by Lucy Leroux
“We get asked that daily,” the waiter said. “I’m afraid you can’t buy it anywhere. The owners order a few cases for friends and family, but that’s it. The hotel doesn’t sell it by the bottle, although it may at some point. It’s that popular.”
“Hmm. Thanks anyway,” Jason said, turning his attention to his partner when the other man shifted into his “alert” mode.
Ethan didn’t sit up straighter or even move that much, but they had been partners long enough that Jason knew he’d spotted something. “Is it her?”
“Yes, and she’s got a friend. A really hot friend.”
Jason turned to see his curly-haired goddess with another tall brunette. The new one was a stunner too, possibly her sister. Both girls were dressed to party in short skirts and sparkly tops.
Those were not hotel uniforms.
“I guess you were right. She must be a guest.” That was disappointing, but it was the kind of luck he was having with women lately. “Well, at least I can ask her for dinner before she leaves Boston.”
“It’s possible they work here and changed in the locker room to go clubbing. We should follow them. Maybe she won’t spot you as the coffee attacker in a dark club.”
Jason ignored him and stood up, prepared to go over to Maggie now so he could apologize. It was better to get it over with as soon as he could, especially if her time in town was limited. Before he could make it around the table, a man appeared out of nowhere. He was tall with closely cropped black hair, and he was wearing a suit that cost more than Jason’s car.
The man beckoned the girls to him. Jason frowned when they greeted him warmly. Exchanging a glance with Ethan, Jason said, “I wonder if that is Liam?”
The waiter from his earlier query heard him, noting the direction of his gaze as he was wiping the table next to them. “Oh yeah, that’s Liam all right. And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, don’t bother. Liam doesn’t let anyone near his girls. Not unless you’re a millionaire, and—” He broke off and checked out their clothes and shoes. “Sorry, I just don’t think you have a shot.”
With a little smirk, the guy went back to the bar just before the mysterious Liam handed Maggie a piece of paper. He leaned in to say something to her. She nodded and tucked the paper in her purse. The girls then turned and headed for the main doors with a wave.
Jason kept his eyes on the pair as Ethan came up behind him.
“So are we calling it?” his partner asked.
Jason turned to narrow his eyes with a hot glare. “Fuck no. Let’s go after them.”
Ethan laughed and shook his head. “Nothing brings out your competitive side like being told it can’t be done.”
“Don’t spend this all in one place,” Calen McLachlan said, handing over a handful of red-embossed VIP cards. “And don’t forget to give Liam his.”
Maggie beamed at her brother’s best friend and took the cards. Calen was such a doll, a man completely at odds with his dangerous reputation.
Most people thought he was a criminal or worse. His father was an important figure in the Irish mob, but Calen had never been a part of it. He’d been a surrogate brother for most of her life. Despite being nearly as overprotective as her two biological ones, Calen was, on occasion, capable of listening to reason.
Tonight was the one-month anniversary of his newest club opening. Siren had been a madhouse from opening day, and it was only now that Calen felt it was calm enough for her to come and party with her friends. His VIP cards granted instant access to all his clubs and came with complimentary bottle service and other perks for an entire year. They were highly sought after.
“Does Peyton get one of these?” Her best friend should have been back from the bar but, knowing her, she had been waylaid by some random guy trying to attract her attention.
“Of course she does. In fact, she gets two so she can sell the other one to pay her rent like last year.”
Maggie blinked. “You knew about that?”
One corner of Calen’s lips lifted in a dry grin. “I did. Every card has a number. When one of those numbers turns up outside our circle, I know about it. If Liam isn’t paying her enough, she can come work for me. I always need people with computer talent.”
That would have been weird coming from a club owner, but Calen owned a string of them in addition to a slew of other investments, including shares in her family’s hotels. As the event coordinator for the Caislean chain, she often worked with him and his staff when certain functions required an edgier vibe than the hotel could provide.
Organization and a fair amount of ruthless determination were the keys to Calen’s success—not that she ever saw that side of him. She only heard about it.
“I don’t think Liam will let her go,” Maggie replied, aware of the irony of her words.
Her best friend was madly in love with her oldest brother. Peyton would have fought to stay at Liam’s side, even if it meant running his errands and fetching his coffee. Luckily for everyone involved, her sometimes obtuse brother had recognized Peyton’s tech skills and put her to work behind a computer ages ago.
Unfortunately for Peyton, Liam saw her as another little sister, one who needed to be smothered with overprotective acts at every turn.
Calen scowled. “Well, the next time her dad drinks away her paycheck, have Peyton check with me about some side work. A good programmer is worth their weight in gold.”
Maggie raised her brows. She didn’t know how Calen got his information, but it was always spot on. “You haven’t told my brothers he fell off the wagon again, have you?”
“No, but I should. It wouldn’t take much to get Donnie back into rehab. I wouldn’t even need to get Liam involved, you know. One word from me and he’d go like a shot.”
That was an understatement. Donnie, Peyton’s dad, was scared shitless of Calen and her older brother Liam. They had made their opinion of him clear while in their teens—forcefully. He was afraid to cross them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try to go around them.
