Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  “Huh.” She’d been dealing with Dane’s arrest and waiting for the hearing. Holly didn’t have MTV anyway. They didn’t even have cable yet.

  “That’ll be three dollars,” she said, sticking the frame in the bag. “Iff’n you want the magazine too, it’ll be five.”

  “That’s okay.” She passed over the bills, taking one more glance at the cover. She didn’t have time for music or scrunched-up hair. She needed a place to live, and a job. “So where are there apartments? Or some place to rent?”

  The girl cracked her gum. “I dunno. All over. Cheap near the university, but kind of ratty. Southside is nice.”

  Stella picked up the bag. “Okay, thanks.” Not much, but it was something.

  She drove to the center of town, slowing as she passed the walls of the prison. A different guard was at the visitor gate. Hopefully no one would remember her by the time she went back. She paused at the stop sign, staring up at the guard tower. That man could see her Dane, but she couldn’t. He took for granted, maybe even hated, the very view she longed for.

  36

  Sinners’ Cafe

  ––––––––

  STELLA plopped down on the hotel bed, the newspaper spread in front of her. She’d passed a couple of Help Wanted signs on the drive through town but still wasn’t sure how to find a place. That probably needed to come first, as it wasn’t safe to leave her life’s possessions in her car. She’d chosen a fancier hotel in hopes the parking garage would be safer than some motel lot, even though the sixty dollars a night would cut through her fund in a hurry.

  Maybe the job was a priority. She rolled onto her back. Beatrice hadn’t heard from Dane that day. Stella left the number of her hotel and told her to ask how often he got a chance to call. It might only be once a week.

  She was anxious to get somewhere permanent and to get into some routine where she could predictably be home when he could call, and that she would be off during visiting hours.

  Stella turned back to the newspaper. Not many duplexes in her price range. She’d just have to call and go looking. She flipped back to the jobs. Not much she was qualified for. She’d hoped for another small shop. One small classified ad caught her attention. “Sinners’ Cafe. Need waitress. Will train. Night hours. Flexible weekends.”

  Stella had waited tables a time or two. Not her favorite thing, but she could manage until something else came up. Plus, she was starving. Might as well go check out the place.

  She asked the front desk for directions and took off again through town, driving slowly to learn the names of streets and to spot any signs for rentals. She almost missed the cafe, a sprawling glass building with a cracked unpainted parking lot.

  A giant wooden sign, painted garishly red, formed a heart. A neon arrow flashed in alternating colors to cross the surface. “Sinners’ Cafe” crackled in bright white on a rectangle below. Stella parked the car and glanced back at the boxes stuffed in her backseat. This place made her nervous. Maybe she should just drive away.

  But her stomach rumbled, and a pair of men walking out the door didn’t seem too scary, just blue-collar types like she’d seen every day in Holly. So she carefully locked all the doors and crossed the lot to the door.

  As soon as she stepped inside, she knew she was overdressed. Her black skirt and heels did not fit in whatsoever. The diners all wore work shirts and jeans, or overalls. Even the women were dressed way down, sweats and T-shirts. The waitresses were mostly older, in navy-blue skirts with white aprons and silly caps. A sixty-something woman with a puff of white hair and a badge that proclaimed her name as “Rennie” gestured to an empty booth along the windows. “Take that one, lovey,” she said, her accent clearly not Missouri, almost Irish.

  Stella slid onto the cold red vinyl, shiny and cracked. The tables were all bright blue with embedded sparkles. The place looked like it coughed glitter, although seriously worn around the edges. She half expected girls to come out in roller skates, but whoever owned the Sinners’ Cafe seemed to want the help to be matronly. Stella didn’t stand much of a chance.

  She spread the paper on the table, ready to cross out the circled classified. Rennie approached with her pad, spotting the marks before Stella could close it. “You here about the job?” She whirled around. “Corgie! You got an applicant!”

  “Wait, I’m not sure,” Stella sputtered. “I might be wrong.” She acutely felt her ill-chosen outfit, and she flooded hot with anxiety.

