by Vivian Arend
By the time I reach the parking deck, the cold has penetrated the outer layers of my leather jacket, icy teeth burrowing into my skin. I welcome the discomfort. It keeps me sharp. Normally I’d go visit my mom and make sure she has everything she needs but in light of recent events, I’m not sure what to do.
Does she know about my brothers? Should I tell her? Things were over between her and my dad ages ago. But that doesn't mean she'll want to hear about kids he had with some other woman. Or is it other women? Shit. I didn't even think to ask. Just how many families does the bastard have out there in the world?
The last thing I want is to dump these worries on my mom’s doorstep. She’s had more than her fair share of worry over the years between scraping to survive while we were growing up, to all the years I gave her hell as a teenager with my bad attitude and all the fighting. If she knew about the things I’ve been doing lately … I push the thought away. I deal with my anger in my own way. My mom has earned the right to a little peace, although fate doesn’t seem inclined to give it to her.
I bury the ugly thoughts as I climb on the back of my Ducati. The last thing I want is to crash my bike. I run my hands over the custom paint job, the black shining even in the darkness. There’s a cherry red stripe down the center that looks like a tongue. It's the only thing I've really spent any money on. I chuckle at the thought. Finn bought an investment property and I bought a bike.
Who's the responsible one, now?
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA
I step out of my car and hand the valet the keys. He’s looking at my car with barely veiled disgust. Even I have to admit my twelve-year-old economy car looks ridiculous in front of this fancy hotel. The valets here probably make more in tips each day than this car is worth.
The elevator bank is behind the reception desk so I skirt the people standing in line and step directly into an open car. I’ve delivered letters to Mr. Marshall a few times now so I know where to go. Patrick trusts me to deliver them and that feels good. He only gave me this job because he knew my dad and he feels sorry for me but I’m determined to prove to him that he made the right decision. That he can trust me.
The woman who answers the door of Mr. Marshall’s hotel suite perks up when she sees me. She’s usually here when I visit. “Miss Shaw. Hello, again. Mr. Marshall is expecting you.”
It was such a surprise the first time I came when Maxwell Marshall greeted me himself. Working for Patrick these past six months, I’ve learned a lot about the über rich. Very rarely do they sit and chat with the help.
But Mr. Marshall is different. He always seems genuinely pleased when I come by. He actually reminds me of some of the older people at the nursing home where my grandma spent her last days. They were so excited to talk to anyone who would listen. It always broke my heart to see them like that, starved for contact, so grateful for any companionship that they’d accept any they could get.
I’ve been visiting him each week now, even when I don’t have a delivery. I’ve seen the looks I get from his staff. No doubt they wonder what a grizzled old billionaire and a young college student could have in common. But surprisingly, there’s a lot.
For one thing, family.
My parents are gone and Mr. Marshall is trying to reconnect with his estranged relatives. I didn’t ask too many questions but I’m pretty sure Tank Marshall is the one giving him the most trouble. Each week that Tank comes in to the office, I bring Mr. Marshall a package that makes him look sadder and sadder. Tank seems like the arrogant type so I shouldn’t be surprised. But I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t at least give an elderly grandparent the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Marshall has mentioned several times that all he wants is to reconnect with his family.
He turns when I enter the room, wheeling himself over next to the couch. “Miss Shaw. It’s always a pleasure. I hope you have time for some tea. How are your college applications coming?”
He looks good today. The deep hollows in his cheeks have filled out some and the tufts of white hair on his head have all been brushed in the same direction.
I slip my coat off and sit on the edge of the couch. “I’m still considering my options. Everything is so expensive. I took your advice and applied for some grants. I got some but not enough. So, I’ll start searching for internships next. Maybe I can get one that pays something and offers college credit. Two birds, one stone.”
He leans forward, a wide smile on his face. “Excellent news! I’m glad my thoughts on the matter were helpful.”
I look around expectantly. Suddenly he laughs. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
We’re interrupted by the frantic scratching of nails on carpet. Buddy, his five year old bulldog, races across the carpet and crashes into my leg. He looks up at me in excitement, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“Buddy! Where have you been?”
Mr. Marshall watches us with amusement. “My assistant was giving him a treat. I know the real reason you love coming here so much and it’s not to see this grumpy old man.”
I can’t hide my smile as I scoop up Buddy and settle his plump bottom on my lap. He wiggles against me unable to contain his pleasure at the cuddle. I scratch behind his ears. “Did you miss me, boy?”
He contents himself nuzzling in my hand for a while and then once he’s convinced that I don’t have food, he curls up in my lap with his head on his paws.
“He always seems to know when you’re coming. Animals do have a sixth sense, don’t they?” Mr. Marshall says.
“Yes, they do. Oh, I brought some documents from Mr. Stevens.” I hand over the sealed envelope I’ve carried in my oversized handbag. I can only hope that this one won’t dim the smile on his face. He’s in a jovial mood and I would hate to see it ruined.
“Aaah, I see my son has finally responded.” Mr. Marshall gazes at the papers he’s withdrawn from the envelope with satisfaction.
“Your son?”
