Mama Said

by Byrne, Wendy

  To show Shane she couldn’t be intimidated, she scowled back at him before adjusting the microphone. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Gabriella Santos, brought here by the very generous owner of the Blues Stop,” she stopped to give him a game-on wink, “all the way from Florida.” Smiling, she tried to keep her nerves at bay. “Based on the weather outside, I feel right at home.”

  “You should try being here in January,” a man shouted from the audience.

  Her flirtatious side kick-started to life. “I’m a hot-blooded woman, but even I can’t generate enough heat to counteract a thirty-below wind chill.” He responded with a chuckle, and she continued, “With the help of Donna, my accompanist, we’ll weave our way through the greats—Billie Holiday, Dinah Washington, Ella Fitzgerald, and some Koko Taylor. Being in a blues town like Chicago, I have some big shoes to fill, but I’m going to try. Hopefully you’ll think I do them justice.”

  At that point, she got down to business and did what she did best. Any nervousness she had experienced earlier melted away as quickly as it had come. Before she knew it, she had the first set of the evening under her belt.

  * * *

  She was good. Really good. And sexier than a woman had a right to be.

  But what was she doing strutting toward Shane with an enormous grin on her face? No doubt she expected him to eat his words and fill her with compliments.

  No way. Even if every time she moved, his libido inched closer to the danger zone.

  “Could I have some water, no ice, with a slice of lemon?”

  When she spoke, her sultry voice sent a shiver of pure lust rocketing through his system. Instead of letting her know he found her the least bit attractive, he motioned toward Mack who was walking up to join them. “He could have gotten that for you and brought it to your dressing room.”

  Mack slid into the seat next to her. “Incredible voice, Gabriella. Sounds even better than on your demo tapes.”

  “Thanks. That’s sweet of you to say.”

  Shane grumbled. The woman already had a big head. No sense adding to it. “If you’re not too busy feeding our star’s ego, Mack, maybe you could re-stock the beer case. We’re running a little low.”

  Looking irritated, Gabriella drummed her fingers along the bar top and glanced around. “You should play music between sets. Some people might want to dance.”

  “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” Music? What was the matter with her? Was she trying to turn this dive into a dance hall or something?

  “Are you always this personable, or is it me?”

  He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s get this straight. I don’t like being railroaded.”

  “I didn’t railroad you,” she huffed. “I know you’re new to this bar owning thing, but I’ve been popping in and out of them all of my life, even before I was legal. People need more than a singer. Even a good one. They need ambiance. They need fun.” She shook her head. “And I’m not getting that vibe here.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t do fun.”

  “I kinda got that.” With that, she took her glass of water and walked away.

  Damn, she was irritating. But why did he find himself fascinated by the fact that she hadn’t backed down from him?

  * * *

  The man brought irritating to a whole other level. She should have known it would be futile to expect anything but surliness. Annoyed, she went into the back room and vented to Donna before the next set started.

  “I thought you said Shane usually left by eight. It’s nearly nine-thirty and it looks like he’s settled in for the night.”

  She shrugged. “He’s probably going to stick around and see how you do.”

  Of course. Mr. Cranky Pants was a major control freak. “He said something about moving me from the hotel once the bar closes. But I’d hoped he’d make himself scarce until then.”

  “Believe me, his bark is much worse than his bite. He’s mad because Mack made the decision to hire a new singer without consulting him. He’ll get over it.”

  “But in the meantime, he’s taking it out on me,” she grumbled as they made their way back onstage.

  Quickly, one set slid into the next and then the night was finished.

  Which was good news and bad. She’d gotten through her first night in what she would consider passable fashion, even with the meager crowd. The bad news was that now she was going to be stuck with him. She racked her brain to think of an excuse to avoid it, but he didn’t seem to be the type to back down once he decided to do something.

  After escorting Donna to her car, Shane came back inside and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re better than I thought you’d be.”

  “Don’t start giving me compliments, I might get a big head.” It was about time he said something nice to her.

  She perched her butt on one of the unoccupied bar stools and sipped a glass of water. Tapping her polished red nails against the bar, she tried to think of something else to say as the silence stretched between them. Typically she wasn’t at a loss for words, but somehow with him it felt as if she had to measure each and every syllable before opening her mouth.

  He spoke after what seemed at least a year or more of unending silence. “I’ll let Mack finish up so we can get you settled in that apartment.”

  “It’s kind of silly to pay for a hotel room for the night and not at least wait until check-out time. It’s not like the Holiday Inn is one of those four-hour-nap places.” Her attempt at humor didn’t even rate a smile from him.

  “You’d be surprised at the number of married men and women I’ve nabbed doing exactly that. Nice hotel, fancy security, they let their guard down.”

  Something about the look that crossed his face made her believe he got a vicarious thrill out of catching people engaged in illicit affairs. She wondered why. Had a girlfriend cheated on him? Was he a cheater himself? Even though she was curious, she didn’t dare pursue it—especially now that he was being almost civil.

  Instead, she nodded in agreement, as if they’d had this same conversation a million times before. “That’s right, you’re a detective and only a bar owner by default.”

