Glancing at the mess for a moment, she flashed back to her childhood and saw her father towering over six-year-old her as she scooped her kitten’s litter box under his watchful eye.
She’d taken such good care of the animal—her father’s stipulation for letting the feline stay. Yet none of that had mattered when her mom had gathered her and Lucy in the middle of the night and loaded them into the ancient Dodge Dart with as much clothes, toys, and food as the trunk would hold, and left behind her beloved kitten, Sparky.
The worst part was they didn’t get to move to Germany with her dad like they’d planned. The only place Niki could remember was a boring military base in Maryland.
Soon enough, she’d have a chance to relocate to England after Tristan opened another Heatwave nightclub there. She had to impress him with her work to secure the spot. But he couldn’t possibly expect her to act as a human pooper scooper in her business suit and high heels, could he?
Surveying the entrance, he wiped a smudge off one of the glass doors with a white handkerchief. When Niki made no move to eradicate the dog shit, he folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her.
She smothered a groan as she tucked her clipboard under her arm. “I’ll go get one of the bar backs or janitors to take care of it.”
His nod was almost imperceptible, but she’d seen it. Yes, it had been a test, and she’d passed. As long as she got the job done, what difference did it make if she completed the task herself or delegated it?
Half an hour later, she checked that the sidewalk had been cleaned up, which it was. That done, she found Tristan inside, straightening a few liquor bottles on the lighted glass shelves behind the main bar. She took a moment to watch him in his designer suit, which probably cost more than she’d earn in a month. Tall and thin, he had a regal air about him. Not classically handsome like Grant, but he had great features like strong cheekbones and a thick head of curly blond hair. His British accent didn’t hurt, either.
She’d read in the local business journal that he and a partner had opened the New York club only a year ago, and already that one was among the hottest nightspots in the city. Tristan obviously knew what he was doing. But she’d never advance in the job with him assigning her menial tasks. She had to stand out, capture his attention, and earn his respect. She cleared her throat. “Um, Tristan?”
“Hmm?” he answered without looking at her.
“I was hoping that you had some more important duties for me than…you know, things like making sure there’s no dog poop on the sidewalk.” She lifted her chin higher and tried to channel her sister’s confidence. “Of course, that’s paramount to the curb appeal of the club, but it’s more a janitorial function. Which is where I delegated it, by the way.”
Tristan glanced over his shoulder at her, and his gaze slid down her body, then back up to her eyes.
She wondered if he was checking her out and if she dared tell him to check himself for sexual harassment. Until she noticed his frown. Did she have a smear of chocolate on her from that candy bar she’d stress-eaten earlier? She wiped her cheek, her upper lip. God, she was so bad at reading men’s signals.
“About your clothes,” he began.
She checked her outfit. Gray pinstriped suit, black pumps, red camisole. What was the problem? “Yes?”
He tipped his chin at her. “Your ensemble is fine for the corporate world. It’s lovely, in fact. But now that Heatwave is opening, you should dress a bit more…hip.”
“Hip,” she repeated. He hated what she was wearing. Suddenly, she felt like that little girl on the school playground again, wearing clothes from Goodwill.
“Haven’t you noticed the way most of the staff is dressed? How on-trend the servers’ uniforms are, and the doormen and bartenders? All kinds of celebs will be here tomorrow night. They’ll be expecting less Wall Street blah and more South Beach flair. We don’t want to make our clients uncomfortable, do we?”
“N-no. Of course not.” She didn’t think their clients would give a damn what she was wearing as long as she made sure their every need was met. But the notion that Tristan thought she looked stiff and dull ripped a gaping hole in her self-confidence. She fought the urge to go hide in the broom closet.
Tristan closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders for a moment. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off and spruce yourself up?” He fished out his billfold, peeled off two hundred-dollar bills, and stuffed them into her palm. “Go to one of those boutiques up the street and buy yourself a new outfit. Something colorful and chic.” Lifting her chin with his finger, he gave her a tight smile. “Do something less bloody boring with your hair. Maybe some not-found-in-nature color and a different style.”
