Decision made, I stand and straighten my back, rolling my shoulders back to look as tall as I can, which isn’t much considering my petite five-foot-nothing self. “Let me put on a fresh pot of coffee—”
Shane interrupts, straightening up himself. “Thanks, but I’d better get going. Need to get my truck before tonight’s shift starts.”
A tough ball of disappointment forms in my gut, but I plaster a fake smile on my face anyway. I mean, I was pathetic enough to almost beg him to stay last night. I shouldn’t keep the streak going. “Sure, of course. Want me to give you a ride back to the club?”
“No, thanks, I’ll grab a cab. I’m sure you’ve got plans today,” Shane says, getting up. I do have plans. I mean, I have to go to my other job, but he doesn’t know that. And there’s something about the way he says it that sounds like a dismissal, not like he’s fishing for me to hang out with him.
“Yeah, busy.” He folds the blanket and lays it on the arm of the couch, and something about that strikes me as so domestic, so tame considering he’s a wild beast of man who didn’t hesitate to put the beat-down on that guy last night.
The contrast makes me feel dizzy, or maybe that’s just him and how he makes me feel inside. I walk him to door, one hand on the doorknob as I turn and look at him again. “Thanks for last night.”
Shit, that sounds like I mean something else, something decidedly more vulgar, and I can feel the blush warming my cheeks. Even Shane smiles a little, and I quickly try to get myself out of this quicksand I’ve stuck myself in. “I mean with the guy at the club. And bringing me home.”
I know I look like a total fool, and Shane seems amused by my awkwardness. He gives me a little grin that leaves my heart hammering even more in my chest and chuckles. “You’re welcome. Just doing my job. Well, mostly,” he says with a pointed look at the couch. “But I’m glad I was here.”
I think he’s trying to make me blush more, and to be honest, he’s succeeding. “Uh . . . me too.”
Shane clears his throat, and I have a half-second to wonder if he’s serious that he liked being here. “I’ll see you tonight?”
I nod, thinking that I wouldn’t miss a shift at Petals for the world right now. “Yeah, I’m working dinner to close tonight, so I’ll see you later.”
There’s a moment where it seems neither of us knows what to do, so I finally lean in for a hug.
I mean, heck. I slept draped over the guy like he was a body pillow last night. A hug doesn’t seem all that intimate, right? And we’re colleagues, work buddies even. And work buddies will sometimes give each other a hug.
Except when I reach up and wrap my arms around him and press my chest toward his, all I can think about is how good he feels. My breasts tingle as they smoosh against his hard chest muscles, and my body feels every bit of his hand splayed on my back. I can almost read the way his fingers adjust their pressures, his thumb pressing against one of my ‘dimples’ for a moment before his fingers take over, alternating like he’s playing a piano before he pulls me tighter and his musky-manly scent fills my senses. I have to bite back the moan in my throat.
“You be good,” Shane says with a tantalizing ghost of huskiness in his voice that makes me think maybe he liked the hug as much as me. With one last full, white smile and a little two-finger wave, he steps out. “And take it easy.”
As soon as he’s gone, I melt back to the couch, a wistful sigh mixing with the floomp of my cushions as I flop.
“Damn, that man is hot with a capital Oh, yeah!” I sigh, knowing that he’s also incredibly off-limits, for so many reasons. First, there’s my waitress job where the no fraternizing rule is strictly enforced.
Second, there’s the fact that I’m undercover for the tabloid and he doesn’t even know my real name. He thinks I’m Meghan, not Maggie. Major buzzkill to be mid-flagrante delicto and for him to cry out your name, except it’s not yours but rather the alias you gave him.
I won’t even touch on the third reason, considering that contemplating how out of my league he is won’t do my self-esteem any favors. I know I’m a catch, and I’m picky because I can be, but Shane is in a whole other dimension of gorgeousness.
Shaking my head, I rally and grab a cup of last night’s coffee, nuking it in the microwave and dropping in three sugars and a lot of milk, just the way I like. The caffeine and sugar are just what I need to get dressed and into the office for my check-in and assignment update.
