by Nicole York
Marcus’s forehead creased. “I don’t recall saying it did.”
“You were getting to it.”
“Perhaps.”
“Look,” Cole said firmly, “I might do things a little differently than you. But I’m coping, all right? I need you to back the fuck off. Tell Zak to mind his own business, too. The last thing I need are two grown-ass men thinking it’s their job to babysit me like I’m some degenerate about to go on a bender.”
Marcus ran a hand over his bald head and leaned back once more on the sofa. The leather creaked softly beneath him. “If you don’t like us keeping tabs on you, get your shit together. It’s as simple as that, kid.”
7
Cameron
Pauline, Cameron’s best friend in the entire world, sat waiting for her at a bistro table on the patio of a vegan restaurant in Manhattan. She wore a red scarf draped loosely around her neck, a perfectly fitted, long, black cardigan, knee-high brown boots, and a gold tank top underneath that caught the sunlight winking through the yellow umbrella at her table. She saw Cameron coming down the sidewalk and waved, and a minute later, Cameron made her way through the restaurant entrance and out onto the patio to give her a hug.
“Hey, babe,” Cameron said as the two women broke apart. “How’ve you been? It feels like it’s been ages since I saw you last.”
Ages in Cameron’s world was a week. It had been a grand total of seven days since she last saw Pauline. Last Friday, they went and did their usual pamper routine: they got their hair blown out, went to simultaneous mani-pedi appointments where they talked about their weeks and sipped fancy lattes, and ended the day with facials and full body massages. Cameron had needed that day to get her head on straight to prepare for this week of fieldwork hopping from shelter to shelter, soup kitchen to soup kitchen.
And boy, had it been exhausting.
Cameron’s feet had never hurt as much as they did today after a week of touring shelters and talking to the public. She’d worn heels to every appointment and regretted it deeply. Today, she’d opted for comfortable ankle boots with a thicker heel just to give her poor feet a break.
“I’ve missed you too,” Pauline said as she climbed back onto her bistro chair. She flipped her beachy brown waves over one shoulder and fixed Cameron with her hazel stare. “I want to hear everything about your week. How’d it go? Do you know what your next step is? Did you get the answers you needed? I want to know everything.”
Cameron laughed and held up one hand. “Maybe we should put in our orders before I spiral down that road.”
Pauline and Cameron had a tendency to get ahead of themselves. Once they started talking, it would be impossible for them to rein it back in.
Cameron decided to order a tofu dragon bowl and Pauline opted for an onion, fig, and balsamic-glazed flatbread with nutritional yeast. She was the vegan of their dynamic duo, and whenever they went out to eat together, Cameron was happy to go with options with no animal products. This city had plenty of options and Pauline always knew the best places to hit up.
After they ordered, Pauline clasped her hands together and rested her chin on her knuckles. “So? Spill.”
Cameron dished on everything that happened at the beginning of her week with her first visit to the soup kitchen. After that, she launched into the details of what followed.
“I’ve never been so genuinely tired in my entire life,” Cameron said dramatically. “Not even Coachella knocked me on my ass this hard. When I tell you I’m tired, I mean I am tired.”
“Welcome to dealing with the public.” Pauline grinned. “Thirty percent good, decent, hardworking, ethical people. Seventy percent pieces of garbage who don’t give a crap about you or anyone else for that matter.”
Cameron giggled. “It wasn’t the people who made it difficult. Well, no, I suppose that’s not true. They did. But I understand their reasons. It was so hard to get people to talk to me, Pauline. They knew I didn’t belong and they looked me up and down like I was trying to take something from them when in reality all I want to do is give them something better.” She heaved a tired sigh and poked at her cutlery, dejected. “I just worry that they’re never going to come around and all this work will be for nothing.”
Pauline reached across the table and put her hand on Cameron’s. “Can I give you some tough love?”
“No,” Cameron pouted.
“I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Fine.”
Pauline patted her hand. “You’ve only been at this for a week. I know it’s exhausting, but you can’t throw in the towel after four and a half days. This is the kind of thing that takes months to get traction on. And when a wealthy, beautiful, want-for-nothing young woman walks into the kinds of places you’re visiting, it’s completely natural for people to be suspicious.”
Sometimes, Cameron wished Pauline wasn’t so reasonable.
“You think I’m beautiful?” Cameron asked with a sly smile.
Pauline pointed a finger at her friend. “Don’t get hung up on the flattery.”
Cameron laughed. “I get what you’re saying. I suppose it wouldn’t be entirely out of line to suggest that I suffer from an incessant desire for instant gratification.”
“Don’t we all?” Pauline mused.
“Speaking of which,” Cameron said, sitting up a little straighter, “where the hell is our food?”
Pauline snorted into her hands and shook her head. “Cameron!”
“I’m hungry.”
“You’re embarrassing. That’s what you are.”
“Isn’t that what a best friend is supposed to be? That and supportive, of course.”
Pauline rolled her eyes and took a sip of her iced water. “You embarrass me way more than I embarrass you. Which you would think would happen the other way around, seeing as how I’m the barely-holding-it-together manager of a subpar three and a half star hotel and you’re a billionaire philanthropist’s daughter. If anyone should be ashamed to be with anyone, it should be you with me.”