  Another waitress stopped to stare, a pitcher in each hand. This one was younger, late twenties, her eyebrows shaved and penciled back in for a dramatic arch that made her look angry. “What is it, then? You applying or not?”

  Stella wanted to sink into the red vinyl. Were the waitresses always all up in everything?

  “Corgie!” Rennie called again. “You comin’?”

  A man in a white cook’s hat stuck his head through the opening between the bar and the kitchen. “Woman, I’m about to burn some burgers.” He disappeared again.

  “He’ll be out shortly. You want a drink while you wait?”

  Stella shook her head. “I’m fine.” Her stomach rumbled again. She wouldn’t be eating now, it seemed.

  “I’ll bring you some water. You look like you’re about to faint clean away.” She stuck her pad into a pocket of her apron. “Don’t worry about Corgie. He don’t bite, despite the name.” She burst out laughing, and Stella wondered what sort of freak show she had just entered. Maybe she should run for it.

  A man in the booth in front of her turned around in his seat. “Whooeee, I hope he hires this one!” he said.

  The younger waitress strolled back by and acted like she might dump the pitcher on his head from behind. “Say that around Corgie, and he’ll throw your sorry ass out.”

  “Touchy, touchy,” the man said.

  Obviously the place had a core of regulars. Stella hadn’t expected such familiarity, something you’d see in Holly, in a big city. Maybe things really were the same everywhere.

  Corgie himself finally pushed through a pair of swinging red doors and sat down opposite her.

  “Name?” he asked.

  So much for small-town manners. “Stella Ashton.”

  “Experience?” His small black eyes bore straight into her.

  She stared at his grease-smeared apron instead. “Two gigs waitressing.”

  “You get fired?”

  “No.”

  “You quit?”

  “Yes.” Stella’s heart hammered painfully. She wasn’t sure she could work for this guy.

  “You in any trouble? Why you looking?”

  “I just moved to Jefferson.”

  “Where you leave from?”

  Stella’s eyes skittered from his face to across the cafe. “Holly.”

  “Whooeee!” The young waitress was lingering, still holding the pitchers. “Now that town there’s a hole in the wall.”

  “You waitress there?”

  “My last job was actually in a shop.” Stella reached for her purse and the recommendation letter, but he went on.

  “You got a license?”

  “To waitress?” Did you need one?

  “Nah, to drive.” His face never changed expression, just a deep frown and hard eyes.

  “Yes.” She didn’t want to reach for her purse again.

  “Can I see it?”

  This time she did unzip her bag and tug her wallet out. Her hotel key was caught on the clasp and skidded across the table.

  He picked it up. “You ain’t got a place to stay yet?”

  “Just got in town today.”

  He turned around. “Rennie!”

  She looked up from her pad. “Just a sec.”

  “Rennie can help you find a place. You should get settled in before you start, unless you’re super hard up for money.” He looked at the key again. “But I guess not, if you’re there.” He slid the key across to her and took the license, squinted at it, then set it back on the table. “You okay to
start Monday?”

  The hours. She needed to know the hours. “I think. When?”

  “We would want to start you on days.”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure I have a whole lot of flexibility.”

  Rennie walked up, her gait a little off, like she was hurting. She wore soft white shoes with thick soles, like nurses did. “What she need?”

  “A place. Your cousin got a list?”

  “She does.”

  Corgie turned back to Stella. “So what’s your issue?”

  Stella’s face burned. She couldn’t tell them her boyfriend was in prison. “I get phone calls in the middle of the day. I like to be able to take them.”

  The young waitress poked her head in beside Rennie. “Ya got somebody on the inside, eh?” She shoved her way into the booth next to Stella, setting the dripping pitchers on the table. “Who it is? Your pa? Brother?” She assessed Stella’s face. “Nah, a man. Your man is on the inside.”

  Stella turned back to Corgie. “Your ad said night shifts.”

  He rubbed his neck. “Trouble is, that can be a rough crowd. Someone young and pretty like you’d have a time of it.”

