Scorpio

by Lauren Landish

  I saw something in her eyes that night, something that’s inside me too.

  And it’s growing.

  I keep thinking she needs me to save her from her hard life. But maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe I need her to save me from a life filled with cold indifference. All my worries fade away when she smiles at me or when she’s in my arms. I could get addicted to that feeling. Addicted to her. Fuck.

  Madison plops a beer mug on the bar and turns. Her face lights up when she sees me, and something tight in my chest loosens. She walks my way, and I hold her gaze, not letting it go, even as I catch the head swivels from the guys as they watch her pass in my peripheral vision.

  “Hey!” she greets me as she leans against the bar in front of me.

  Needing to stake my claim, I lean across the bar, planting a greeting kiss on her lips as I wrap my hand around her neck. It’s not as long as I’d like, but the taste of her settles my ire. “How’s it going, baby?”

  I can see in her eyes how exhausted she is, but whether it’s from slinging drinks or from the way she’s treated by her customers, I’m not sure. Hopefully, my being a possessive fucker helps settle that matter, at least.

  She licks her lips, tasting me too, and I collect her heated flush like a prize. “Better now that you’re there. How was work?”

  Her country accent seems even thicker than before. But I love it.

  “Not too bad. I’d say I’ve got as many wolves to deal with as you do.” I say, giving her a wink.

  “Yeah, but you get to wear a suit,” Madison points out. “So, Snow Queen?”

  “Nah . . . surprise me with something you think I’ll like,” I reply. I watch as she turns and picks a bottle of cognac off the top shelf. She adds a few more ingredients and then sets the drink in front of me with a flirty smile.

  “Here you go. Something high-class and classic. A Remy Sidecar.”

  “Never had one, but if you suggest it, I’m sure I’ll love it. Much like your other suggestions,” I say, letting my voice drop low. Every guy around us thinks I’m talking about something sexual, not realizing Madison’s suggestions equated to a sweet ice skating date, but I’m damn sure not going to explain. Fuckers shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway.

  I take a sip and hum my enjoyment. Her lips part in a knowing smile. “You off tomorrow night? I’d like to take you out . . . my choice this time.”

  She bites her lip, testing my control and knowing it. “Nah, scheduled to work all evening.”

  Fuck that. I break her gaze, looking over to the register and yelling out, “Hey, Stella! Madison can’t work tomorrow. I think she’s coming down with something. Gonna have to get Carl to cover the bar.”

  Stella laughs and looks at Madison for her reaction. I hold my breath, waiting too. It’s a power move, a rather public one, and if she shuts me down, it’s gonna fucking hurt. Probably worse than the hangover I got from my last big move.

  Madison schools her face as she looks at Stella and fake coughs. “Yeah . . . cough-cough . . . not feeling too well. Might have to take the night off tomorrow.”

  Stella laughs, and I release the breath I was holding. “Sure thing, honey. Carl can cover for you. Lord knows, you cover for his lazy ass enough. You two have fun. I mean, take good care of my girl, Suit. Make sure she’s feeling better.”

  Fuck. Yes.

  Chapter 12

  Madison

  Daily Horoscope, October 2nd

  Libra – Roses are fragile, requiring care to flourish, much like Libra’s spirit.

  Tiff reads my horoscope aloud and I scowl. “I don’t think there’s a single thing about me that says dainty and rosy. Definitely not my cold, dark soul,” I joke.

  Tiffany looks at me. “You’re probably right. You’re more like a wildflower. A daisy that just pops up in the middle of the concrete jungle and says, ‘Fuck you for saying I shouldn’t be here. Look at my awesomeness!’ and then makes wishes come true. And for real, girl . . . your soul is cold and dark like cake is bitter. Not. At. All.” She snaps to emphasize the declaration.

  I look at myself in the mirror, running my hands over the black satin dress I’m wearing, shocked at the girl looking back at me. The package came via courier this afternoon, along with a note from Scott asking me to wear it for our date.

