues-lovers hung out there. The customers didn’t give a shit about his career or treat him any differently, so the place had become a home away from home.
Unfortunately, the renovation had turned the bar into a shiny shell of its former self, and it rubbed him the wrong way.
As the elevator doors opened, Hawk stepped onto the executive floor.
“Mr. Maze.” The young assistant smirked.
“Lucy.” He nodded. “I could have sworn I told you to call me Hawk.”
“That seems unprofessional.” A pink flush crept up her neck. “And since my boss told me to stay far, far away from you…”
“How about we split the difference and you call me Mr. Hawk?”
The receptionist shyly tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Okay, Mr. Hawk.”