The doorman, still one of the MIB crew, checks his tablet before nodding. “Just a moment, Miss Price.”
He turns and talks quietly into his earpiece before nodding. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all,” the doorman says as another of the MIB come over. “John, here, will take you to see Mr. Stone.”
“Right this way,” John, who looks like he should be in the Secret Service instead of working nightclub security, says with a slight bow of his head. As we make our way through the club, I see that my first impression was wrong. This place is nearly packed.
I think the difference is the clientele. Over the weekend, most of the clubbers were younger, twenty- and thirty-somethings. This group is at least a decade older, and the music reflects it. I’m hearing some stuff that hasn’t been in heavy rotation since the turn of the millennium. Then again, Will Smith is pretty smooth on Switch.
As John walks with me past the bar, I feel a moment of rising anxiety as I look around for the creepy bastard who tried to drug me, but I don’t see him. John notices and gives me a reassuring smile. “All clear tonight, Miss Price. Come, Mr. Stone is waiting for you upstairs.”
I look up and see Jake leaning on the railing of the VIP section, giving me a little wave. I wave back, and John leads me up, giving me the same little nod before he peels off to watch the steps to the VIP level. I’m surprised when I see that Jake’s alone up here. We have the whole level to ourselves.
“You’re looking dapper,” I comment as he comes over. He’s changed from the suit he wore to work into a slightly tighter fitting, brighter gray suit that just barely gleams in the club lights. “How many suits do you own, anyway?”
“Enough,” he says easily, and as he steps closer, I’m just staggered again by his magnetism. He has this confident ease about him that isn’t cocky. It’s more like he’s saying Yes, I have the looks, but I’m more than that. “Come on, I have a booth for us.”
He leads me over to a nice booth, all done in black velvet with a low ebony table in the middle. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, signaling the waitress. “A Little Mermaid,” he says, “and a Highlander.”
I give him a raised eyebrow, and he chuckles. “You’ll like it, relax. You look amazing, by the way. Love what you did with your eyes. It totally changes your expression from work.”
His eyes roam over my face, causing my skin to feel like I’ve got a low grade sunburn. I feel sexy, and when I do a switch on my legs, crossing my right over my left, his eyes watch every movement. I love the way he makes me feel. It’s like we never left off. “Are you saying I looked bad at work?” I ask playfully. “Less feminine?”
Jake licks his lips and laughs. “Hardly. But you looked scared out of your mind. Not like you do now. You look at home.”
I shrug, reaching into my purse. “Here’s your wallet. Uh, just to let you know, I robbed you blind.”
He chuckles and takes it from my hand. “I doubt that.”
Without even opening it, he takes the wallet and slides it into his jacket pocket. I stare at him for a moment, shocked. “You’re not going to count the money?”
“I trust you,” he says confidently. “You look more like an angel than a thief.”
I blush, then I laugh. “Okay, just don’t get mad when you get the credit card bill for that trip to Hawaii I booked, complete with matching Louis Vuitton luggage.”
Jake laughs again. “You’re not the type for LV luggage.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks. His Highlander looks interesting, almost like root beer, of all things. “What the hell is that?”
“Two ounces Japanese sake, two ounces of Scotch whisky, and the rest is Coke over crushed ice,” he says, lifting the clear beer mug. “Basically a Duncan Macleod, but we use real Highland scotch, so we renamed it.”
I nod and take a sip of mine. It’s fruity, with bright highlights, and I can already tell I’m going to have to go easy on it. I’ve got work in the morning, and I’m not supposed to be going home with Jake. “Damn, this is good.”
“Thank you. I had a hand in making it,” Jake says, sipping his mug.
“Did you? And did you have a hand in the drink the first night too?” I ask, and Jake shakes his head.
“No, wish I could say I did. The name alone is nice, though, don’t you think?”
I laugh as I take another sip of my drink. “It certainly makes memories. And the club?”