  “Uh . . . how do I look?” I ask, glancing back at Tiffany, who’s decided to camp out on my bed while I change. It’s becoming her favorite perch. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”

  “You might be, but damn if you don’t play really well,” Tiff says. “Fuck Julia Roberts. You have the whole Pretty Woman schtick down pat.”

  “So you’re saying I dress like a hooker?” I ask saucily, earning a raspberry. I turn back, looking in the mirror, and take a deep breath. The fact is, I do look amazing in this dress. Somehow, Scott knew my size perfectly, and even the cups on the dress are close enough to the right size that I’m not falling out all over the place. “It’s beautiful . . . but holy fuck, Tiff, how much do you think this thing cost?”

  “More than your car,” Tiff says as she takes a sip of tea and sets it down. “I Googled the label.”

  It’s the only worry I’ve had about Scott. He’s rich and along with that, powerful. And I am neither of those things, which scares me. I want to be independent, able to have my own opinions and thoughts, to run my own life. But he’s just so . . . overwhelming. And I like it when he’s bossy and assertive, taking charge and making big plays for me like I’m worth it. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’m sure it’s not flattering.

  “Well, regardless, I need to strap these on,” I finally say, putting on the heels that came with the dress. I stand up, turning to my right and left and smiling at my reflection.

  There’s a knock at our door, and Tiffany grins. “Lover boy is here. Hope your thong is ready.”

  I blush, and Tiffany gawks before laughing. “You really are wearing a thong, aren’t you, you slut?” she teases.

  “Hey!” I protest, but it’s weak because I know that while the fancy dress is for whatever Scott has planned, I chose the lingerie underneath with my plans in mind.

  Tiff gets up and goes to the door, peeping. “Fuck me!” she says in a whisper loud enough for Scott to hear through the thin door.

  Tiffany gulps and steps back, opening the door. As soon as I see Scott, I see what she meant. His suit is perfect, complimenting my dress.

  He looks dominant and sexy, a predator caged in gilded threads as he looks me up and down. I feel like prey, and I want to run . . . just so he’ll chase me . . . catch me . . . take me. Shit. I’m in so much trouble, but I think I like it.

  I shake my head, rattling those thoughts loose. He grins, and I know my dirty thoughts are written clearly on my face and he’s read every word. “You look stunning, Madison. Shall we?” he says respectfully, even though my naughty thoughts are reflecting back in his eyes, making promises I hope to hold him to later. He offers his hand, and I feel a spark zing from his fingers through me when we touch.

  He escorts me to his car, helping me in and then climbing in the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?”

  “Toast,” he says, dropping the name of the best restaurant in town like it’s IHOP. “We have reservations in forty-five minutes.”

  I don’t really know what to say, my stomach feeling like it’s tearing itself in half as we drive to the restaurant. Even the valet gives Scott’s car a long look as we pull up, and going inside, I’m stunned again at all the finery. I feel . . . inadequate, even though I have my hair all done up, my makeup fixed just right, and this gorgeous dress swooshing as I walk. For a moment, in Scott’s gaze, I’d felt like it all worked . . . looked right and real on me. But now, I’m just a girl playing dress-up again.

  But Scott seems at home, strolling through the restaurant, radiating power and confidence. It’s like a shield that protects me from the other patrons’ looks because they focus on him, whether they want to be him or be with h
im. But it’s his lack of care about what anyone else in the room thinks that’s immensely attractive. He’s unaffected. Hell, he might be unaware of the attention. Which just shows how much Scott was born to be in charge.

  “May I take your wine order, sir?” a snooty-looking man with what sounds like a French accent but is probably from New Jersey asks after we’re seated.

  “We’ll start off with the Casa Blanca Merlot, 1996,” Scott says, and the man just gives a slow nod and scurries off.

