by S. E. Dosher
“No,” Paul almost shouts. “Fuck no, that’s not what anyone is saying, but you seem to have more information than we do.”
“Looks like you do really need the lawyer you got today. I hear great things about Mr. Peck, you’ll have no problems with him representing you.” Kiki says.
I nod in a stunned silence.
“At the very least, you two should watch the news, I think they know more about what’s going on than you,” she adds.
“I think you’re right,” Paul agrees.
“So what do you think, do you want to get your story out there?” She asks me.
“No!” I blurt sharply.
“Brook, I really think it would do your public image some good. Especially since my magazine is already a friend to you; you wouldn’t want to take your story somewhere else where they might taint it.”
“I don’t want a public image, Kiki. I can promise you I don’t care if it’s good or bad. I just want to be left alone; that’s all I’ve wanted for a long time—to take pictures of beautiful things, and for the rest of the world to leave me the fuck alone.” I’m breathing hard from the emotional excitement, and I know I must look psycho.
“Okay, Brook. Okay,” she says calmly, probably afraid I’ll strike at any second, then slides a small card across the table. “Just in case you change your mind.”
I nod but don’t bother to pick up her card, and she finally turns to walk away.
“Well, that was interesting,” Paul says dryly.
I pierce him with my non-functioning laser eyes as our food arrives.
“So what happened with Blasé?” I finally get up the nerve to ask after I’ve almost cleaned my plate of food and drank two and a half dirty martinis.
“Nothing, it was just time to for a change,” he answers with a flip of his wrist trying to show me how little this life transition means.
“You love Blasé; you built that place from a tiny nothing hole-in-the-wall club. I don’t believe you just felt like it was time for a change.”
“Brook…”
“No, Paul. I’m not fucking stupid, okay? So either tell me, or I’ll march my ass outside, find a blood sucking paparazzo, and have them tell me everything they know.”
He rolls his eyes at my speech but finally spills. “Apparently, one of the bodyguards is greedy and spilled on our little arrangement. Which was a dumbass move because he got fired, and I quit before they could fire me.”
“You quit?” I ask, stunned. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Paul; I never meant for this to happen.”
“Brook, I’m a big boy. I make my own decisions, and when I decided to let you take pictures inside my club, that was on me, not you. So stop whining and eat those last two bites before I steal them from you.”
“How can you be so carefree about this? Fuck, you even bitched out my brother and this whole time you’d lost your job because of me.”
He reaches out and cups my hand in his.
“Sweetie, listen to me. No matter what happens, you will always be more important than any job, or any other small part of my life. I love you, and you will always come first…always.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, but this time they compete with the smile permanently planted on my face. “I love you, too, but you are such a dumbass.”
We both laugh and clang our martini glasses together in a show of solidarity.
“I know where we’re going next,” I tell him.
“Where?” he asks, his eyes wide in anticipation.
“Stephen’s club. We’re gonna get you a new job.”
“Which one is Stephen’s club?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“I have no idea what the name of it is; I didn’t pay attention last time, but it just opened a few weeks ago.”
“Sweetie, do you know how many new clubs opened within the past few weeks?” he asks, and I shrug, clueless, as half-drunken tingles shoot through my body. “Oh shit, I bet it’s Surf. Yeah, it’s got to be Surf.”
I roll my eyes. “You know Stephen Ami opened a new club, and you know there’s a new club called Surf, and you just now put two and two together?” I slur, each word melding into the next.
“Hey, bitch, I just found out Stephen was back in town tonight, and you are so fucking drunk.” He laughs at me.
“No, I’m not,” I slur again.
“Only a drunk person would say that.”
“Shu da fu up,” I say, and my tongue suddenly feels too large for my mouth.
“Okay, no more martinis for you,” he says as he steals my glass and downs it quickly. “Coffee over here please, we have a long night ahead,” he says to the cute waiter.
Chapter 6
The town car Paul called for us pulls up in front of Surf. I instantly know it’s Stephen’s club. I recognize everything about it from when I was here with Niko.
“You were right,” I say, minus the slurring, thanks to a few cups of coffee, a little more food, and a couple hours of debating with Paul whether it was safe to take bring me here.
“I figured I was. So you think you can get us in?”
I roll my eyes at him, “Of course I can get us in.”
“You sure?” He asks again and points behind me. My eyes turn to see a line that wraps around the corner of the block.
“Holy shit, he’s doing good, right?”
“Yeah, I’d say Stephen is doing pretty damn well for himself,” Paul snorts when he laughs at my obvious observation.
I pull my phone out of my clutch and send a text to the number Stephen gave me. “Okay, I told him we were here.”
Paul leans forward and pays the driver while I step out of the car. Visions of climbing from a limo the last time I was here flash through my mind. I feel a rush of heat as my body remembers the kisses and the feel of Niko’s body against mine. The way he re-ignited a part of my life that had been forgotten, pushed to the back burner.
“Shall we?” Paul says, snapping me from my dirty fantasy. I shake my head trying to knock the vision lose and take his hand as we walk to the front door. Of course it has more security than the local jail, and from my recent visit there, I know that fact to be completely true.