Yeah, big plans, that’s me. Get off work and go to work. If I’m lucky, I might be able to squeeze in a workout at the gym to try and keep up my girlish figure.
Living the dream, baby.
The big open ‘bullpen’ of The Daily Spot is humming when I get in. Of course it is. A lot of my coworkers have been here for a couple of hours already, trying to make the noon update deadline. We may be a gossip rag, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a schedule. Seven in the morning for the pre-work and water cooler crowd, noon to catch the lunch-timers, and then at six to give everyone a late-night update.
As soon as I log into the computer, my instant messenger box opens in the corner of the screen. It’s my new boss, Jeanine. Hi, Maggie! Come to my office ASAP.
Shoot, wonder what she wants. She’s definitely better than my old boss, who was a skeevy jerk. Actually, he was worse than that, but he went out in a blaze of glory . . . publicly. The Daily Spot’s reputation took a hit, but at the same time, website traffic is up. I guess it’s true—controversy creates cash.
Jeanine’s been here a little over a month now, but I don’t have a good read on her yet. She always seems serious and cold, and she communicates in snippets of sentences rather than in full, embellished diatribes. I’d bet money she’s never so much as cracked the spine of a book of poetry. No time for that prosaic nonsense.
So a tabloid full of gossipy blurbs is probably right up her alley. Actually, I read her biography when she took the editor’s job, and she’s worked in some legit journalism too, but still, the woman communicates by the five Ws—who, what, when, where, and why—almost exclusively. She doesn’t even bother with how. That’s my job, I guess.
I don’t waste her time by responding to the message. I just lock my computer and head her way as quickly as possible. Knocking on her doorframe, Jeanine doesn’t even look away from her computer, although she does wave me in with a quick little flutter of her fingers.
Ah, well. I sit in one of the chairs, waiting for her to finish whatever she’s working on and speak first.
Jeanine hits her Enter key with a flourish that’s sure to break her keyboard before too much longer and looks up, giving me a professional smile. “Maggie, how are things? What have you got for me?”
I swallow, knowing she won’t like my answer. “Honestly, not a lot right now. There hasn’t been even a pseudo-celeb in the club in over a week. I wrote that one up for last Saturday’s edition, remember? The headline was Bad Boy of Soaps Gets Glitter Bombed.”
Jeanine is silent, but she nods so I think she at least remembers the story. I’ll admit, it wasn’t that big of a story. I mean, sure, the guy’s made a few housewives fan themselves, but ever since he came over from New Zealand, he’s been getting himself in so much trouble the biggest story is whether the INS is going to let him renew his work visa.
Jeanine’s grey eyes narrow at me as she purses her blood-red lips, her expression making her look even harsher than usual. “Glitter. Oh, yes.”
She says it with a sneer, like the sparkly confetti is unwelcome contagious merriment. But that’s what it was, if you count getting smacked in the face with a dancer’s glitter-covered hiney a ‘bomb.’ But he’s single, not dating anyone, and most fans don’t really mind if a guy like that gets up to no good.
With a shake of the head, she continues. “I’ve received word that a certain All-Star basketball player will be clubbing sans the missus at a rather high-end venue tonight. I need you to go in, look the part, and see if he’s up to anything devious. If so, get
pics and write up his delinquency. If he’s being a good boy, take pics of the sketchiest thing you see and write it up as supposition for why he’s out alone. Trouble in paradise type story. Got it?”
I fidget and tug at the sleeve of my blouse. “I’d love to, but I’m already working tonight. I can probably get someone to cover the later part of my shift and catch up with him after the liquor kicks in though. He’d be more likely to behave badly then, anyway.”
I’ve agreed, but only partially, and Jeanine definitely catches the difference. Her face goes hard, a mask of iron determination. “Maggie, my dear. Are you a waitress or are you a reporter? Because it sounds as though you’re turning down a sure-bet reporting assignment to sling beer to drool-mouthed drunks. If you’d rather wait tables, by all means, feel free to do so. However, if you’d like to be a reporter, I’ll need you at Club Noir all night in case Jimmy Keys shows up.”