He slides the papers back in the envelope and deposits it on the edge of the coffee table. “Yes, Tanner Marshall.”
“Tank is your son?”
He looks up at my shocked inquiry. “Yes, strange I know. I’m not sure how an ugly bastard like me managed to produce so many fine-looking young men but somehow I did.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Oh that’s not what I meant at all, sir.”
I was actually shocked because Mr. Marshall is so much older. I had assumed he was a grandparent or a distant cousin looking up his long-lost relatives. Patrick never discusses the particulars with me, which I understand completely. Dealing in estate law, part of his job is to be discreet.
“But he is a good-looking boy, isn’t he?”
I look up when I realize he’s talking to me. “Tank? Yes, he is.”
Honestly good-looking seems like a tepid comparison when trying to describe someone like Tank. It’s not that he’s handsome. His features are too stark and far too masculine to be considered conventionally attractive. He’s, well … larger-than-life, seems to be as good as I can do.
“My other sons have proven much easier to deal with so far. Tanner, he always was difficult.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sure he’ll come around.”
“I don’t have much time left. Time has gotten away from me. Although I suppose everyone thinks that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes but this, this is something I can fix. I just need him to give me the chance.”
“Your son, he’s a very forceful man. I don’t think he’s used to taking orders from anyone. He doesn’t seem to take no well.”
He wheels himself next to where I sit on the couch. “You sound like you know him well.”
I realize that my words make it sound as if we’re friends, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s an arrogant guy who probably flirts with every girl he comes in contact with and he seems to have a preoccupation with whether or not I eat dinner. My knowledge of him goes no further than that.
“No sir. I didn’t mean to giv
e that impression. He’s just friendly when he comes in the office. That’s all. If you don’t mind me saying, your son is a bit of a flirt.”
My words seem to delight him. “Oh yes. He’s definitely my son. I’ve been a sucker for a pretty face more than a few times in my life. It’s amazing what even a smart man will do for the right woman.” He regards me for a few moments and then wheels himself over to the window. Then he turns himself around so he’s facing me again.
“I’m going to make you an offer, Miss Shaw. You are in the unique position of being able to help me with something that I want more than just about anything else.”
“Well, I’ll try to help if I can. What do you need me to do?”
“Have you ever heard of lobbying?”
I nod. I’ve never been interested in politics but I paid attention in Civics class. “Yes, lobbyists are paid to promote certain interests. They speak on behalf of certain industries or causes to influence lawmakers.”
“Exactly. They’re spokespeople carrying a message. I need you to carry a message for me. A very important message. You’re a pretty girl, Miss Shaw. Most men are willing to listen when a message is carried by a lovely face.”
He steeples his hands in front of him. His eyes roam over me and for the first time in his presence, I’m uncomfortable.
“Convince my son to meet with me and I’ll pay you more than enough to cover all your schooling. One million dollars.”
I put my teacup down on the table gently. My hand is shaking. I’m waiting for the punch line but when I look up at him, his eyes are clear and his expression completely open.
He’s serious.
“That’s utterly ridiculous. Why would you pay so much … for what? For me to carry a message?”
Buddy whimpers suddenly and I realize I’ve curled my nails into his fur. I soothe him with a gentle caress and a pat. He settles back down.
“Well, it’s a little more than that. I’m understating the gravity of the situation when I say that my son refuses to meet with me. It would be more accurate to say that he loathes my very existence and would prefer to pretend I don’t exist. If you can change his mind, then I’ll consider a million to be a bargain.”
“There’s a chance that given some time he’ll come around on his own. Don’t you think you should just, I don’t know, wait?”
“Time. The one thing I don’t have any more of.” His eyes cloud and I remember then that he is sick. And I feel an unmistakable tug of pity.
“I’m not sure what you think I can do. But I’ll ask him.”
“He’ll respond better if he doesn’t know the suggestion is coming from me.”
It feels so sleazy, the thought of trying to convince Tank to come see his dad without him knowing why. It’s not like we’re friends. How would I even bring that up in conversation? But we’re talking about a lot of money. It could mean the difference between working two jobs for years trying to earn tuition money and going to college in a few months. It could mean moving out of the house and into a place of my own. No more struggling.
No more Jon.
“I realize this is unorthodox but this is a job offer, Miss Shaw. No more, no less. It’s a legitimate job offer that can give you the money you need to fulfill your dreams. Veterinary school is expensive. You could finish your studies with no debt hanging over your head. No worries. Think of the possibilities.”
His eyes gleam and there’s a maniacal light in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. Suddenly, it’s all too much. Too much pressure and too much to think about.
“I’m not sure I can do what you’re asking. Not that Tank would listen to me anyway. I’ll let you know.” I stand and gather my things.
He dips his head in acknowledgment. “Fair enough. All I want you to do is try. There’s no harm in that.”
Later that evening I’m still chewing on Mr. Marshall’s offer. I don’t have much time to think though because my car wouldn’t start again and I had to ask Ivy for a ride to my second job.
Now I’m late.
