by T. L Smith
Demure was less a nightclub and more a lounge bar with a decent-sized dance floor. It oozed opulence and chandeliers which cast a glittery sparkle across the space. Everyone was dressed elegantly, and bottles of champagne flowed between those sitting in private booths. Opting for where the singles would more likely congregate, I headed to the bar and took a seat.
The bartender, hot, sexy, sculptured body and chiseled jaw to boot, appeared in front of me almost instantly. He eyed me with his ‘çome fuck me’ eyes, and while he didn’t make me ache between the legs like Hawk did, there was certainly an interest to see beneath his tight black shirt.
“Meeting anyone?” He raised a brow.
I smiled because he had that effect on me, and hell, it was better than shedding tears for a man who couldn’t even respond to a simple work text.
“Not that I know of... yet, anyway.”
“Then let me be of service to you.” There was no denying the innuendo. “What can I get for you?”
Hawk Carnage.
“An apple martini, please.”
“Ahh... a New Yorker,” he gently teased while pulling a glass from the shelf.
“I am, don’t hold it against me.”
“I love New York,” he said with a wink. He set about making my martini, and I set about watching his muscular arms shake the shaker from side to side.
He poured my cocktail and waved me away when I went to pay.
“First one is on me,” he said while moving to serve other guests. Swiveling on my stool, I took in the view. This place was packed with beautiful people. It was a place Hawk would fit in perfectly. He might even acquire a few more models for his collection.
Jesus... could I at least try and go ten minutes without thinking of the man.
Before I knew it, I was four apple martinis down. Plus, a tequila shot—the bartender, now known as Xavier, did with me.
“I get off in ten,” he said, leaning against the bar. He’d been great company, endless flirting, cracking jokes and ensuring my glass was always flowing.
“Lucky I have a spare seat next to me.”
With another wink, he set off to finish his shift, and I went in search of the ladies’ room. My bladder was screaming blue murder, the urgency real. Demure was abuzz with patrons, and I had to navigate my way through the crowds who were starting to dance to the sultry music. A man stood back not knowing I was cutting a path behind him and he bumped into me causing me to collide with another hard body on my left.
“Oops, I’m so—” I went to apologize before my nose caught the scent of something too familiar.
It can’t be, I assured myself, but dread consumed me. Looking around the room, I couldn’t see anyone I knew. Brushing it off, I continued, until the scent grew stronger and stronger with each step. Still nothing.
For fuck’s sake, I thought, even when I’m south of the country he still haunts me.
I had to pass through the dance floor to get to the ladies’, and just as I was about to step onto the carpet a hand wrapped around my wrist. I was jolted, almost flung back, until I collided with the person nabbing me. The scent was stronger than ever now. It was a cologne I used to love, but now I found it simply unpleasant and overpowering.
I looked up to meet the narrowed glare of Roman Hopheart.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I mouthed a little too loud. “Why are you here?”
He recoiled like I’d slapped him. When I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, he only tightened his grip. “My sentiment exactly. Why are you here?”
“I’m here on business,” I bit back, again trying and failing to yank my arm away.
“Oh really? And is it your business to follow me around?”
My blood boiled. “Don’t flatter yourself! Seeing you here has, in fact, ruined my perfect night. So thanks very fucking much.”
Roman’s eyes traveled the length of my body, and I felt repulsed by his unwanted attention. “You get a foul mouth when you’ve had too much to drink.”
This time, I pulled my arm away so hard I elbowed the person behind me. “I haven’t had too much to drink. Now, if you’ll—”
A woman approached, looking all blonde, red lips and thick eyelashes. She wrapped her hands under Roman’s arms and around his torso, not at all concerned I was there. All I could do was raise my eyebrows in question, the rest of my face showing the level of disgust toward him.
“Don’t fucking judge me,” he attacked. “Like you’re so fucking innocent. I’ve seen the way you and the bartender were flirting and carrying on. I don’t suppose Hawk would approve.” His eyes moved to my hand which was now void of any fake engagement ring. “Oh...” he continued, suddenly amused, “... trouble in paradise.”
Baited by his mocking tone and already pissed off, I unleashed. I took a step forward until I was right in his face, the blonde bimbo having stepped aside, probably frightened I would tear out her hair extensions.
“You know what, you filthy fucker, I do have a right to judge. You fucked my best friend only months before we were due to marry. Neither of you assholes in your self-righteousness apologized for the betrayal, and then you had the nerve to invite me to your shitty wedding so you could do what? Rub my face in your fake happiness? And then only hours after saying your vows, you find it almost impossible to control your tiny dick and end up fucking the bridesmaid only a hundred yards from your wife and your guests. And then...” I was on a roll, “... and then you claim I’m obsessed with your pathetic ass and was watching you fuck the bored redhead, who I might add, was yawning the whole time and was probably wondering if you had even stuck it in. Pa-lease. When I saw it was you, I practically vomited in my mouth. And now here you are, claiming this as a business trip but really screwing Miss Piggy here and for what? So, you can pass on some syphilis to make yourself feel better? You make me sick, Roman. In fact, you did me a favor by cheating and leaving. Otherwise, I’d have ended up with your catalog of diseases.”
