And now, here was Jade, once again, trying to help. Offering to listen. Only Amy had gotten used to having no one in her life to count on except herself; confiding in her friend wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Looking into Jade’s concerned eyes she felt as if she was standing on a precipice, hesitant to take a step forward, yet determined not to take a step backward.
If she was being completely honest, she could have gone anywhere in the country when she’d left Barstow in her rearview mirror. But she’d chosen to return to San Francisco because deep down inside she’d hoped to reconnect with the only true friend she’d ever had. Jade, of course, had welcomed her back into her life with open arms. Was this how she was going to repay her friend’s generosity? By shutting her out? By not trusting her? No. She couldn’t do that. Not anymore. It was time to take that step forward. To start trusting again.
“I had another run-in with Kirby Ferrara at the club.”
“Oh, no.” Jade’s dark eyebrows shot upward. “When? And what happened?”
“A week ago Friday. She cornered me in the bathroom and gloated about how she set me up the last time she and her posse were in the club.”
Annoyance flitted across Jade’s face. “It sounds like she was baiting you.”
“Definitely. And I kept my cool for the most part. But...” Amy grabbed one of the small throw pillows on the couch and clutched it in her lap.
“But what?”
“Something she said has been bothering me. She made a point of using my last name and I have no idea how she would know that information. Unless she specifically asked someone.”
“Who do you think she would ask?”
“Brock comes to mind. She came in to drop off her dry cleaning bill not long after our first run-in.”
Jade frowned. “Why would she want to know your last name?”
“I have a feeling she’s having someone dig up information on me.”
“Just because she didn’t get away with sabotaging you?” Jade asked, then shook her head. “That’s messed up.”
“I agree. But at this point it doesn’t matter why she may be doing it. What worries me is that she’ll find out why I left Barstow and she’ll use that information to hurt me and Danny.”
Jade studied her with a measured gaze. “I know you haven’t wanted to talk about Barstow and what happened there. But if what you suspect is true, I don’t want you to have to deal with it alone. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you, and I give you my word that whatever you tell me will stay between us.”
“I do trust you,” Amy said, giving her a grateful smile. “And I think it’s time to tell you the whole sordid story. I only hope you don’t think less of me afterward.”
Jade leaned forward and rested a reassuring hand on Amy’s knee. “You’ve kept this inside for a long time. I honestly believe that once you let it out you’ll feel a lot better.”
Amy sighed. “I hope you’re right,” she said and then, starting from the moment she’d been sent to live with her aunt, she told her best friend about her ten years in Barstow.
Every single bit of it.
13
Amy had heard that New Year’s Eve was the most lucrative holiday for nightclubs, bars, and restaurants. And while she didn’t know for sure if that statement was absolute fact, New Year’s Eve was one of the reasons why she had worked her ass off in order to move up to the VIP lounge. What she made in tips tonight could be double or triple what she normally made, and with rent due next week, she could use the extra money. Money, however, wasn’t the main reason why she’d been filled with excitement all day. No, that honor went to Rick.
Every day since Christmas she and Rick had either spoken on the phone or exchanged text messages. The texts were usually short and on the casual side, but the phone calls were longer and had grown increasingly personal as the week went on. Although Rick didn’t press her about the things in her past she wasn’t ready to talk about, she’d felt comfortable enough to tell him about her father and the life she’d had before he’d died. In turn, he’d shared more about his childhood and entertained her with amusing stories involving his extended family. The topic of Jill came up once or twice, but only in the context that he’d run into some friends they’d both known in high school. Although she was curious about Jill, she didn’t ask him any questions. If and when they talked about his late wife, she wanted him to be the one to initiate the discussion. Everything he’d said and done thus far indicated he was ready to move on; she wasn’t going to second-guess it.