“Miss Beckham,” one of the oversized security guards says as we approach him. “Mr. Ami has requested you be taken directly to him once you arrive.”
Paul and I look at each other, then back to the guard, then back to each other before we burst into laughter.
“Well, I guess you do have a little pull around here,” he whispers as we’re shuffled inside to the protest of some patrons at the front of the line.
Before we cross the threshold of the large entrance, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and sparks of distress shoot through me, but I’m pulled inside by Paul before I can stop to wonder what’s causing them.
The guard leads us to a large section behind a small bar hidden on the far side of the club.
“Mr. Ami had to step out briefly. He asked that you order whatever you would like, and he will return shortly.” A gorgeous, scantily clad cocktail waitress tells us.
“She’ll have a Shirley Temple, and I’ll have cognac, Remy Martin if you have it, neat,” Paul orders for us. The waitress looks at me to make sure I don’t protest, and I simply smile in agreement for my child-like drink.
“Shirley Temple, really?” I question him with a smirk.
“Well, it was either that, or more coffee, but I don’t think you need a caffeine buzz any more than you need another alcohol buzz right now.”
Before I can even start arguing about my ability to hold my liquor, our waitress reappears with our drinks.
“Please let me know if you need anything else.” She smiles then retreats.
I take a drink of my overpriced lemon-lime-grenadine concoction and down half of it in one large gulp.
“A closet fan of the Shirley Temple, I see,” Paul laughs.
“I guess so.” I laugh with him.
I’m well on my wa
y to my second drink, and Paul is nursing his cognac, but Stephen hasn’t appeared yet. Butterflies begin to dance through my stomach at the thought of seeing him. I didn’t exactly leave things in a good way after he poured his heart out to me. I’m sure every man dreams of having a women run from his house after he says those three little words to her.
“Let’s dance,” I blurt out.
“I don’t want to dance,” my friend tells me with his nose scrunched up in distaste.
“C’mon, I can’t just sit here; I’m a nervous wreck. Come dance with me.”
“No, weirdo, I don’t want to dance. Go have at it, if you’d like; I’ll sit right here and watch while I lament the good time I’m missing out on. You know all that bumping and grinding I could be doing with you.”
“You suck,” I tell him as I push my bottom lip out in a pout.
“Yes, I do…but from what you told me about last night, you do as well,” he says with a wink.
I stick my tongue out at him—I’m already drinking a child’s drink, so I might as well go all in—then stand from the table and stomp to the dance floor.
There are way more drunk, sweaty bodies co-mingling on the dance floor than I originally thought. They’re each moving in a hap-hazard pattern all their own with no regard for anyone surrounding them—unless, of course, their dancing consists of just grinding on a warm body. One such fella grabs a hold of me and attempts to slur a sweet nothing in my ear. It comes out sounding similar to the likes of Night of the Living Dead and smells like a dumpster. I crush my heel down on his toes, hoping to effectively get my position across to him. It works, and he immediately releases my shoulders and hops on one foot back into the sea of thrashing bodies.
I push my way to the edge, needing air that isn’t so full of musky desire when I see a hall leading to what I hope are the restrooms. A rush of cool air chills across my skin once I break free from the sticky dance floor. Amazingly, one jaunt across the dance floor proves to me I’m far too old, or perhaps boring, to frequent hip clubs. The mere fact that I use the term “hip club” probably should be a clue itself.
The hallway is dark and empty except for one, lone couple arguing at the far end. Apparently, she thinks he’s had too much to drink and doesn’t like him flirting with her friend. I want to offer up the solution of the Shirley Temple, but stumble across the large opening that says I have arrived at the women’s restroom.
The long, dark hallway is followed by a shorter, narrower walkway cast in shades of blue and green. Doors to individual stalls flank both sides. With every step I take, the lights fade and change, and I can’t help but be enamored by the theatrical lighting; especially since it’s a huge feature for something like a women’s bathroom. Most women just want to pee and don’t care what colors surround them when they’ve had a few drinks.
I lose track of myself, as I’m too busy watching the lights and end up in front of the very last restroom stall, so I turn the knob and enter it. I hear the click of a lock as the door automatically latches behind me. The blue and green lights are gone, replaced by a mellow darkness. A solitary light is in the center of the room; a bulb hangs close to the ceiling covered by black frosted glass. I assume to cover up any messes left behind by patrons who did not partake in the glorious marvels of non-alcoholic Shirley Temples.
Not sure if they all do, but this stall has everything you need in a restroom: toilet, sink, full length mirror for wardrobe adjustments, even several choices of lotion lined along the wall next to fresh cloth hand towels. All that’s missing is a restroom attendant to hand you hot towels and mints. I don’t need to use the facilities, which is actually a shame because the toilet seems to be gleaming. I just need a break from the crowd. I lean against the counter surrounding the sink, close my eyes, and let my head fall back, rolling my neck from side to side. Flashes of the last forty-eighty hours play in my head like a slow motion picture show, and I have no idea what the fuck I’ve been doing. Stephen, Niko, and now Stephen. I also can’t shake the feeling I’m being followed and watched everywhere I go. I don’t know if I’m simply paranoid, or if the paparazzi—or even Suzy—haven’t given up on their pursuit.