Cameron blinked. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“It’s not,” she said sharply. “I have never once, nor will I ever, be or been embarrassed of or by you. Is that clear?”
Pauline turned slightly pink. “Yes.”
“You are a badass boss bitch who worked hard for where you are now. You grinded in college to get out and start working as a manager and you did your time on the night shift. Now you have your normal life back and you don’t have to work with that total ass. What was his name again?”
“Steve,” Pauline said venomously. “He was an ass. You’re right. I mean, how many times do you have to turn a guy down who tries to take you out?”
“Nineteen, according to Steve.”
Pauline grimaced at the memory. She was a much happier version of herself now that she was back to working day shifts. She worked Monday to Thursday from nine until six and every second Friday. This Friday, she had the day off. Cameron was sure she’d get a dozen calls from her staff needing her help with something or other but she never answered them when she was out with Cameron. She believed in separation from work and personal life and Cameron wondered how long it would take for her to start thinking about those kinds of things.
Cameron hadn’t really worked a day in her life before. This project was her dipping her toes in the life of a working woman. So far, she wasn’t sure what to think. She wasn’t a fan of the rejection she’d experienced every day, or the early mornings, or the smell, for that matter. She was much more adept at waking up around nine o’clock to the sounds of chirping birds and wandering downstairs in her silk house-robe to fetch a freshly poured cup of coffee.
After their food arrived and they’d eaten nearly all the way to the bottom of their bowls, Cameron looked up at Pauline. “Do you really think I’ll have to keep this up for months before I get any traction?”
Pauline chewed, swallowed, and dabbed her lips with a white napkin. “It’s
possible. How long did it take your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should ask him. I doubt he leapt into his projects after one week of canvassing.”
Cameron pushed the tofu remnants around her bowl. “Why can’t they see I’m trying to help them?”
“People are jaded, Cameron. And for good reason. The women you’re trying to connect with…” Pauline trailed off and searched for the right words. She gave her head a shake like she was accepting that there weren’t any right words for this. “They’ve been beaten down and kicked while they’re on their hands and knees. The world has been unkind to them for a very long time. When you get used to that kind of treatment, it’s very hard to look at someone extending a helping hand and trust that they don’t have ulterior motives, especially when that person looks and talks like you.”
“How do I look and talk?”
“Like a rich girl.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not a good or bad thing. It just won’t open doors for you in this realm like you’re used to with your father’s friends or your family members. It’s just different. That’s all. But you’ll adjust. How does your dad always put it?”
“Don’t—”
“Recalibrate?”
Cameron groaned.
Pauline giggled. “He’s right, you know? With more time, you’ll start to communicate better. Just keep showing up. They’ll start to trust you.”
“Just keep showing up,” Cameron muttered. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Seems straight forward enough.”
Pauline picked up her water and took a couple grateful gulps. She set the glass down and licked her lips. “It is in theory. Welcome to the real world, babe.”
Cameron sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Get out of my head for a bit. The thought of starting another week like this one come Monday makes me want to rip my hair out.”
Pauline’s eyes widened with excitement. “We should go dancing tonight.”
Cameron liked the sound of that. She and Pauline had the best time every night they went out dancing together. “I could call some of my usual places and see if anyone has room on their VIP lists,” Cameron offered.
Pauline shook her head. “Absolutely not. You’re trying to connect with the real world, right?”
Cameron nodded. “Yes.”
“Then we’re going someplace real. Someplace on the edge.”
Cameron ran a finger around the rim of her glass as little butterflies took flight in her belly. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”
Pauline grinned like the devil herself. “Kadia.”
8
Cole
Friday night at Kadia was the place to be if you were looking for a walk on the wild side. When Cole first started working as a bodyguard there, the club had made him feel like a small fish in a large pond with one shark in it and one shark only: Marcus.
Every single person at the club, staff or patron, knew that fact. He ran a tight, merciless ship, and if you fucked with what was his, he fucked with you.
That was an ass whooping nobody wanted.
So, when a man in his early thirties started getting rowdy at the bar, Cole spared him the beatdown he’d have received if Marcus happened upon his little charade.
The man wore a black button-up shirt with a black tie. His shirt looked like it had been tucked into his pants at one point but had long since been pulled out. The edges were wrinkled and three of the bottom buttons were undone, showing off a somewhat squishy navel area covered in dark hair, which was being continuously smooshed up against the bar as he slurred profanities at Dean and Keesha, who were mixing drinks.
He looked like someone who might have been named Troy or Travis. Something along those lines, for sure. He had a smoker’s cough and bad manners, which made for a terrible combination. Instead of coughing into his hand or elbow, he coughed over the bar top.
Keesha couldn’t hide her disgust as spittle rained down on the bar. For a moment, Cole thought she might gag.