Fifteen minutes before the club opened, Amy sat on a stool at a rectangular wood block table in the large storage room behind the bar. Brock had often joked that he had OCD tendencies, and if the alphabetically labeled shelves stocked neatly with cases of liquor and various bar supplies were any indicator, it was obviously no joke.
“I’d like to go on record as saying that I hate bottle sparklers,” Amy grumbled, as she inserted a bottle sparkler into the safety clip attached to a bottle of champagne and then placed it next to the dozen or so she’d already prepped. The sparklers were generally safe and VIP customers expected them, especially on New Year’s Eve, but she wasn’t a fan. A few months ago, an obnoxious customer had wrested a bottle with the sparkler attached from her grasp and then tried to shove the lit sparkler into Amy’s face. Fortunately, the man’s friend had restrained him, but after a major scene, Brock had ejected the entire party from the club.
“Get used to them.” Cynda, who sat on a stool across from Amy, didn’t look up from the same task. “This is one trend I don’t see ending anytime soon.” She looked up as Ronnie hurried into the room.
“We’re all set.” Ronnie set her hands on her hips and surveyed the bottles lined up on the table. “I went over everything with Jen. She’s excited about helping us in the conversation pit tonight.”
“She’s lucky.” Cynda fit a sparkler onto her last bottle. “Brock isn’t one to overbook the VIP lounge like some of the other clubs do. We’ll be busy up here, but I guarantee you the main floor will be a freaking madhouse. The girls down there won’t be able to hear a damn thing all night.”
“Why doesn’t he overbook? We usually get a few parties that cancel or pull a no-show every weekend,” Amy asked, reaching for another sparkler.
“He covers that contingency by jacking up the prices and refunding only part of the deposit if they don’t cancel within twenty-four hours. People with money to burn will spend big bucks to get the full VIP treatment. That means limo service, exclusive access, private tables and they expect their servers to be at their beck and call. They can’t get that if there’s a ton of people up here.”
Amy’s heart sank as the implications of Cynda’s words hit her. “So you’re saying that other than the customers that made prior reservations no one can get into the VIP lounge tonight?”
“It would be difficult.” Ronnie moved to stand next to Amy and reached for one of the unadorned bottles and then a sparkler.
“Ronnie’s right.” Cynda slid off of her stool and began to place her bottles into one of the several metal tubs filled with ice and salt placed on the floor near the door. These particular bottles, designated specifically for consumption at midnight, would be sufficiently chilled by then. “On New Year’s Eve they’d have to have some major clout for Brock to allow it. Or we’d have to have more than one or two parties bail on us, but I doubt that’s going to happen. Stylus has become one of the hottest clubs in the city.”
Amy clipped the sparkler on the neck of the bottle with more force than necessary. She’d been so looking forward to seeing Rick tonight, but now it appeared he wasn’t going to be able to get into the VIP lounge at all. Maybe if he’d been a regular he’d have a slim chance, but he wasn’t, and after the night he and Trey had called out Brock for attempting to fire her she was certain Brock wouldn’t do him any favors. With a frustrated sigh, she reached for another sparkler. It was going to be a long night.
Several hours la
ter, after the last reveler had left the club, Amy removed her wig and the stretchy cap she wore underneath it and combed her fingers through her hair. Normally she didn’t remove the damn thing until she got home, but tonight the wig had seemed tighter than usual. If she had to wear it one minute longer she might scream.
Finally, her scalp could breathe again. And so could she. Although Brock hadn’t overbooked the lounge, each private alcove, as well as the tables around the perimeter of the glass rail that looked down over the first-floor dance floor, and all of the plush chairs and round tops in the conversation pit, had been filled. Between the loud electronic music, the excited buzz of the customers, and the non-stop drink orders, she’d barely been able to think. Which was probably a good thing; if she’d had a moment to spare she might have thought about Rick and how disappointed she was that he hadn’t been able to get into the club.