“Nathan and I had an architect help with the details, but we chose most of the layout. I wanted something different from the average club.”
“It’s one of the nicest I’ve ever been in,” I say honestly. “Nothing like Trixie’s.”
Jake takes a slow sip of his Highlander and sets it down, raising an eyebrow. “Trixie’s?”
I nod. “The club I used to sing at.” And shake my ass like nobody’s business. “It was my favorite place back home.”
“You’re a singer?” he says with some surprise. “You’re just full of little talents, aren’t you? What kind of music?”
“Nothing anymore,” I say, feeling the pain in my chest that comes with talking about it. Those days are gone. Despite Mindy’s encouragement, I haven’t given much thought to singing. But looking over the railing of the VIP lounge at the stage, I feel that same longing and admit to myself that there’s a void where singing used to be in my heart. I force myself to look away, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I stopped when I went back to college.”
“Why?” Jake asks, leaning forward. “I can see in your eyes that you practically want to run down there right now and grab a mic.”
“Yeah, well,” I say softly, shaking my head, “I didn’t think it was right that I wasn’t really making any money doing it and instead was mooching off my mom and stepfather. I thought it was time to move on, support myself.”
Jake nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Let me ask you, which makes you happier, singing or working at Franklin?”
“Singing,” I answer without even pausing for breath. “I don’t care what. Rock, pop, just about anything but country. But . . . like I said, I’m done living off someone else, Jake.”
Jake hums, then finishes the rest of his drink. “Mind singing something for me? Call it . . . call it your penance for accidentally stealing my wallet.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I haven’t sung in so long, I’m pretty sure my voice would crack. I don’t want to burst your eardrums. I thought I killed you once as it is.”
Jake chuckles. He looks like he wants to press the issue but doesn’t. Instead, he leans back, crossing his hands over his left knee. “Point taken. For now, but I’m not giving up just yet.”
I’m almost tempted to say that I could maybe sing a little tonight, but before I can, Nathan comes up the stairs, cursing and yelling into the air. “I told you to check the fucking hidden costs, didn’t I? In fact, I remember specifically telling you, ‘No way in hell should you sink your money in this, Titus. It’s a golden turd.’ Now you’re calling me to bitch that you’re losing money? Get the fuck outta’ here!”
“You guys been friends long?” I ask as Nathan heads off to the other end of the VIP section, where I see a laptop on one of the tables there.
“Since childhood,” he says. “He moved into the neighborhood when he was nine, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
“He certainly has a way with words.”
Jake chuckles. “That he does. Not always to his benefit.”
I nod, smirking. “I think his first few words to me were sleazy broad, and I’m sure fuck was in the first sentence.”
Jake swallows, looking embarrassed. “Was it? I’ll have to talk to him.”
I shake my head, waving him off. “I was running out of that back room. He had no idea who the hell I was.”
Nathan comes over, his eyes twinkling in curiosity like he’s waiting to be introduced.
Jake gives him a head nod. “Nathan, this is Roxy. She brought back
my wallet. Not bad for a sleazy broad, huh?”
Nathan looks abashed, but he laughs. “You’re right. Roxy, I apologize. My mouth gets the better of me sometimes. I looked at the video, and I promise you, if that asshole who tried to drug you comes in, he’s gonna find out I haven’t forgotten the old ways from the neighborhood.”
I offer my hand, and Nathan shakes it, then kisses my knuckles. “I like this side of you a lot more than the first impression,” I say.
“Of course. You know—” Nathan says when suddenly, there’s a crash down below. A drunken woman decided that Club Jasmine’s chairs were just perfect for her recreation of The Pussycat Dolls’ Buttons dancing, and she’s knocked a table, a waitress, and a bunch of other stuff onto the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Excuse me.”
Nathan heads for the stairs, talking loudly in a juicy Bronx accent that I’m sure has plenty of people quivering in fear even as I try to hold in my laughter. “You know who he reminds me of?”