As I trot across the gravel parking lot toward the back entrance of the Black Kitty, my tote bag bounces against my side. The neon sign isn’t lit up yet. Without the blinking sign it could almost pass for a regular bar instead of a strip club.
Lou, the bouncer, holds the door open for me. “He’s in a mood tonight. Try to stay out of his way. And he told me to tell you the new uniforms start tonight.”
He is Paul Lattimer, the owner of the Black Kitty and a first-rate dirtbag. He thinks because he owns this club that he owns all of us who work here, too. But as much as I’d like to tell him to shove it, I need this job.
I let out a long sigh. “Great. Just what I needed. Thanks for the warning.”
The lights on the stage are already on and I give an absent wave to Carina, one of the bartenders, as I pass. I drop my tote bag on the bench in front of my locker and tug my shirt out of my jeans. There’s nothing quite like the hustle and bustle backstage before a show. Undressing in front of other people is still a little weird honestly but after a few months working here, it doesn’t faze me like it used to. I never thought I’d be accustomed to the sight of half-naked girls walking around wearing nothing more than a thong and some pasties, but such is life.
This is my new normal.
“Are you almost ready?” My friend Sasha sits down on the wooden bench next to me.
As usual, she’s decked out in a long evening gown and her hair is styled in intricate little braids that frame her face perfectly. The smell of the hot lemon water she drinks before every performance wafts up from the small paper cup in her hand. She looks different tonight. Tense.
“I’ll be fine. They’re just boobs, right? Not like I’ll be showing them anything they haven’t seen before.” It’s kind of pathetic that I’m so worried about this. I’m just a waitress here so most of the guys aren’t looking at me.
“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t bother you. I know you better than that,” Sasha declares.
The thing is, she’s right. It does bother me. I actually have nothing against nudity as long as it isn’t mine. Maybe if I had more confidence, or more cleavage, I think as I look down at my small chest, I’d be okay with this. Lou tried to convince me to get on stage when I first started working here but I shut that down early. I was blushing for the first week straight as it was just because of the short skirts we wear. No one wants to see me hyperventilate if I were to get on stage and undress.
There’s nothing sexy about cardiac arrest.
Sasha moves closer and puts her arm around my shoulders. For just a moment, I lean in. It’s been so long since I’ve had a comforting hug. Then I immediately feel guilty for the thought. It’s not like I’m completely alone in the world. I have Ivy.
“Okay, I have to confess.” Sasha squeezes my shoulder. “I did something. You’re probably going to be mad at me, but I don’t care.”
“You didn’t say anything to Lattimer, did you? I’ll get fired.”
She shakes her head, her long black braids swinging gently around her face. “No, I didn’t talk to that little weasel. But he might wish I had once my friends get done with him.”
Sasha’s best friend is marrying some guy who owns a security company. The way Sasha describes it, he basically commands his own private army. She’s been threatening to call in a squadron of bodyguards for a few weeks now. I didn’t think she’d actually do it.
“This is only going to make things worse. He’s going to be pissed.”
It’s not like I didn’t know this was was a strip club when I started. I’m used to waiting tables and letting drunk guys feel me up in exchange for tips. But Lattimer has suddenly decided that I need to fit in more with the other waitresses. I’ve always been able to wear my black skirt and short belly top.
Now he wants me to wear this.
I look down at the bikini top in my hand. It’s yellow and sparkly, sending iridescent beams of light back up into my eyes.
It shouldn’t be such a big deal. People wear less sunbathing at the beach. Well, not me. I’ve always worn one-piece suits.
“You’re not the only reason I called him,” Sasha whispers. She avoids my eyes and takes a small sip from her cup. Steam curls up between us in little wisps.
“Did he threaten you?” I whisper.
The thought of Lattimer bullying her fills me with helpless rage. Sasha is one of the only girls here who stands up to him. As a result, he singles her out more than the others when he’s on one of his tirades.
“Yeah but I can handle him. It’s the rest of you guys I’m worried about. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Em.”
Something inside me shrivels up at just the thought. He’s easily old enough to be my father. My thoughts must be written clearly on my face because Sasha suddenly bursts out laughing. “If you could see your face right now!”
I start giggling, too. I’m sure my face probably looked like I’d just bitten into a lemon because that’s how I feel when I think of him. Like I have a sour taste in my mouth that I can’t get rid of.
“But seriously, I know you haven’t said anything because you need the job but no one should have to put up with this crap for a paycheck. Someone needs to put him in his place. And luckily I know just the guy for the job.”
“Your friend’s boyfriend must be pretty scary.”
Sasha makes a small murmur of agreement. “Yeah, he’s pretty intense. Lattimer is probably going to pee his pants. I must admit I’m looking forward to watching Eli make that little worm squirm.”
I bump her shoulder lightly. “Thanks, Sasha.”
She grins back at me and yanks the yellow sequins out of my hand. “You’re welcome. And you’re not wearing this one. Come on. I have some time before my set. If you’re going to show a little more skin, let’s find something that doesn’t make you look like a broken stoplight.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TANK
I’m about to pull off when my phone vibrates against my side. It's buried in the inner pocket of my leather jacket. I pull it out and stare at the screen.