At midnight, she’d pasted a fake smile on her face, lit the bottle sparklers and counted down the clock in unison with everyone else. Then she’d watched with some serious envy as everyone around her shouted ‘Happy New Year’ and enthusiastically locked lips with friends and strangers alike. She hadn’t kissed anyone at midnight in years, but she’d hoped to kiss Rick tonight. Perhaps it was unrealistic—she was working after all—but she’d hoped for it all the same.
After they left the club to walk to the parking garage, Amy turned up her coat collar to combat the cold air funneling down Mission Street, and barely listened to Cynda and Ronnie chat about their plans for the next day. She’d checked her phone as soon as she opened her locker and there had been no missed calls or texts from Rick, which struck her as odd. He wouldn’t leave her hanging. If she’d learned anything about him, it was that he didn’t have a rude or thoughtless bone in his body. Something unexpected must have happened to delay his return to San Francisco. Trying not to worry, she’d left him a text to let him know she hoped everything was okay. So far, he hadn’t responded.
They found relief from the icy wind in the parking garage elevator. Amy hit the button for the second floor and hugged her coat closer to her body. “What I wouldn’t give to be on a warm tropical island right now.”
Ronnie’s sigh was long and blissful. “Ah, basking in the sun on a pristine white sand beach, listening to the sound of the waves as they roll onto the shore. Heaven. Sheer heaven.”
“Add a hotter than hell cabana boy and a Caribbean rum punch and I’m there,” Cynda said, as the elevator doors slid open and they filed out. “Wait. Make that two hotter than hell cabana boys. One to bring me my drinks, and the other to rub sunscreen all over my body.”
Their laughter echoed in the cavernous garage and, not for the first time, Amy was grateful for Ronnie and Cynda. Working two jobs was difficult at times and she was lucky to have Jade at Logan-Johnson, and Ronnie and Cynda at Stylus. Their friendship meant everything to her.
The majority of the cars had cleared out of the garage. Amy and Cynda stopped next to Ronnie’s cute, bright red VW bug and waited until she climbed inside, closed the door, and drove off before continuing on.
“Where are you parked?” Cynda asked over the sound of their heels clicking on the concrete.
“Around the corner. On the other side of your tank.”
“It’s not a tank. It’s a Hummer.”
“It might as well be a tank. I can’t believe you drive that thing. You look like a convertible type of woman to me.”
“I would look good in a convertible, wouldn’t I?” Cynda laughed. “But I’m gonna drive that damn thing until the wheels fall off. I got it in the divorce because I made all the payments and my name is on the title. I think the only time I ever saw the cheating bastard cry was the day he had to turn the keys over to me.” She sighed. “But I have to admit, it’s a bitch of a vehicle to drive in a city like this. I was telling Ronnie the other night...” Cynda’s voice trailed off as she stopped and her jaw dropped.
Amy stumbled to a halt next to her, then followed Cynda’s wide-eyed stare and gasped. There, several parking spaces away and leaning nonchalantly against his SUV, was Rick. Stunned, she closed her eyes and then slowly opened them again; Rick was still there. This was no mirage. He really was there and he looked so handsome with his dark, penetrating eyes and windblown hair she couldn’t seem to breathe. Their eyes locked and her heart started to thump louder than the bassline in the club tonight.
The corner of Rick’s mouth lifted in a sexy half-smile. “I’m late, but I’m here.”
“You’re here,” Amy echoed, and tightened her grip on the handle of her tote after it almost slipped from her fingers.
Cynda nudged Amy’s arm with her elbow. “We’ll talk later,” she whispered, then waved at Rick before hurrying to the driver’s side door of the Hummer.
The slamming of the door and the roar of the engine spurred Amy into action. Holding Rick’s gaze, she walked toward him in measured steps when, in fact, what she yearned to do run to him and fling herself into his arms. But she didn’t. Instead she halted in front of him and devoured his face with hungry eyes.