Five years ago my life was out of control, then my life was simply nothing, and now it’s even more out of control than before. I turn the cold water on and run my hands under it, relishing the sharpness of its icy bite. It’s a nice contrast to the dulled emotions currently running through my veins. I shake off the excess water and place my chilled hands against my cheeks and moan from the sensation.
Kiki’s words from the restaurant race through my mind; Niko’s going to drop the charges, and they don’t have enough evidence for criminal charges. She actually believed I was innocent. It never crossed my mind that others wouldn’t think me capable of what I was accused of doing. A small flicker of hope brews in my center. Maybe Stephen was right; maybe I could win out…maybe I deserved to be better. Obviously, I am guilty; I guess that’s why I figured everyone else had already convicted me. But how much do I have to pay in penance before I’m allowed to move on with my life? I’m actually not sure.
A loud knock on the door startles me, my whole body shakes and I gasp loudly.
“Just a minute, almost done!” I shout at the door as a rush of blood from my pounding heart swells in my ears.
I wave my hand in front of the automatic towel dispenser, dry my hands then pat my face to clear away the damp. A couple deep breaths, and I open the door.
The door is barely open a crack when I feel a force pushing me backwards. Before I know what’s happening, my back is flat against the back wall, and I hear the door latching shut. My eyes blink several times, trying to adjust to the swift movements and focus on the person in front of me.
Niko.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snap at him.
He doesn’t answer. He pushes his hips into my body and runs the tip of his nose from the base of my neck up to my cheek, slowly inhaling my scent.
“Are you following me? How did you know I was here?” I demand of him.
Again, he doesn’t speak; instead, he runs his hands up my sides and across my breast. I try to swat them away, but he quickly encircles my wrists with his finger and holds them over my head.
“What are you doing? Stop,” I say with a lot less conviction than I should, considering I already know where this is going. I don’t know if I can stand to be led back down this same path.
“I don’t think you really want me to stop.” His voice is low and husky, sending chills of lust up my spine.
“Niko…” I warn, my body bracing for what’s to come.
“Shhh,” He silences me and leans in so close I can feel the warmth of his skin penetrate mine. “I’m proving a point right now.”
“A point?” My voice is high pitched and shrill. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He dips his forehead to rest on mine and the tip of his nose swirls around mine playfully. His scent is all encompassing, forcing a neediness to wash over me and pool between my legs.
“We already know this can be good, but I think it can be better,” he mutters, and his gaze falls to my mouth. “But I’ll stop; you just say the word…this is your last chance.”
“Niko…” I breathe his name again but can’t seem to force my mouth to form more words.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, and a smirk stretches across his lips.
He releases his fingers from my wrists but keeps them pressed above my head with one hand. His other hand falls to shift through my hair, cupping my head and holding me in place. Finally his mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue snaking out to entwine with mine. My body melts into him.
His tongue feels good, even tastes good, even better than last night.
“Feels like I haven’t tasted you in forever,” he says, almost reading my thoughts.
“Last…night,” I groan between flicks of his tongue.
He doesn’t answer me, he simply growls.
A loud pounding on the door causes him to pull away from me.
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to exit the ladies room.”
I gasp, but Niko chuckles, a light airy laugh that sounds like a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He completely releases my arms and turns to face the door.
I step around him and pull the door open. A large security guard is just outside the door, but facing toward the end of the blue and green hallway.
“Ma’am,” he says and gestures for me to head down the hallway in front of him.
I take one step into the hall, but stop to look back at Niko. His eyes are not focused on me; his gaze is pointed at the floor, but a firm smile is planted on his face. I turn back toward the exit and disappear without another glance.
Chapter 7
I make it back to the side of the club where I left Paul in record time, skirting around the edge of the dance floor so I’m not assaulted by anyone else tonight. My lips are throbbing and raw from Niko’s kiss, my fingers longing to touch them and remember the feel of him. I fight the urge and hurry my way back to Paul, knowing I’ll need something stronger than a Shirley Temple if I’m meant to survive the night.
My eyes easily find Stephen’s blond hair before I see Paul. They are sitting at the table, Stephen’s back to me, and my heart skips. I’m obviously not meant to juggle two men at one time—if that’s actually what this is considered. I don’t have the mental strength to focus on either one of them tonight, and the thought of faking sick so Paul will take me home plays on my mind.
Paul looks up and sees me approaching. His eyes go wide and stop me in my tracks. I shrug my shoulders and notice his gaze has fallen to behind me. I turn around to see Niko. He’s about twenty feet from me and has also stopped his approach. I turn back to Paul and Stephen but stand frozen. This is not a decision I want to make; hell, it isn’t even one I should be thinking about. I’ve got reasons to want both of them, but I’ve also got reasons to steer clear of each, as well.