Boring? Just because she didn’t dye her hair hot-pink like her sister’s didn’t make it boring. Or did it? Geez, she felt like an idiot.
He pointed to one of the bartenders as she walked past, carrying a huge bottle of maraschino cherries. “Take Jessica, for example,” he said. “She’s edgy and hot.”
Niki glimpsed the other woman’s white-blonde Mohawk, the piercings that dotted the shell of her ears and one of her eyebrows, her half-sleeve tattoo.
The look worked for Jessica, who was beautiful, but no way was Niki willing to poke holes in her skin or get all inked up for a man, even if he happened to be her boss and the person who’d eventually give her that dream job. Or not.
She flashed back to a conversation with her mom when Niki and Lucy were teenagers, and her mother had a particularly difficult boss. Lucy was indignant that their mother had been pulling way more than her share of the weight because the boss’s sister, who also worked there, had been taking advantage. “I have responsibilities,” her mom had told Lucy. “He isn’t going to fire his sister even though she’s lazy and unqualified. Life isn’t always fair. Sometimes you have to just swallow your pride and do what the boss says, merely because that person is in charge, and you have mouths to feed or bills to pay.”
Niki hadn’t truly understood what her mother had meant, until now. She supposed she could tweak the superficial stuff, especially if doing so increased her chances to realize her dream.
“All right.” Shoving the money into her jacket pocket, she started toward the office to retrieve her purse. If he was going to embarrass her by insulting her on-the-job style, at least she’d get a free shopping trip out of it.
“Don’t forget about the hair,” he called after her. “And maybe some wilder makeup.”
Resisting her urge to hold up a different finger, she instead gave him a thumbs-up, a gesture he seemed particularly fond of. Much as she respected Tristan’s business skills, his request had hurt. The tightness across her abdomen refused to relax.
To make matters worse, she was at a total loss about what type of clothes to buy. Thank heaven she knew exactly the person to ask for help. She left the club and headed to her sister’s store, which was only a couple miles away.
When she walked in to Lucy’s Lingerie a few minutes later, she found her sister at the counter with a phone to her ear, wearing one of her typical sexy outfits—a slinky purple top that showed off her curves, paired with black leather shorts.
Lucy waved at her and blew her a kiss. “See you tonight, sweetheart,” she said into the phone. Even though her sister was up to her thigh-high boots with three customers and no one working the sales floor but her, Niki prayed she’d have time to go shopping later. As she waited for her to finish with the women, Niki looked around the store.
Lucy had rearranged the displays again and had added some new items since Niki had last been there a week or so ago. A beautiful black and royal-blue corset trimmed in lace with bows at the top caught her eye. She tried to picture herself in something like that—something Lucy or Amy would wear.
What would Grant think of her in that sexy lingerie? Not that he’d ever see her in it, since they were just friends.
Lucy rang up the last customer then crumpled onto a hot-pin
k velvet stool that matched her hair. “Super busy day.” She narrowed her eyes at Niki. “What are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon? Something happen at work?”
Just her boss telling her he couldn’t stand her appearance.
“Honey, what is it?” Lucy came toward her and pulled her into a hug. “Talk to me.”
When they were kids, Lucy had always taken care of her, always provided the shoulder for her to cry on, given her the pep talks their mother had been too busy to offer. Those nights right after they left their father and they’d huddled close in the back seat of Mom’s car to sleep, Niki had been the one shedding tears and Lucy the strong one. Lucy was still her rock.
But Niki was a grownup now, and she couldn’t fall apart any time a boss gave her one directive or another. Sniffling, she composed herself, then backed away and stood taller. “Everything’s fine. Tristan asked me to change my appearance. No biggie.”
Fire rose in Lucy’s blue eyes. “What the hell for? You’re gorgeous. Tell that asshole to go screw himself.”