Whoever had coined the corny line about absence making the heart grow fonder knew what they were talking about. And it wasn’t because the man was drop-dead gorgeous. It was his kindness to not only her but to Danny and the other kids at the youth center. It was the respect and love in his voice whenever he talked about his family, and how he’d made sure to let her know the scholarship foundation had been Trey’s idea, not his. She’d honestly believed that men like him didn’t exist, but she’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t with you at midnight.” He straightened and took a step closer. “My flight was delayed, but I did manage to make it to the club with a few minutes to spare. After tonight though, I don’t think I’ll be welcome inside Stylus again anytime soon.”
“Why?”
He grimaced. “Let’s just say the guy at the door isn’t a fan. Of the Blaze, and now me. I would have texted you but I was in such a rush to get over here that I left my phone at the loft.”
Amy lifted her eyebrows. “You’ve been waiting here in the garage since midnight?”
“Yeah.” He nodded toward her car. “I found an open spot near Thelma and passed the time listening to sports radio. If you’d like I can give you the odds and the points spread on all the bowl games being played tomorrow. Or today, since it’s officially January first.”
A smile tugged at her lips. First, because he’d remembered her silly name for her car, and second, because she’d never watched a bowl game in her life, much less bet on one. She wasn’t even sure how the points spread worked.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” he said solemnly. “I did everything I could to not break my promise.”
“It’s okay.” And it was. She wasn’t about to get pissy over something that was out of his control.
“No, it’s not. I wanted to kiss you at midnight.”
“How about this?” She took a step forward; now they were only inches apart. “Kiss me right now and we’ll call it even.”
“Then we’re even.” Lifting his hand, he brushed her cheek with his fingertips; a soft gentle caress that caused her knees to tremble. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face.” He trailed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, then to her jaw. Her pulse skittered and her heart began to pound. Had she ever ached for a man to kiss her like she ached now? No. This was a first for her.
“I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I forgot what it’s like to want someone so much I can’t think of anything else,” he said, then leaned forward. And at the first touch of his mouth on hers, the handle of her tote bag slipped from her fingers and landed on the garage floor with a loud thud.
After a few moments, Rick turned up the heat. His lips coaxed hers open and at the first brush of his tongue against hers she was reduced to a quivering mass of jelly. He may not have done a lot of kissing in the past three years, but his lack of practice hadn’t
diminished his ability to set the blood in her veins on fire. She felt his hand skim around her, and then she was hauled up against his body, pressed so tightly to him that she could feel the hard muscles of his thighs touching hers.
Completely lost in their deep, wet, passionate kiss, she arched against him, unable to contain her soft moan of pleasure. Coasting her palms up his broad shoulders, she wound her arms around his neck, silently cursing the layers of clothing that separated them.
Damn winter and heavy coats!
His hands roamed over her back, then lower. He cupped her butt and pulled her closer. Want and need rocketed through her, igniting a demand for more that shook her with its intensity. Rick had said he’d forgotten how it felt to want someone so much he couldn’t think of anything else; now he was reminding her that she had never wanted anyone more than she wanted him right now.
Seconds later, his hands were at her waist and then he reluctantly pulled his lips from hers. She opened her eyes and her lower body contracted with need when she saw the desire smoldering in his gaze.
“That’s what I wanted to do at midnight.” His low, rough voice sent a tingle of anticipation dancing up her spine.
“I wanted to kiss you at midnight too, but this was better than kissing you in the club in front of a bunch of strangers.” She loosened her arms from around his neck, but didn’t lower them.
“You’ve been working all day and night, haven’t you?” Concern flickered in his eyes. “When was the last time you ate? Are you hungry? We could get breakfast.”
“Now that you mention it, I’m starving,” she said, then stifled the giggle at the back of her throat. “You know what sounds really good right now?”
“No. What?”
“Crepes. After you boasted about how amazing yours are, I think it’s only fair you prove it.”
His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You want me to cook you breakfast?”
Playing for Keeps (Feeling the Heat Book 6) Page 17