I turned my attention to the woman who did remarkably look like a human version of Miss Piggy. She was blinking so hard I thought her eyelashes were about to fly off. “And a piece of advice for you... unless you want your vagina to fall off, I suggest you pay a visit to your doctor.”
And with that, I turned and left, feeling a long-awaited sense of victory.
Chapter 21
Britta
“Fuck, my head...” I groaned while shielding my eyes from the light filtering through the bedroom window. There was an incessant pounding in my brain courtesy of too many martinis. After unleashing on douche-bag Roman, I hit the bar once more joined by Xavier, the sexy bartender.
Xavier!
My breath caught in my throat and tentatively I turned to the space next to me to see if I’d made any questionable and regrettable decisions last night. When I saw the sheets still tucked in, I gave a relieved sigh. I’d made it out alive and intact, my decision-making ability still strong even after a few.
A sudden trilling sound cut through the silence, scaring me half to death.
“Bloody...shit...!” I breathed, looking frantically around the room until my senses kicked in. The hotel phone on the nightstand was ringing. The call ended before I had a chance to pick it up, plunging me back into silence. My heartrate was galloping when I fell back onto the pillows, squeezing my eyes closed against the throbbing in my brain. Moments later, the phone reared back to life.
I lunged for it, almost knocking it off the nightstand.
“Hello,” my broken voice barely made the one word.
“Ms. Valentino, your driver is waiting out front.”
If my heart had been galloping before it was thunderous now. I broke out in a cold sweat. “Wh... what’s the time?”
“Quarter past ten, ma’am.”
Fuck!
Practically throwing the receiver onto the nightstand without so much as a thank you, I sprang from the bed and ran into the bathroom before seeing my horrific reflection in the mirror.
“What the hell happened to me?” To say I’d been hit by a freight train was probably an understatement. My hair was sticking out at all angles and was matted to other areas, and I’d obviously gone to bed without removing my makeup because I was now wearing mascara on my chin.
Throwing myself into the shower, I scrubbed and washed until I felt like I had at least somewhat of a blank canvas to work with. Tying my damp hair into a bun, I applied some fresh lip gloss and changed into a pencil skirt and blouse. Returning to mirror, I was pleased with the outcome. Not bad for five minutes. But I was still late. Late to a meeting I wasn’t prepared for.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at the Renshaw San Antonio headquarters. Greeted at the door by the receptionist, I was quickly ushered to the elevator and down the hall to the conference room where six men, all in suits, sat frustrated and impatient. I had kept them waiting for forty-five minutes.
“I’m terribly sorry for being—”
“Ms. Valentino?” Peter Renshaw looked at me, confusion riddled over his face. “What are you doing here?”
I scanned the room, and four other inhospitable faces all waited for my answer.
“Well... if I’m correct, we have a meeting.”
Renshaw shook his head and stood from his high-backed leather chair. “You would not be correct unless of course, Hawk Carnage is planning on walking through that door any minute now.”
“Um...” Shit was getting real awkward fast. “No, he won’t be. It’s just me. Hawk is still in New York.”
Renshaw was pissed, and as he looked around and spoke with the other men, it was clear they were too. I stood in the threshold feeling like a fool, not knowing what to do.
Why had Hawk thrown me in the deep end like this?
“Ms. Valentino,” Renshaw addressed me, rebuttoning his suit. “I’m sorry for the trouble of you flying down here, but you’re not needed.”
“I’m sure we can discuss whatever it is that needs discussing, and I’ll report back to Hawk as soon as—”
“This matter concerns Hawk Carnage and Hawk Carnage alone. He made a strict promise he’d be here, so unless he’s given you permission to discuss the finer details for the sale of Carnage Lingerie, then I’m afraid we have no business with you.”
“I’m sorry... the what?” I asked, dumbfounded, even though I was sure I’d heard correctly.
“And judging by your reaction, I’m certain you will not be able to assist us. Goodbye, Ms. Valentino.”
“This way, please,” the receptionist appeared at my side once more and gestured for me to follow. I glanced at the five men once more, rocked to my soul, and... angry. But their faces did nothing to quell the sense of unease churning my stomach. And it had nothing to do with the eight apple martinis.
“Pick up your damn phone!” I demanded angrily while I paced up and down the length of four spare chairs at the airport waiting lounge. After an unsuccessful night of initiating contact with Hawk, and not receiving any answers or explanations, I was more than pissed.
It was the next day, and he still hadn’t been bothered answering my calls or even sending a simple message. I decided to call Sara, who at least was in the same state.
“Have you heard from or seen Hawk?”
“No, I haven’t. He hasn’t been into work.” There was a strange tone to her voice but didn’t inquire.
“If he happens to grace you with his presence, can you please get him to call as a matter of urgency?”
“Yes... um... sure.”
“Sara?”
“Yes?”
“Should you be telling me something?”
“Um... I’ve got another call coming through. It could be Hawk. I’ll talk to you—” She ended the call, cutting herself off.