Niki had to laugh. Bless her sister. She always knew exactly what to say to make Niki feel better. “He only means that I should aim to fit in more with our clients. Heatwave is going to attract a chic, wealthy demographic. You should see the VIP list of celebrities slated to attend the opening tomorrow night. The last person they want to see when they’re out partying is a woman who looks like their accountant.”
Lucy winced.
Oops! Niki immediately shook her head. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Dex is one of the coolest guys I know, despite being an accountant.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Lucy raised an eyebrow.
Niki was digging the hole deeper. “You know what I mean,” she said. “I don’t want to look like an office worker.” At that moment, she realized that Tristan had been right. People out on the town partying didn’t want to be surrounded by stuffy-looking suits.
Thankfully, one corner of Lucy’s lips rose in a grin. “I get it, I get it.”
“Think you can come shopping with me, help me pick out a couple starter outfits? Maybe take me to the salon where you have your hair done for a cut?” She adored the way her sister dressed, from her pink hair to the barely-there lacy outfits to the stiletto heels. Lucy was chic and—judging by the way guys had never been able to keep their eyes in their head when she walked by them—über sexy.
“You mean like today?”
Niki crossed her fingers and nodded.
Lucy pursed her lips. “Wish I could, hon, but I’ve got a lady arriving any minute to plan a bachelorette party for her niece this weekend.”
Niki tried to school the disappointment from her face. “Maybe Amy’s free.”
Lucy shook her head. “She’s in Ft. Lauderdale, taking her mother to a doctor’s appointment.”
“Nuts. You two were my only hope.”
Lucy swiped a finger across the screen of her phone. “I have an idea. What if Amy and I swing by your place tonight? Amy’s pretty good with hair and makeup. I’m sure she can figure out a new do for you and something you can borrow for opening night. I’ll have time to shop for clothes with you this weekend.”
Niki managed a smile. “Sure, thanks.”
If she didn’t play the game right, she’d be out of a job and back to square one in her quest to travel the globe.
She left her sister’s store and strode along the street, looking in the windows of several boutiques on the same street, but she had no idea what to buy. Her interest in fashion had pretty much been limited to Ann Taylor for work and Gap for her off hours.
As she passed a homeless man sitting up against a building, holding out his hat for money, she reminded herself that in the big scheme of things, her dilemma was small potatoes. Reaching into her purse, she dropped a five-dollar bill into his hat with a polite smile.
Her mood somber, she went home. Maybe an Internet search would yield ideas.
When she entered the house, Grant was just leaving his room. They’d been living together for a couple of days, so it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him in normal clothes instead of gardening or moving attire. She had to say, the man looked good. Carrying a black leather jacket, he wore what looked like a real vintage Johnny Cash concert T-shirt and a pair of gunmetal gray jeans with a slight sheen to the denim, tucked into a pair of black biker boots with silver buckles similar to the ones on his jacket. A pair of obviously expensive aviator sunglasses dangled from the neckline of his shirt, exposing his tanned collarbone. Around his left wrist he wore a heavy gauge silver chainmail bracelet that was one of the most masculine pieces of jewelry she’d ever seen. He looked like a professionally styled rock star.
He gave her a smile that made her insides flutter. “Hey. What are you doing home so early?”
She crumpled onto the sofa. “My boss sent me home on a dress code violation.”
“What?” Grant threw his jacket down next to her. “You look great.”
Shaking her head, she laughed. “No, you look great. Apparently, I dress too conservatively for the—” Taking a second look at his appearance, she bit her lip. Damn, he looked hot. Although his style wasn’t exactly what most of the club staff was into, it was definitely edgy in a different way. The guy might hail from the sticks, but his look was more urban-biker-chic-without-trying. Totally sexy. And it gave her an idea. “Do you pick out your own clothes?”
He shot her a quizzical look. “Yes. And I can cut my own meat and comb my hair by myself, too. Do I get a cookie?”
“You have a good eye for fashion.”
That earned her a grimace. “I’m a dude. I don’t do fashion. I throw on a shirt and jeans and call it a day.”