  Stella sat up straighter. “I can handle rough.”

  The young waitress turned to face Stella, revealing her own name tag that said “Cayenne.” She saw Stella looking at it. “Yeah, like the pepper.” She smacked her hand on the table. “Some of the boys that come in late are tough critters. Come up to see inmates, just like yourself, then seem to hang around to stir up trouble. Corgie’s brilliant idea for a cafe attracts every lowlife west of the Mississippi.”

  “When did he go in?” Rennie asked. “He got privileges?”

  Stella figured there wasn’t much use hiding anything now. “A month ago. He called yesterday.”

  Cayenne wiped the dripping pitchers with her rag. “Then you can go see him. You got your papers square?”

  Stella shook her head. “No visitor’s forms yet. That’s been slow. And now I’ve moved.”

  Rennie ripped an order from her pad and handed it to Corgie. “You get on back there and cook this up. We’ll take her from here.”

  Corgie slid out of the booth. “I still say she ain’t right for the night rounds.”

  “We’ll watch out for her,” Rennie said. “I can stay a bit late for her first few.”

  Apparently she had the job. The women were nosy, but seemed to want to help.

  Rennie slid into the booth and picked up the license. “You got to get this changed right off, as soon as you have a place. Everything’s gotta match. Your ID, your papers. Come by tomorrow morning, and I’ll get you a list of places. You got a budget?” She handed the license to Stella. “Never mind, you work here, your man is in the pen, you got a budget. We’ll see what we got.”

  “I don’t have any furniture.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what’s around. Not much furnished. But there’s garage sales. Certain parts of town got lots of people comin’ and goin’, due to transfers and paroles. We’ll get you set.”

  Cayenne got up from the booth. “All right, fun’s over. See you tomorrow. What’s your name?”

  “Stella.”

  “Well, all right, Stella.” She lifted the pitchers like a toast and then turned back to the other tables.

  Rennie stuck her pen behind her ear. “Come ’round about ten. When is his rec time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did he call you?”

  “Oh. About two.”

  “So that’s his rec time. There’s phone booths downstairs in every block. He won’t get to ’em every day. There’s not many, and he won’t have much pull yet. But he got to you once. He will again.”

  “How long is rec time?”

  “An hour, generally.”

  “So you know someone inside?”

  Rennie pushed herself along the booth, painfully, to stand up. “My son. Been in since he was nineteen.”

  “Oh. Will he get out soon?”

  Rennie’s features fell a notch. “Not while I’m still livin’.” She forced a smile. “Yours a short-timer?”

  Stella didn’t know what qualified as short or long. “Twelve to fifteen.”

  “Oh.” Rennie smoothed her apron. “Young thing like you.”

  Stella knew what she meant. “We’ll have to see.”

  Rennie nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

  Stella slid out from under the table, feeling more than a little lightheaded as she shoved her way out the door and into the cool early evening. She needed something to eat. And to drive around some more. She’d just gotten lucky, and she knew it. Somebody was watching out for her. Her bracelet slid down her arm, the amethyst one she’d broken on the tower, pieced back together in the long days of waiting at Beatrice’s house. Of course. She glanced up into the evening sky, awash with blues. “Thanks, Grandma. You always did take care of me.”

  37

  Alex

  ––––––––

  “INSPECTION.” The guard banged on the bars, waking Dane. He sat up. It was dark.

  Alex rolled over on his bed as the guard shined a light on him. “What the hell?”

  The door swung open. Dane wasn’t as familiar with the night guards, but he recognized the stance, the set of the jaw. An ass-kicker. He’d have to play this really cool.

  The bruiser guard stepped aside. “Cuff them.”

  Two other men entered the cell, jerking Dane and Alex up from their beds and locking their hands behind their backs. They were pushed forward until they stood outside their cell on the walkway.

  The guard jerked the bedding off the steel frames, tossing it on the floor. He felt along all the seams, then got on the floor and shone the flashlight underneath. He reached up under Alex’s bed and tugged something down. Shit. What was that boy up to?