Donnie mistakenly thought her other brother Patrick was a pushover, but he didn’t know Trick would happily go backwoods on his ass if only Peyton would agree to it.
Maggie scratched her head, contemplating letting Calen intervene…but she couldn’t encourage him. “I wish you would, but you know how she is about the douchebag. She wants to handle it on her own.”
Calen’s dark glance would have scared a lesser person. Maggie just gave him a purple-nurple.
“Hey!”
“I’m serious. I know that look on your face. Just leave it alone and let her deal with it. She’s not stupid. Peyton will call in reinforcements if she needs them.”
“Fine. Do you have the specs for the Chinese envoy’s bash?”
“Right here,” she said, whipping out the card her brother had given her earlier.
He studied the numbers and peppered her with questions about her plans until Peyton and her other girlfriends made it back to their private booth. One of them pestered him for an introduction to another VIP table full of men. One was a Russian cultural attaché named Mikael, who was currently staying at the hotel. After Calen had indulged her, he left to check on the manager.
Maggie had interacted with Mikael as part of her job. He made no secret of his interest, but she had a strict no-fraternization policy with the guests.
I may have to rethink that, she thought eyeing the handsome Russian. Between her overprotective brothers scaring off every man who approached her, and her busy schedule at the hotel, Maggie never got to meet eligible men. If she didn’t have these regular girls’ nights out, she would never leave the Caislean.
On that note, it was no doubt a bad idea to make this her regular nightspot. No doubt, Calen had his security staff keeping a close eye on them. But what made it a difficult place to meet men also made it a low-risk environment.
Maggie recognized that in many ways, she’d been sheltered and cosseted by the men in her life. However, it wa
s hard to begrudge all that they did for her—not when their care overlapped her to her friends. Especially Peyton. In her opinion, her best friend needed someone like Calen or one her brothers in her corner. But that was another story…
Despite her early enthusiasm, as the night wore on, Maggie’s opinion of Mikael the Russian nosedived. Like so many highfliers, Mikael had an overdeveloped sense of male privilege and entitlement, one that became more apparent the more he drank. She’d just removed his hand from her backside for the second time, surreptitiously waving away one of the VIP area’s security guys.
Dancing with the girls was a much better way to rid herself of an unwanted suitor. Too many men found an outright challenge from another man a reason to pick a fight, and Mikael seemed like that type.
Unfortunately, her belief that she could shake him on the dance floor proved naïve. She had just given him a scathing set down that he likely didn’t hear over the music when he put his hands on her ass for the third time. She pushed them off and spun on her heel to stalk away—and into the waiting arms of the gorgeous blond from this afternoon’s disaster.
“Coffee Guy!”
Coffee Guy’s grin was worthy of a toothpaste commercial. “I used to call you Coffee Girl. It’s Maggie, right? My name is Jason—Jason White.”
He looked over his shoulder, and the twinkle in his eye disappeared. As she watched, those baby blues grew ice cold as he eyed Mikael, who was stumbling behind her, his hands groping her backside as he caught up to them. Jason took her hand and guided her to his other side protectively so the other man couldn’t touch her.
“Thank you for keeping Maggie company, but I’m here now so you can go,” he said in a louder, much colder voice.
The Russian swore at him gutturally, reaching out to grab her wrist with a move she dodged. In one fluid move, Jason stepped in front of her.
“She’s leaving with me,” Mikael slurred.
Jason’s answering smile left Maggie breathless. No man had ever looked more dangerous—not her brothers, not Calen. No one.
Oh, crap. This was precisely what she’d been hoping to avoid. Maggie put her hand on Jason’s arm as the two men sized each other up. Mikael was taller with bulging muscles, and he had the added bravado that came with significant alcohol impairment.
But despite his adorable horn-rimmed glasses and slimmer stature, she instinctively sensed Jason was a greater threat. It was a flash of insight with no real evidence. To the outside observer, the Russian would be the obvious winner in a fight, but Maggie somehow knew with absolute certainty that Jason could and would destroy the larger man.
Except it didn’t appear as if it would be a fair fight. Lining up behind the Russian were not one but two tough-looking bastards, Mikael’s private security detail. They wouldn’t be armed—Calen screened extensively for hidden weapons, but the heavy-set bruisers could do a lot of damage without weapons. On top of that, a crowd was gathering, forming a wall of flesh around them. She and Jason were effectively penned in with the irate Russian and his men.
Okay, being independent is one thing, being stupid is another.
Maggie started scanning the crowd for Siren’s security men. She thought she saw one at the edge of the dance floor, but the crowd that surrounded them kept him from getting close. Blinking rapidly, she was trying to decide what to do when another man came up on their left. She recognized him; she’d seen him with Jason at the coffee shop. The newcomer whipped out a leather folio, flashed a badge at Mikael and the men behind him, and said something in Russian.
Maggie’s grasp of the language was poor, but she still caught the words for “drug” and “search”.
Michael sneered and drew his head back. His response used some of the more colorful Russian swear words she did know, but he backed off and left the dance floor. Disappointed, the crowd dispersed. Most went back to dancing without missing a beat.
“I could have handled that on my own,” Jason told to the newcomer over the music.