  “So I guess they don’t serve fried chicken and biscuits here?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “Actually, they do have panko-crusted chicken, but I don’t think it comes with biscuits.” He winks playfully but then sobers. I can see him considering his words. “Madison, I want you to explore tonight. Pick something on the menu you’ve never had before . . . something that you you’ve wanted to try but never had the reason or opportunity to have.”

  “Okay. But . . . why?”

  He gives me a little smile and looks down at his menu. “Because a little while ago, I let a friend drag me into some honky-tonk where I ordered a Snow Queen martini, something I’d never had before that night. And it changed things for me. Perhaps a change in flavors might be just as impactful for you.”

  His words warm my chest, and I look over the menu, pointedly ignoring the prices after I sneak a look at the wine list and see that the bottle he ordered simply says Reserve . . . ask the manager.

  Still, as I take in the muted conversation at the tables around us, the quiet tinkles of sound from the piano in the background, and the soft candlelight, I realize that there is a charm to this life Scott is showing me. Nobody’s leering at me, the music isn’t so loud I can barely think . . . and the chair I’m sitting in feels softer than even my own couch.

  “Ready?” Scott asks as the sommelier and another person, a girl in a simple black blouse and skirt who I guess is our waitress, approach. I nod, closing my menu. “Ladies first.”

  I order lamb, while Scott goes with something called a scotch fillet, which I see is a cut of beef. Apparently, both go well with our wine selection as the sommelier gives an agreeable nod. As they take their leave, Scott raises a glass to me. “A toast, in Toast, to new opportunities.”

  We clink glasses, and as I sip the amazing wine, I think . . . Scott obviously enjoys this lifestyle, and it is appealing. But it feels so foreign to anything I’ve ever experienced. I vaguely wonder if I’ll make a fool of myself by using the wrong fork.

  I finger the silverware delicately, and Scott interrupts my worries. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” It’s not a question but an order, but his voice is soft, more curious than forceful.

  “I don’t want to embarrass you with all of this.” My eyes cut around the room. “Thank you for sending the dress. The best thing I own would’ve looked like a rag in this place.” I run my hands down the satin again, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

  “You are the most beautiful woman here, dress or no dress. It’s not the clothing that makes the woman, but I did want you to feel at ease. Keep it and wear it for me again. If it survives the night.”

  I hear the promise in his voice and secretly wish for him to tear this fancy dress that costs more than my car from my body. I wish for him to need me that desperately. Feeling foolish and knowing that I will lovingly hang this dress in my closet as a souvenir of the night, I try to regroup.

  “Really?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “You don’t mind that this place is so far out of my league, that you are out of my league?”

  Scott smirks. “Madison, if anyone is out of their depths here, it’s me. You don’t hold to the rules of polite society, don’t give a fuck about how I want things to happen, and you couldn’t care less about the things I’m used to folks talking to me about.”

  I cringe a bit, hearing only bad things in his laundry list of my faults. But he continues, “And that is why I’m here with you tonight. I brought you here because you make me try things, and I wanted to give you the chance to try new things too. At the same time, I’m not trying to change you. I want to know who you are, right now, because I suspect I’ll like that woman very much.”

  I beam under his words, feeling much more at ease, even if I still don’t know which fork to use. Fuck it. As long as I don’t eat with my hands, I’m calling it good. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” he breathes. “Tell me all about Madison, day one to present.”

  “Well, I grew up with my aunt . . . sheesh, that could be a whole novel,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, I told you that Aunt May was a bit of a party girl when I was dropped on her doorstep, but she stepped right up and got herself straightened out for me.”

  “Right, but I don’t quite know what that means,” Scott says. “What did she do?”

  “A little of this and a bit of that. She’s not exactly corporate ladder material, you know? I mean, she runs her animal rescue now, but that was later. When I was a kid . . . well, it’s a little embarrassing.”

  “It’s okay. Tell me,” Scott asks, and seeing the honest interest in his eyes, I’m driven to respond.