“Who?” Jake asks, and I laugh again. “No, really, who?”
“Joe Pesci. Like, how he looked in Goodfellas. Like Nathan would totally be at ease carrying a baseball bat right now.”
“Oh, don’t give him any ideas,” Jake says, chuckling. “Nathan’s a genius when it comes to making money, but there’s a reason he’s not working for a firm. He tried working for Goldman Sachs right out of college and ended up getting fired.”
“Why?” I ask, and Jake laughs.
“One of the Vice Presidents had a proposal, and Nathan told him in his typical manner that he disagreed with it. When the VP decided to defend himself by saying that one of the Seven Dwarves shouldn’t be worrying about what real men said, Nathan decided to get even. By the time Nathan was done, the VP was crying. I still don’t know how he didn’t get arrested for that one.”
“Damn, and you’re business partners with him?”
Jake laughs. “Don’t let his foul mouth fool you. He's sharp as a blade when it comes to running a business.”
I nod, intrigued. “Well, maybe I underestimated him then.”
“So, how long have you been working at Franklin Consolidated?” he asks me, changing subjects. “I decided not to pry.”
“For almost a year. I recently got a promotion, so I’m moving up some,” I say with a touch of pride. “Apparently, I’m decent at something, too.”
“That’s nice,” Jake says. “But no offense, you just don’t strike me as the corporate monkey type.”
“I didn’t think I was either. Before going back to school, I was . . . I was more free-spirited.”
Jake hums in appreciation. “You know, I think I saw a hint of that the other night. Unless you’re in a habit of being that . . . free-spirited.”
At the mention of my behavior on Saturday, I feel myself blush all the way to the roots of my hair, and I scratch at my chin. “Yeah . . . about that. I’m embarrassed about that. I’m normally not that hard up,” I say bluntly, feeling my confidence rising. “I’m usually a straight shooter, but I’m not that forward.” I take a deep breath and blurt it out brutally. “It’s been a while—let’s just leave it at that.”
He watches me intently, like he’s studying me. “I believe you.”
I’m tempted by the look in his eyes. He’s so handsome, so confident and assured, that I almost want to slide across the seat and kiss him. I want him to take me in the back and to finish what we started Saturday night, but Hannah’s right. All business, all business, I think to myself. In desperation, I try to think of something else to say. “So . . . how’d you get to where you are at your age? I mean, you’re not that much older than I am, are you?”
“Probably not,” Jake agrees. “I had a fire lit under my ass after I become caretaker for my sister.”
“Your sister?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Yes, she lives with me. Has ever since our parents passed,” Jake says. He leans forward, and looking at him, I feel like I’m seeing a side of him that few people do, and it’s a side that I want even more than what I saw on Saturday. “I had to grow up quickly.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say honestly, reaching out and patting his hand. “You must care for her very much.”
The conversation flows, the two of us growing closer as we find so much in common. Besides the surface things like similar tastes in music, we both see the world as a place to stand on your own, to make your own mark somehow. I order another Mermaid, but Jake stops me after my second, and it’s with a shock that I realize it’s near midnight. “Oh, wow,” I say, not slurring very much. “I guess it’s time to go home.”
“Come on, I’ll drive you like I said,” Jake says, helping me to my feet. He’s so close, I can’t help it as I press myself against him, looking in his eyes, and his hand falls to my lower back. He lowers his lips, kissing me softly, and I kiss him back, not with the fiery passion of Saturday night but with something truer.
“Jake . . .” I whisper when I step back, biting my lip in torn desire. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever said in my life because I want you so fucking badly right now, but I need you to call me a cab. You’re my boss, and we can’t finish what this starts. We need to keep this strictly business.”
Jake swallows, and I feel his hand pull me even tighter, but he stops and lets me go. With a shuddering breath, he nods. “Okay. I’ll have the staff call you a cab.”