The threat is obvious, and while I only took the waitressing job as a means to get sordid stories, it is a big part of my life now. I have friends who work there, and the money is great. Dominick is tough, but he’s a good boss, and I won’t lose the waitressing job for calling out on one shift.
But missing this assignment from Jeanine will definitely cost me the reporting gig, so with a sigh of resolve, I plaster a saccharine-sweet smile on my face. “Of course, I want to be a reporter, Jeanine,” I reply, while inwardly wondering if working for this gossip rag can really be called reporting. “I’ll get my shift covered so I can be at the club well before the target arrives and will have a story submitted by tomorrow.”
Jeanine doesn’t compliment me, just smiles shrewdly, knowing her intimidation worked and I’m solidly ensconced in my place once again. ‘My place,’ of course is at least one notch lower than her, as everyone in the office has quickly learned that Jeanine carries her job with a superiority like a cape that swishes along behind her like a pissed off queen. And everyone knows that in her right hand is her scepter, which she’ll beat over your head if you push her far enough.
She doesn’t even bother answering as she turns back to her computer, just waving me off as her attention goes back to whatever it is that she’s focusing on now that her favorite little petite social wallflower knows what to do.
Summarily dismissed, I head out to my desk, digging my phone out of my purse. I think and text one of the other girls at the club. She’s a dancer, but considering she’s new and nowhere near as good as Allie, her paychecks could use the help.
Hey, Sarah, can you cover my shift tonight, please? Last-minute thing came up.
She replies quickly, happy to cover.
Sure! I’d love a bonus Friday shift.
Thanks! I owe you one. Anytime you need me.
With a sigh, I set my phone back down and get to work, scanning Instagram accounts for celeb news, checking Twitter feeds for vague posts, and although Jeanine would never admit it, searching other tabloid sites for their stories to see if we can do a story better justice. Twice, that’s hit for me, being able to read between the lines and get a juicy tidbit that someone else left behind.
It’s a hard knock life for me.
Chapter 4
Shane
I know it’s not quite professional as I scan the room, but when eight o’clock comes and goes and I don’t see the petite figure of Meghan working the tables, I get worried. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her all day, ever since waking up with her snuggled against me, and to not see her . . . well, it just feels weird.
Especially after we both said we’d see each other tonight. Marco won’t know anything. He sleeps most of the day, and if it wasn’t for his slight tan, I’d swear he’s a vampire, and most of the dancers are the same. Instead, I find Sarah, a newbie dancer who’s wearing a lot more clothing than normal as she carries a pitcher of margaritas through the club. “Hey, where’s Meghan?”
Sarah delivers her pitcher, earning her ‘tip’ with a little flirt and a shake of her curvy hip before giving me a smile. “Oh, I’m covering her shift. She texted saying something came up.”
“I see. What happened?”
Sarah shrugs, already walking away as another table waves for her attention. “I don’t know what though. Sorry.”
I grit my teeth, knowing Meghan was fine when I left this morning. I thought she was even looking forward to seeing me when she came to work, and I’ll admit that I’ve spent a decent amount of time today with some extra pep in my step at the thought. Sure, something innocent could’ve come up, but after the incident last night, I hope she’s okay.
But the question, the doubt creates a tension in my gut that twists and gnaws at me. What’s worse is that I can’t even do anything about it. I’ve got a job to do here, and it’s not like Sarah could cover my job.
“Hey, Shane.”
I look over from my perch by the door to see Marco waving at me. We’re in between dances, so he doesn’t have to yell or use the walkie-talkie system we have. Getting up, I walk over, still keeping my eyes on the patrons. “Yo, Marco.”
“That was Dominick on the phone,” he says. “Asked to see you in the office.”
I nod, walking over to Logan, the other guy working security tonight, and ask him to cover the door for a minute while I talk to the boss. Logan’s a MMA fighter who works here part-time to help cover costs. With his bald head and trimmed goatee, he’s intimidating enough that I don’t have to worry.