“What the hell is going on back there?”
Frustrated, I continued the pacing, wracking my brain for answers but drew a blank.
Why was Hawk in talks with the Renshaw’s to sell the lingerie line? He’d never even hinted at such an idea. It was his baby.
It was his baby... excellent choice of words there, Britta.
Inheriting one baby and selling another. Perhaps Celeste’s sudden reappearance with a bun in the oven had sparked all this. But the timeline simply didn’t add up.
The boarding call was announced over the speaker, and I made my way over to the gate. Settling into my first-class seat, courtesy of Hawk, the hostess placed a glass of champagne and the New York Times newspaper on my table. The plane was safely in the air when I finally picked it up, willing something to take my mind off Hawk.
I glossed over the articles only to read the same political garbage that seemed to be on repeat. It wasn’t until I turned to page ten that something caught my eyes. The heading read ‘Lingerie Giant Accused of Assault.’ Holding the newspaper to my face, I studied the picture. My head grew light, stomach churning when I saw who it was.
It couldn’t be.
I didn’t want it to be.
I tried to read the article, my mind battling to absorb the information.
It read:
‘New York based Lingerie Giant has been accused of assault. The alleged offense occurred in one of the bedrooms, at what the victim has described as a frat-like party. Hawk Carnage, the owner of Carnage Lingerie, is facing charges of indecent assault and possible rape convictions. The victim, Rita Waltsworth, filed the complaint last night at the downtown district police headquarters. The red-headed beauty, who works as a head-hunter for large corporations, has told the New York Times, she’s only seeking justice, so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.’
The article continued, but I was on the verge of being sick. Lowering my head between my legs, I attempted to steady my breathing. My entire body was trembling, but it wasn’t cold on the plane. My heart was further breaking when I didn’t think that would be possible. I could hear the hostess talking in the background asking if I was okay. I could feel her fingers touch me gently on my back, offering comfort on what would have been a standard, perfectly smooth flight. Yet, all I had was one thought on continual repeat. Taunting and jeering.
Why was everything suddenly spinning out of control?
ARMED WITH THE NEWSPAPER rolled up in my handbag, I drove to Slate’s house. He always had the best advice, and never shied away from giving it. That’s what I needed, someone to take the lead and safely direct me through this shit storm. When I pulled up, I saw Ricky and Harry were also there. I didn’t need to ring the doorbell because the door was ajar, their voices filtering out. What I did notice because it was rare, was that there was no laughing.
I walked down the hall, my heels clicking slowly on the polished wooden floor. As the sounds echoed into the living room, the conversations ceased. Emerging from the hallway, I stared at the serious faces belonging to my three brothers. I took a few more steps and paused, retrieved the newspaper from my handbag and dropped it on the coffee table open to the page of the incriminating article.
“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?”
They looked nervously at each other, and I was just about ready to crack.
“Who the hell is this woman?”
“We only know her as Rita,” Ricky began. “When she arrived at Jarod’s party, she claimed to know Hawk. You know those parties were guest list only, but her whole face lit up when she saw him, and when I asked how she knew him she said they had a casual fling going on once.”
“So, does Hawk actually know her?” I asked, thinking of all the times she magically appeared and on every single occasion Hawk was in the mix.
“No,” they all said at once.
“So, let me get this straight...” I began. “This chick started popping up everywhere, claiming she and Hawk had a ‘thing’ going on. Was quite happy to place herself in his path. Was more than happy to throw herself continually at him, and then... she claims he sexually assaulted her at Jarod’s ‘frat-like’ party when she practically mauled him in front of everyone. Is everyone followi
ng me?”
They all nodded in agreeance.
“So...” I continued, collapsing in a single sofa chair, “... has anyone seen Hawk? Is there any validity to this story?”
“There’s no validity,” came the rumbling voice that had been evading me all weekend. I looked up to meet his penetrating glare. “And I would have thought you of people would know that.”
Was this a challenge?
I’d rise to it.
“I don’t know what I know anymore, Hawk. I haven’t exactly had the best forty-eight hours either.” I stared at the man who still made me throb between the legs, who still set my heart aflutter, and now who still broke it every time I saw him.
“Well, let me set the record straight, Britta.” Hawk stepped forward out of the shadows of the room he was in. His attention solely targeted at me, and I felt another three sets of eyes flicking between us. I looked at my brothers, who other than Slate, were puzzled by the intensity between us. Slate knew all this time. “The record is that there is no record. I don’t know of this woman and I sure as fuck would have remembered if I had indeed... fucked her. She came into my life the same time you saw her throw herself at me. And since that point, she’s continued to make her presence known. She didn’t care who saw her get rejected, she didn’t care if she made a fool of herself. And I can only wonder why that would be the case. It was like she put on a show every time.”
“Forgive me for being ignorant, but you didn’t exactly know about the other little situation, and you indeed did fuck her.”
Hawk’s jaw twitched. He was angry, and I would bear the brunt of it, especially if I kept prodding.
“The other situation is none of your concern.”