  “Well, here you go. Her longest-running job was at 7-Eleven. I learned to read in the stockroom,” I confide. “May took a job there because it was close enough to the house that we didn’t need to fill up on gas . . . and because at the end of the shift when they had to clean out the hot dog machine, she was allowed to take all of the dogs that were past prime time home with her. We basically lived on those free hotdogs and expired packages of donuts destined for the dumpster.”

  “You . . . but how?” Scott asks, shocked. “I mean, isn’t that against the law?”

  “Not if no one told,” I say with a shrug. “I learned to read from the boxes and expired newspapers. I learned math counting back change when she let me help at the register for a change of scenery.”

  Scott swallows, shaking his head. “I . . . well, let’s just say it was a little easier. I had a nanny who read Dr. Seuss with me.”

  “Oh, I had Seuss too . . . and People, tabloids, and more. I got to read and color lots of the daily comics. I’d eat old chili dogs and play with a ball that May bought me until we went home. We lived in an old single-wide that May was able to rent cheap at the time. She’s worked hard for a lot of years and gotten herself out of there, but things were tight for a long time.”

  Scott nods and looks down at his plate, contemplating. “I guess I thought I had it rough in college with Dad refusing to pay for school and always shitting on me. It could’ve been a lot harder.”

  “Now, Scott, don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” I heatedly comment, my twang popping out fiercely. “Yeah, my childhood might not have been easy. But May and I stuck together and worked our way up out of that level of poverty. Things aren’t bad now, and I’m who I am because of those days.” I offer a smile to soften the words, and Scott takes my hand across the table.

  “And the animal shelter?” he asks, refocusing my thoughts on my story.

  “It just kind of happened. We took in a box of puppies that someone abandoned on the street next to the garbage cans. We lived off generic Beanie Weenies for a month to pay for those pups’ dog food, but in the end, we were able to give each of them a good home. It was such a good feeling, so we just kept on.”

  “Your turn,” I tell him, needing a break from share time. “Tell me about you . . . little Scotty with a nanny reading Dr. Seuss. Where were your parents? Although I think we’ve established your dad seems like a son of a bitch.”

  Scott blinks, then laughs. “You’re not the first person to call Robert Danger a son of a bitch. For Dad, life is all about what you can do for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Scott shrugs. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but he didn’t earn our family money himself. The seed of it was my grandfather, who got lucky when some family land turned out to have a very rich copper vein underneath it. Until then, it’d been uninco
rporated wasteland. He couldn’t even rent out the grazing rights as it was too far from any farms. But that mine gave my grandfather about ten million dollars. A lot now, even a lot more then, and my grandfather invested it wisely.”

  “I don’t get it. Why would your father be upset about that?”

  Scott sighs. “The short of it? My dad’s a prideful man and wants everyone to know he’s the powerhouse behind the Danger Enterprises name, not that he’s the lucky punk who just inherited the golden goose. Or at least that’s my theory on why he’s an unhappy, as you called him, son of a bitch.”

  “So he’s competitive? And he wants to make sure his children are the same?” I ask, and Scott nods.

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. He’s leaving this legacy behind in the company and wants us to be fierce and fight for it to prove that only the strongest can hold the crown because it reflects on his strength. He thinks we’re some nascent royal dynasty and he’s the first king. It’s just the way it’s always been, and I guess I never really questioned it.”

  Scott looks at me for a moment, his eyes probing. “What?”

  “Just . . . your Aunt May sounds like a remarkable person. You had it rough, but I think I’d have switched places with you,” Scott says. If anyone else had said it, especially someone as wealthy as him, I’d have thought they were being condescending, but I can hear the truth to his words, and my heart breaks for the little boy who wanted his dad’s attention, affection, and approval. Honestly, I think that little boy is still alive and hungry inside adult Scott.

  Our dinners arrive, and conversation pauses as we enjoy the first few bites of our food. The lamb is amazing, and my eyes nearly water as the rich flavors overwhelm my taste buds. This is the taste of wealth . . . complex and multi-faceted, with a perfect balance that makes each bite an experience. But the realization makes me understand something else.