  “I hope to rectify that soon.” He pulled keys from his pocket. “We’d better get going.”

  “Everything I have is unpacked. It will take me a while to pack it all back up again.” Translation: Her hotel room looked like a disaster area since she’d gone through her entire wardrobe trying to figure out what to wear for opening night. It would take hours to get everything re-organized, re-packed, and ready to go.

  The last thing she needed was to have him watch her while she gathered her things. No doubt he’d be tapping his foot in irritation with his patented scowl firmly in place the entire time.

  Pulling out a BlackBerry from his pocket, he retrieved the data he needed. “It can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m booked until after check-out time.”

  “Will paying for an extra day break the bank?” She liked living in hotels. That way she didn’t have to cook or clean. Everything she needed or wanted was close by twenty-four/seven. Normally, she didn’t have to explain she was a high-maintenance kind of gal. Either this guy was dense—which she highly doubted—or he didn’t care about her creature comfort.

  “It might. Mack is paying you twice as much as the last singer, plus expenses.” He shrugged. “This place is leaking money. I’m trying to minimize the damage.”

  “You need more people to fill the place up.”

  “Brilliant,” he grumbled, putting away the BlackBerry and turning to straighten some of the bottles in back.

  The last thing she wanted to do was sit in a car with this man. Geez, she was feeling cranky just being around him. “I could take a cab back to the hotel tonight and move out in the morning on my own. That way, I wouldn’t put you out.” And she wouldn’t have to endure his less-than-stellar company. A definite bonus.

  He eyed her for a second or two
, clearly doubting her sincerity, then shrugged. “No big deal. It shouldn’t take long.” Without giving her an opportunity to give him an answer, he walked toward the door and held it open. “Don’t worry. The upside is Mack and Donna both know you’re getting a ride with me, so if you end up dead, the police will know where to look.”

  Wow, he’d actually made a joke, as evidenced by the cheeky half-smile he gave her as she walked past him out the door. “Now I feel much better,” she mumbled, not quite sure how else to respond.

  Every tap of her heels against the sidewalk seemed to echo as the quiet of night settled around them. Walking on the north side of Chicago at 2 A.M. on a Wednesday wasn’t quite like walking the lively streets of South Beach at the same time. A few cars passed and in the distance she heard a siren. Otherwise, a heavy silence.

  The temperature was different, too. Instead of the suffocating humidity of an August night in Miami, a cool breeze whispered against her exposed skin.

  His car was parked about a block away on the opposite side of the street. After pressing the remote, he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Once she got settled inside, he closed the door and walked around to his side.

  Despite the perpetual bad vibe emanating from him, she felt more relaxed than she would have expected. Stretching out in the seat, she allowed her legs to reach their full extension.

  “Why Chicago?”

  Although part of her had expected the question at some point, it still caught her off guard. She’d figured he’d remain quiet during their short ride, but, no doubt suspicious by nature, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to probe.

  How did she know what was going through his head? Because he was like her brothers, except they used charm to cover up their suspicious natures. Shane wouldn’t know charm if it slapped him upside the head.

  “Why not? I needed a change of scenery. When this gig came up, I jumped at the opportunity.”

  “Bull.” He shifted gears and glanced at her. “There’s more to your story than that. You’ve lived in Florida your whole life. Your family is there. Your support. Why come all this way for a change of scenery?”

  “I don’t know if it’ll make you feel any better to know this, but I’ve had a series of bad relationships, bad karma, and bad luck. I needed a place to shake off the stink, as it were.” Oversimplification, but it might be enough information to satisfy him. She had a bad feeling he wouldn’t stop until he got the answer he sought.

  Shane chewed on that for a few minutes before he spoke again. “I’ll buy that’s part of it, but there’s more you’re not saying.”

  “Florida can be a nasty place this time of year. Coming up north seemed like a welcome relief.” She didn’t need to tell him everything. He didn’t need to know that she’d had a no-good manager. And he definitely didn’t need to know that despite exuding confidence, she still fell for every line of crap a guy gave her. Her naiveté rivaled that of her five-year-old niece at times. She wasn’t going to get into the gory details of a life that caused her family to question her judgment ninety percent of the time.

  Surprisingly, he let the matter drop. “My brief foray into Florida was in the middle of a hurricane, so you don’t need to tell me about bad weather.”

  “Bad timing? Bad luck? Or one of those storm chasers looking for trouble?”

  “None of the above or all of the above, depending on your perspective. In the army I went where I was told. Usually, at least.”

  A rebel. Now that wasn’t any big surprise. “Didn’t take you for the military type, but should have guessed. You have a certain rigidity about you.” Turning in her seat, she gave him a hint of a smile. “Lining up the bottles and glasses behind the bar like they were standing in an inspection line was a good clue.”

  “Some things you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.” Between his driving prowess and the empty streets, they were already close to the hotel.

  “You’ve traveled the world. A woman in every port, no doubt.”

  “Only when the mood arises.” He cleared his throat. “So to speak. I’ve never been much good at that long-term-relationship thing.”