“Two maybe, not three. Besides, having a partner means not going it alone.” He turned to her. “Hi, I’m Ethan. Where’s your friend?”
Maggie took in the bulging biceps and his cocky grin. This one was trouble. “Which friend?”
His grin was hot and flirtatious. “The other leggy brunette. Her hair is straighter than yours. Your sister, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Best friend, Peyton, and I don’t see her. You’d have better luck with Shelley,” she said, pointing out her other friend. Shelley, a sultry blonde, was talking to one of the club’s regulars, Lisa, a woman who frequented the hotel.
Ethan took in Shelley’s barely there red dress and wrinkled his nose. “I’m going to find Peyton.”
She didn’t want to tell him that even if he found her, his chances were next to nothing, so she let him go without further comment. Maybe the well-built officer would do the impossible—turn Peyton’s head away from her brother.
When she looked back at him, Jason was watching her. Maggie bit her lip, hesitating, but she had a good feeling about him. Crooking her finger at him, she led him to a cozy booth in a darkened corner of the club away from all the dance floors.
“By partner, did Ethan mean you have a badge to match his… or is he your lover?” she teased as he sat next to her.
Jason laughed aloud—an excellent sign. Instead of answering, he took something out of his pocket and flipped it open for her. She squinted at the shiny gold badge. “The bureau has a satellite office a few blocks from the cafe. I’ve seen you there a few times and have actually been trying to figure out a way to say hello…so, hello.”
Coming from any other man, she would have dismissed that line for the cheese it was, but coming from Coffee Guy, it sounded brilliant. Feeling drunk despite not having had a drop, she let Jason monopolize her for the next hour. When she realized how much time had passed, she was ready to go in search of her friends. At that moment, a waiter delivered a cocktail and a beer with a message written on a napkin.
I’m living vicariously through you, so don’t even think about cutting this one loose. Enjoy the drinks. Calen paid. ;)
-Peyton
Giggling, Maggie put away the note. “Well, I guess my girls’ night is a bust.”
Jason grinned. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day—possibly all month.”
His smile was infectious. “Well, I was lured out tonight with extravagant promises of having the best time by dancing until I dropped.”
He stood and held out his hand. “Let me see what I can do.”
The next day at the office, Jason found a strangely subdued Ethan.
“Guess who has a date tomorrow night?” Jason crowed as he sat down at his desk.
His partner’s lips compressed. “I take it all went well after I left?”
Jason leaned back into his office chair with a grin. “It did indeed—at least by my definition. Since the night didn’t end in my bed, it would be a fail by yours. But I’m happy.”
Ethan’s expression darkened, and Jason frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased I finally got off my ass and got the girl—without humiliating myself in the process.”
Ethan ran a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t get me wrong. I am glad you finally made progress. Maggie’s a looker. So are her friends, especially the one who wouldn’t give me the time of day…but didn’t you notice the vibe at the club?”
“You mean the guy hassling her? The Russian? Of course I noticed him. But he didn’t bother us after that scene on the dance floor. I made sure she got home safe without any interference. Put her in a cab at two myself. Did you turn up something on him?”
His partner nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did, under the name Dolohov, which I got from the bartender. But the stuff was small time—a little innuendo from Interpol. Nothing solid.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Ethan wouldn’t be making an issue of this without a reason. He wasn’t the type to yell smoke without a fir
e.
Jason’s brow rose as Ethan sat up and looked around, checking to make sure none of the other agents were close enough to overhear him.
“Well, I was trying to get Maggie’s friend to dance. She was shooting me down. Not a big deal. I don’t push when the lady isn’t interested—although I admit it doesn’t happen all that often. But in this case, it was pretty fucking revealing.”
“How so?”
“The security staff. I noticed them clocking us after the thing with the Russian, which was normal. But they kept tabs on both of us for the rest of the night.”
“Good security should do that,” Jason pointed out.
“Yeah, but they generally don’t. However, last night they kept multiple guys on us. I don’t blame you for not noticing, you were busy, but they made themselves visible when that Peyton girl shot me down. It was like they were getting ready to jump me. The only reason they didn’t is because the girl signaled them to stand down. The whole thing was kind of fishy if you ask me—especially when I found out who owns that club.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“I doubt it,” Ethan said. “Do you remember that rundown we got on all the local organized crime syndicates when we first transferred? One of the major players was a guy called Colman McLachlan, Irish mob. His son, Calen, owns Siren. This is his picture.”
Ethan turned his monitor toward him. The photo was of a fit dark-haired man in his late twenties. Jason recognized him from the club. It was the guy who’d handed Maggie something—the one who had kissed her cheek and hugged her before taking off for parts unknown.
“Knowing someone shady doesn’t mean anything. Maggie is a good-looking girl who hangs with others of her kind. Clubs give preferential treatment to hot women—especially when they travel in packs. Their presence encourages men to come in and drop wads of cash at the bar,” Jason said aloud, mulling it over.
He suspected his partner was trying not to roll his eyes when he asked, “So you saw this Calen guy all over her too?”
Jason threw a pencil at him. “It was barely a kiss, and it was on the cheek.”