I nod and reach down, grabbing my purse. “Thank you. Jake . . . this is like the best club I’ve ever seen, but I don’t think I should come back here. I think you know why.”
Jake swallows and nods. “I do.”
He calls John the security guy over, giving him instructions. John nods, and Jake turns back to me. “You’re all set. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I am, and yes,” I say, giving Jake a smile. “Goodnight.”
John escorts me downstairs and out to the already waiting cab, closing the door for me. Just as the cab gets ready to pull away, I see the door to Club Jasmine open again, and Jake steps out, giving me a wave. As the cab pulls away and I give him a wave back, there’s something inside me that says this is just the beginning.
Chapter 11
Jake
Strictly business.
Roxy’s words run through my mind as I button up the cuff links of my dress shirt, the early morning sunset peeking in a fiery orange through the window behind me. I finish my shirt and turn around, keeping my eyes directly from the sun but looking out over the city. It’s peaceful, certainly not as bustling as New York or one of those other cities that never seems to sleep.
It shouldn’t really be a problem. Being Roxy’s boss definitely changes things. I can’t even lie about how I’m new in town or that she doesn’t report directly to me. It’d be a problem eventually if we kept seeing each other. But I can’t divorce myself from the way she felt underneath my hands. The images flash in my mind, making my dick swell in my custom-tailored Italian slacks, and I unconsciously reach down to adjust myself as I turn away from the window.
But more than her body, I can’t get over what she told me.
I run my hand over my freshly shaven cheeks, checking for any missed spots as I think about our conversation yesterday. I just can’t get over the look in her eyes when she told me she’d given up her dream to work in the soul-sucking corporate world. It crushed me, and her tiny attempt at salvaging her pride by saying she got a promotion just made it worse. It made me feel for her, not as a woman I’d like to fuck, but as a person I’d like to help.
Here I am, living part of my dream by being able to start my own business, which by every measure is going to be hugely successful, and she has to work a job she isn’t happy with. I could see the spark she has for life is dimmed by it all. And being around her makes me want to reignite it. I just don’t know how.
Saturday night, if I’d heard her story, it would have been easy. Foolish, most likely, but easy. Now, we’re bound by rules. There’s corporat
e protocol we have to follow. And I fucking hate rules. I’ve played by my own as much as I can for my whole life. It’s the main reason I always want to be the one in charge. I know that eventually, my penchant for doing it my own way is going to make enemies if I’m not the one making the decisions. One misstep will have my ass flapping in the wind.
I finish up my grooming, grabbing my suit coat off the bed. The bed is an absolute mess, but my maid will be in here to clean it up. I throw my coat over my shoulder and leave my bedroom. I’ll save the coat for later when I’m getting ready to go to the office.
I walk down the hall and knock on Sophie’s door. She’s been a sleepyhead recently, and I’m not going to let her skip school because I trusted her to get up on her own.
“Get up, Sophie,” I say. “Rise and shine.”
I hear a groan in the room and a creaking bed. Great, she hasn’t even woken up yet. When she doesn’t reply, I open the door and peek in. All I see is a spray of hair sticking out from under the sheet and what looks like her left foot hanging out below.
“Sophie, get up,” I say, tapping on the door. “You’ve got twenty minutes.”
Sophie’s reply is a low, grumbling moan. “Ugh, I’m trying to sleep.”
With no warning, I grab the blanket and sheet near her ankle and yank the covers.
“Ohmygawd! It’s cold, you ass!” Sophie yells, trying to grab the blanket, but I pull it the rest of the way off. Her disheveled hair gives her a stringy, mop-top appearance as she looks up at me with red eyes. She must’ve been up late last night, and I only hope it’s because she was cracking her history books.
“Get up. You have that test, remember?”
“Can’t you just give me a note and call in sick?” Sophie says, reaching for the little decorative blanket over her headboard, but before she can, I snatch it up and throw it out the door. “I fucking hate that class!”
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