“Hey, don’t pretend like you’re not interested,” the drunk man slurred, pointing a finger at her—or rather pointing a finger in her general direction. He was too shitfaced to have good aim and Cole suspected he might be seeing three of her, not one. “You need a man to give it to you good and hard, baby girl? I’ll show you hard.” He hiccupped and snorted and laughed at his own bodily noises. “Yeah, I’ll show you hard. I like a woman like you. Look at that fucking ass. A guy could—”
Cole closed a hand on the drunken man’s shoulder. “Sir, I think you’ve had enough.”
The drunkard shrugged out from under Cole’s hand and nearly pitched forward doing so. His stability was awful as he spun around and leaned back. He tried to focus his vision on Cole but his eyelids continuously tried to close.
“Keep your hands off me, you tall prick,” he barked.
Cole arched an eyebrow. He’d had a lot of people yell insults at him, but tall had never been an adjective they’d chosen.
“Time to go,” Cole said as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the emergency exit doors.
The bodyguards at Kadia never threw the drunks out onto the main street. Apparently, they used to do that when the club was being managed by Frederick Carrington, but that had been something Marcus put a stop to right away. He didn’t like that the drunken idiots were suddenly exposed to the people waiting patiently in line outside the club. It didn’t look good on Kadia’s part, and what was more, Marcus didn’t like to leave room for any of their patrons to harass other guests. Throwing a drunk out on the street fifteen feet away from a line that consisted of sixty percent beautiful women?
Bad idea.
So they tossed them out in the alley.
That was where this clown was headed.
“I ain’t going nowhere with you,” the drunk slurred. “I got a pretty woman here that wants to talk to me about my cock. Now piss off before I turn you into an area rug.”
Cole exchanged a look with Keesha.
She stood behind the bar, a smug smile on her lips, and shook her head. She mouthed the words thank you to Cole as Dean passed behind her to drop off drink orders at the opposite end of the bar.
Cole nodded to her. He had her back.
Cole’s attention shifted back to the drunk man in front of him. He looked like his condition was worsening by the minute. How much had he had to drink? Half the fucking bar?
“You can come back another night if you leave with me right now,” Cole said. “We’ve all had a night where we’ve had one too many. No need to blow your chances of being welcome back. Now come on with me. I’ll show you out.”
Sometimes, Cole still slipped into the habits he’d picked up during his time being a cop. He worked hard to avoid conflict and encourage communication. It was important to him that he made himself clear and that the person he was dealing with understood his intentions.
But this guy didn’t give a shit about any of that.
He jabbed an angry finger into Cole’s chest. “I’m gonna get myself another drink you fuck, and then I’m gonna drink it, and then I’m gonna grab that red-haired bitch and fuck that smug little smile right off her lips.”
Cole’s knuckles collided with his nose.
The man’s head snapped back. He let out a sound that Cole could only compare to a dog’s yelp before he stumbled backward and clutched at his bleeding nose. He wailed into his palms about how Cole had broken his nose and he never noticed that he’d also knocked his two front teeth loose. That would be a nice little surprise for him to discover in the morning.
Keesha wasn’t Cole’s woman, but she was Marcus’s, which made her Cole’s to protect by default. Cole didn’t stand for someone speaking about her like that, especially not this bottom feeder.
The eyes of everyone close by were fixed on Cole as he strode forward and grabbed the man by the back of his shirt. He thrashed
and hollered about how horribly he was being treated but nobody came to his aid. They disappeared down the inky dark hallway and Cole kicked the emergency door open at the end.
They stepped out beneath the buzzing light above the door out in the alley and Cole tossed the drunk like a sack of potatoes. He landed on his hands and knees on the concrete and spat blood into a puddle beneath him.
It smelled like cigarettes.
Cole looked to his left and found Vance, one of the other bodyguards, leaning up against the wall of the club puffing on a just-lit cigarette. His eyes, steely and dark brown, glowed in the red ember light cast by the lit end of his cigarette.
A smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Got yourself a catch, huh?”
Cole let the door swing closed behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s a foul little bastard,” Cole said, nodding at the man on his hands and knees. “Took it too far even though I gave him a chance to walk himself out and maintain his dignity.”
The man on his knees managed to stagger to his feet. He swung around to face the two bodyguards, swaying as he did so, and as he stared at Cole and Vance, it became clear that he didn’t know which one of them was the one who’d punched him in the face.
“Get out of here,” Vance said. “Some cheap strip joint will take you, I’m sure.”
“My bitch is inside,” the man said thickly.
Vance arched an eyebrow. “Is she now? Who is the poor whore that has to go home with the likes of you?”
“The redhead.” The drunk grinned.
Cole sighed. “He’s talking about Keesha.”
Vance’s bemused expression went cold. He took a draw from his cigarette and held the smoke before exhaling slowly. “I suggest you get out of our sight before we decide to use you like a punching bag for talking about one of ours like that.” Vance leaned toward me. “Don’t tell Marcus I called Keesha a whore. I didn’t realize he was talking about her.”
Cole tried to hide his smile.
The drunk spat more blood and groaned about his nose, but he didn’t try to fight. He knew he’d only end up in worse shape than he was already in, so he turned away from the club and staggered toward the mouth of the alley, where he stood under a street light and looked both ways down the street for at least a solid minute before finally lurching to the left and disappearing out of sight.