  Alex acted like he might step forward, but the guard bellowed, “Turn them around,” so they were forced to face the railing. He could see some stirring in the cells on the walk across the way.

  Dane tried to keep his demeanor calm as the guard tore through the cell. He could hear the table screeching as it was moved, the drawer opening and closing. He began reciting numbers in his head. His inmate number. His phone code. The perfume-shop phone. The hotel-room phone Beatrice had given him a few days ago. Stella was looking for a place in Jefferson. His heart surged, just thinking how close she was. He’d already had the forms sent, but Beatrice planned to drive them straight up to Stella, who had gotten a job already.

  He clamped his jaw tight. Keep it cool. Finally, the guard came out. He held up a piece of mop handle, sharpened to a point, and shoved it in Alex’s face. “Who’s this for?”

  Dane kept his head turned away, just barely able to see. So far the guard was only interested in Alex.

  “Never seen that b’fore. Must’ve been there when I got there.”

  “I wasn’t looking for the hell of it. You’ve been waving it around.” The guard kneed Alex in the gut. “Still don’t recognize it?”

  “Not...mine.” Alex could barely grunt out a sound.

  Dane wished he would just admit it and move on. He’d watched him rubbing the damn stick on his bedpost for weeks.

  The guard landed a fist to Alex’s jaw next. “You look to me like you’re resisting a search. I’m afraid I’m going to have to report how you attacked us with this broom handle.” He chuckled. “Hope you weren’t hoping for early release on good behavior.”

  The guard pocketed the makeshift weapon. “Back in your cell. Think about it.”

  Alex was shoved roughly back inside, still handcuffed. The other guard released Dane without comment and led him through the door.

  Dane immediately sat down on the metal frame, head bowed, hands between his knees, to wait out what was going to happen, but careful not get involved.

  “You gonna uncuff me?” Alex demanded.

  “Nah, I think I’m going to have a momentary lapse of memory,” the guard said, closing and lo
cking the cell. “Have fun picking up in the dark.”

  He killed the light, washing them in semi-darkness.

  They sat there, silently, then Alex kicked the bedding on the floor. “You narc on me?”

  Dane shook his head. “Nope.”

  “God damn it!” Alex stood up, pushing aside the papers and clothes littering the floor.

  Dane got up and shoved his mattress back on his bed. He turned and replaced Alex’s as well.

  “Thanks, man. I’m in deep shit now.”

  Dane didn’t want to know anything. To get involved was to court trouble. He just grunted and set to getting his sheets back on, feeling his way around in the dark corners. When it was close enough, he fell back on the bed. Alex still paced. “I’m going to get my ass killed over this.”

  Dane turned to the wall. Alex had been desperate for credit, trying to get into the trade. He had night sweats and slept fitfully. Probably withdrawal. He’d do something stupid soon, something worse. Dane hoped he wasn’t around as part of the fall. He only had so much he could feel for anyone. And all that he reserved for Stella and staying focused on not getting any more time.

  38

  First Day on the Job

  ––––––––

  STELLA pulled up to the Sinners’ Cafe, hoping her first evening on the job went well. Her back ached from cleaning the crappy little apartment she’d managed to finally rent. It was filthy inside, but everything worked and the neighborhood wasn’t bad. It sat halfway between the prison and the diner, no more than ten minutes to either one. And it was an address. She’d already applied for a change to her license and had the printout showing her new place. By the time her visitor’s form arrived at the prison and the background check was done, she’d have a new ID and clearance to see Dane. Most importantly, she already had the phone installed.

  Beatrice had been a huge help, driving up with the form, bringing news of Dane, and helping her set up. Beatrice also connived with Joe to get Stella’s father to let them into Grandma Angie’s house, so her new place had a couple of pieces from there—the bedside table where Grandma had stored the bracelets and her night things, plus a small rocking chair that had sat in the living room for as long as Stella could remember. It had exactly fit in the back of Beatrice’s Oldsmobile.