“Sorry!” She laughed. “I didn’t mean to insult your masculinity. But your clothes are”—she paused as he narrowed his eyes in mock warning—“incredibly rugged and manly. Very, very manly.”
“That’s what I thought,” he rumbled, his green eyes twinkling in amusement at their banter.
“What are you doing now?” she gestured to his outfit and then rested her pointer finger on her lips, the wheels turning inside her head. “I mean, do you have plans, like right now?”
“I was just going to take a ride on the Harley, why?”
She tented her fingers in front of her face and offered up a silent prayer. “Grant, I desperately need your help.”
“Everything okay?” Sitting next to her, he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
His touch felt unbearably hot against her skin. She backed out of his reach and faced him. “Well, no.” Technically it wouldn’t be if she lost her job.
His brow crinkled with concern. “Talk to me.”
She told him about Tristan’s directive, how it had hurt her feelings, but also that she’d realized he was right. “Would you mind taking me shopping where I can find some interesting clothes? Tristan wants edgy, and that’s something you’ve got and I don’t. Lots of guys would look way too emo in shiny denim, and you manage to pull it off like you’re on your way to the local bar to yank beer bottle caps off with your teeth.”
He studied her for a long moment then shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I know a couple places. Let me make a quick call first.”
While she changed into jeans and a simple blue tank top, she caught every third or fourth word of Grant’s phone conversation. Something about being sorry he had to cancel. His tone quickly shifted from apologetic to defensive. Had he broken a date? For her? She ought to feel bad about that, but in truth, she didn’t.
Moments later, he met her in the living room, and she noticed that his brow was pinched.
“If it’s a problem, just give me the store addresses, and I’ll go without you.” Although she really wanted him with her for his opinion. And if she was honest with herself, she enjoyed being with him.
“It’s fine. We’ll be taking my bike.”
“Oh. I’ve never…”
He’d disappeared into the garage before she
could object. When she followed him out there, he was standing next to his Harley, holding a helmet, looking big and bad and hot as hell.
“Come on.” He patted the rear portion of the leather saddle.
Her sister owned a Kawasaki motorcycle, but Niki had never ridden it. She’d never had the nerve. Gulping, she straddled the seat of the Harley then let Grant strap the helmet on her.
“Just hang on to me, and keep your feet on the pegs, okay?” He stashed her purse in a saddle bag before climbing on in front of her and putting on his helmet.
After the smell of exhaust dissipated, her other senses shifted into high gear. The noise was deafening, but after a second, she barely noticed. The scent of Grant’s cologne mixed with leather and pure man made her head spin, not to mention the heat of his body and the feel of his muscles as she wrapped her arms around him.
“Here we go,” he said over the roar of the engine. They took off down the street, and it was as if they were flying.
She tightened her grip on him and rested her head against his back.
“You okay?” he asked at the first red light.
She cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “I’m great.”
He laughed. “Good.”
They glided along straightaways, leaned together at curves and turns, their bodies in motion and in sync, like a rollercoaster, or a dance. Every time he took a corner and those muscles tightened, she wanted to slide her hands under his shirt and touch his skin, or lick him from his Adam’s apple down along those incredible abs to… Oh boy. She had to quit this.
When Grant parked the bike in front of a store and climbed off, Niki mourned the loss of contact. All that body-touching time had really gotten to her. She needed to cool off.
“How was the ride?” he asked.
She took off her helmet and handed it to him. “Way too short.”
A broad smile settled on his lips as he locked the helmets onto a hinge behind the front wheel. “Guess we’ll have to go farther next time.”
She’d never imagined that motorcycle riding would have been something she’d like, but it wasn’t the first thing she’d tried with Grant that she enjoyed. An unwanted image of the two of them writhing in the sheets filled her head. The way he’d said her name at the moment he climaxed, like a whispered prayer. Niki.
The Best Man's Proposal (The Hamilton Sisters) Page 4