  “We’ve already established you’re anal and afraid of commitment. What else is lurking behind that gruff exterior of yours? What other secrets are you hiding?” If he wanted to play twenty questions, she had every right to do the same.

  “What you see is what you get with me. I’ll never be accused of being charming or polite or beating around the bush. My partner Garrett takes care of that end of the business.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, you probably won’t get a chance to see the charming side of the business; Garrett’s gone away on personal business for what could be several months.”

  “I see.” Of all the bad luck. “With the charming side missing, won’t that put a dent in business?”

  “Most people don’t care if their detective is charming, as long as he’s good. If people want straight answers, I give them. You want to know if your wife is cheating on you, I’ll lay it out. But I’ve also learned that sometimes people don’t really want the truth. They don’t want to know that their decades-younger trophy wife is stepping out on them because they can’t get it up anymore without the help of Viagra. Or that the sight of their potbelly and sagging butt isn’t a turn-on, even with their fat bank account.” His cynicism was nearly palpable.

  “I bet a lot of people are hoping their suspicions are false, even though they see the evidence right before their own eyes.” Hadn’t that happened to her a time or two, or three hundred? Most times she’d have to get slapped square in the face with evidence, or she’d stay exactly where she felt most comfortable—blissfully ignorant.

  “Exactly. And when I point out the obvious, guess who they get mad at?”

  “So you don’t like managing a bar and you don’t like being a detective. What do you like to do, Mr. O’Neil?”

  He pulled in front of the hotel, got out, and came around to her side when the doorman opened the car door. To her surprise, he grasped her elbow as they walked inside. In retrospect, she suspected he was probably worried she might run upstairs and barricade herself in her room and refuse to check out. If she thought for a minute she could outrun him, she might have tried.

  As further evidence he didn’t trust her, he dismissed her plea for him to wait in the lobby, took her cardkey, and pressed the elevator button. “I never said I don’t like being a detective. In fact, I enjoy the puzzle, figuring it all out, digging for evidence. It’s the people skills I lack.”

  Understatement of the century. “If you could live your life alone, that would be perfect. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Pretty much. Except for the occasional night of straight up, no commitment sex, of course.” He gave her a wicked smile that she felt clear down to her hooyah.

  As she tried to understand this new masochistic side of herself, the elevator dinged, signaling her floor. After walking the short distance to the room, he swiped the cardkey through the slot, opened the door, and followed her inside. He stopped dead in his tracks and did a slow visual sweep of the room.

  Uh-oh. She’d seen this coming.

  Hands on his hips, he scowled. “Tell me you had a break-in.”

  Discarded clothes and underwear covered the bed. Shoes were strewn all over the floor. They had to dodge a graveyard of discarded Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks as they moved around the room.

  “Nope. Pretty much the way I left it.” She shrugged, hoping against hope he’d get frustrated and go downstairs to wait. She didn’t want him eyeballing her the whole time. “I guess you know why my mother calls me Hurricane Gabriella.”

  He showed no sign of leaving. Feeling the tiniest bit self-conscious, she began to pick up shoes while working her way towards the closet.

  He drew his hands through his thick hair, utter exasperation playing across his features. “This makes me crazy.”

  She’d be willing to bet his closet was organized b
y color, with each hanger exactly one-half inch from the one next to it. A small cache of shoes was no doubt standing in perfect line formation on the floor.

  “You can go downstairs and wait.” It was as if it were the first time he’d ever seen a little bit of mess.

  “I’ll help. I’d like to get to bed before 6 A.M. if it’s all the same to you.”

  Anxious to get away from his scowl, she made her way towards the bathroom. “I’ll get started in here.” Besides, if he saw that mess, he’d freak out for sure.

  “And I’ll start filling these suitcases. I hope they’ll fit into my car. You do know this gig is only for a month, don’t you?” As he unzipped a suitcase, he glanced up.

  “I tend to over pack. I’ve got a lot of stage clothes, and I never know what I’m going to feel like wearing on any given night. I like to be prepared for anything.” Misplaced guilt had her explaining something that she considered completely understandable.

  “So I see.” As he spoke, he picked up her blue sequined dress, folded it carefully, and placed it into one of the largest suitcases.

  By the time she’d finished in the bathroom with makeup, hair stuff, and bath products not-so-neatly shoved into a duffle bag, he’d packed up the majority of her dresses and had made a dent in corralling the vast shoe population. Two full suitcases were loaded and ready to go. Not only was this guy orderly, he was fast.

  He eyed her as he opened one of the drawers and shoveled out half the contents of Victoria’s Secret underwear department, and placed the garments in neat stacks within the third and final suitcase. The intimacy of the moment zinged along her spine, and for the first time in a long while, she felt her face flush while her hormones stood at attention. A visual of twisted sheets and sweaty bodies slammed into her with the subtlety of a freight train.

  Goose bumps broke out on her arms as she suddenly had the crazy idea of doing something incredibly stupid. She was definitely losing it.

  How could she even think about sex with somebody who was such a control freak? Sex should be uninhibited, fun, spontaneous. He’d admitted he didn’t do fun.