Comfortable the floor is secure, I head upstairs to Dominick’s office and give two quick raps on the door. A moment later, a deep voice inside calls out. “Enter.”
Even though I was invited in, I open the door slowly, both to give anyone inside time to get decent and so that I can make sure some goon isn’t going to grab me as I enter.
Dominick isn’t a guy you mess with, and while I never have, I don’t want to be caught unaware. But all seems chill as I enter, Dominick sitting behind his large mirrored desk.
The whole room is done in contemporary modern lines, mirrors here, low-slung leather chairs there, all surrounded by sleek black shiny walls. Of course, those are one-way mirrors that look onto the dance floor and audience area downstairs, but they’re good quality so the noise in here is barely noticeable unless Dom turns on the speakers. Dominick is watching, always watching what happens in Petals since it’s his club, his territory.
I sit in one of the white leather chairs, although I don’t dare get comfortable and familiar in his office, not with the Desert Eagle I know he keeps under his desktop. Instead, I lean forward, appearing poised and ready for anything. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Dom’s the only man I call sir, and while I don’t like it, it makes my life a lot easier. He drums his fingers on the top of his desk, looking at me with those perceptive eyes of his. If I ever needed a reminder that my life is perilous, those eyes are a perfect one. “Shane, Marco tells me there was trouble last night. Explain.”
It’s an order, and one I know to obey. I give Dominick the full-detailed version of last night’s incident, knowing withholding anything would be seen as a betrayal, finishing with Miles’s name and information being posted behind the bar for Marco and shared with the rest of the security team.
As I speak, Dominick spins the gold pinky ring he wears. It’s filigreed but has been passed down in his family for a long time, so the decorations are nearly worn as smooth as a new wedding ring. It should look stupid, my upbringing telling me that real men don’t wear rings, especially pinky rings. But Dominick pulls it off with style, the ring fitting in perfectly with his custom-made deep navy suit and silver tie.
He radiates wealth and power, and though he’s a few years older than me and about twenty pounds lighter, I’m pretty sure that if he and I ever threw down, it’d be one hell of a scrap. And that doesn’t count if Dom fought dirty, in which case all bets are off.
Dom knows my evaluation of him, and in some ways, that helps me. He knows that I view him not with fear but with the respect of one warri
or to another, and because of that, he gives me respect back. He nods and folds his fingers together. “And after the incident?”
I nod, knowing what he’s talking about and that honesty is the best policy here. Marco would have told him that I left my truck here and drove Meghan home, and that I didn’t come back to pick up my truck at all.
Better he hears the story from me than find out later from someone else, and he will find out because he has an uncanny way of always knowing things.
“Meghan was in shock, asked me to drive her home, which I did. I offered to call a cab from the porch, but she asked me to come in for coffee. We talked, and she calmed down. At some point, we fell asleep on her couch. I left her apartment this morning and she seemed fine.”
Dominick’s fingers tighten a little before he unlaces them, setting them almost casually on the arms of his office chair. I’d be fooled too if it wasn’t that I know his right hand’s about six inches from that Desert Eagle of his. “You slept with her?”
I nod, speaking quickly but calmly. “I feel like that’s a trick question, asking one thing but meaning another. We slept on the couch, fully clothed. If you’re asking if I had sex with her, the answer is no.”
Dominick nods, his hands relaxing and going back to turning his ring. “Well answered. I do feel the need to remind you of our no-dating policy, both the dancers and waitresses being strictly off limits.”
“I’m aware.”
Dom nods, smiling tightly. “Beyond my policy and its enforcement, although I don’t know Meghan well, I sense that a man like you would break a girl like her. And then I would be called upon to break you for the misstep. Am I clear?”
Like that exact thought hasn’t been running through my head since I felt the flawless curve of her ass in my hand and the soft pressure of her thigh against my cock this morning. I tilt my chin in deference, blinking once. “Crystal clear,” I answer. “No worries.”
I pause, taking a moment to let Dom know that I’m not just spouting some fear-inspired bullshit, then continue. “Well, actually, I am concerned. But not about that. It’s Meghan.”
Dirty Deeds Page 4