by Suzanne Ruby
“Again, sorry. I thought she was a nice girl.”
“Ride, you really are a hopeless romantic. Nice girls don’t sleep with guys like us. And the really nice ones don’t end up screwing us over.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Don’t tell Lydia. Yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m playing dumb on this one. Good thing you never took the bitch’s money. You may be the only one who comes out of this smelling like a rose, fuck you very much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You have supremely bad taste in women.”
“I know. Thanks for deleting her.”
Deleting her. If only it were that simple.
Adam hung up the phone. No point in staying on the line and incurring more of Fabian’s wrath.
In the meantime, he decided to torture himself by turning on the television, to the station he had banned ever since the false reporting of the sexual misconduct claim. Maybe Kirby would show her pretty little lying face on camera.
Instead of Kirby, the grand pooh-bah of false reporting himself graced the screen. But it wasn’t the sight of Wainwright’s bloated face that made Adam want to fucking throw up. It was the opening lines.
“We’ve obtained information that the underground club known as The Deep is a probable front for prostitution, where male escorts labeled as ‘friends’ provide paid-for services to women, upon referral. But the most disturbing plot twist of this sordid tale involves a certain friend named Adam Drake, who was accused of sexual misconduct with a minor a year ago, and who has also been named as the defendant in the theft of two Hermès saddles from his former employer, Becker Farms.”
Adam heard only jagged bits and pieces of the rest of it. A bloody hot rage pulsed through his veins and drowned out the rest, as if he’d come down with the highest fever.
He could feel the remnants of his shattered heart, hear the sound of his own labored breaths.
And smell the charred pieces of his pending job offer in Florida.
* * *
KIRBY SLAMMED DOWN the cup of hot cocoa that had started to console her.
“No, no, no!” she yelled at Seth’s image onscreen. But the little weasel kept talking.
“No charges have been filed on any of the counts, but authorities will soon be conducting a thorough investigation. Meanwhile, Lydia Trussell, owner and general manager of The Deep and its cover club, Deep in the Heart, has not returned our calls...”
Kirby fumbled with her cell phone and misdialed the number of the station before getting it right. The phone practically rattled in her trembling hand as she pressed it to her ear.
None of the extensions answered.
The sweet cocoa-and-marshmallow drink did a U-turn in her stomach, and she fought back the urge to throw up.
Even though her phone had been practically glued to her palm the entire afternoon in the misguided hope Adam would call, she’d somehow missed an email alert from The Deep. Her private session with Adam had been canceled.
She texted him, called him, called the club. She had to convince him she didn’t authorize this report, and that she’d deleted what few notes she had. Seth must have bribed the IT department to give him the backup files to her hard drive.
More than anything else, she had to make him understand how much she regretted keeping everything from him. But her entire being felt bruised and battered from hitting so many proverbial brick walls.
No big surprise, The Deep had also locked her out of her portal, so she couldn’t send him a private message.
Meanwhile, Baby proceeded to lick her bare feet, but the puppy only reminded her of her promise to let Adam be the dog’s forever home.
Taking care of Baby in the first place meant Reese still owed her a tremendous favor, which gave Kirby one last-resort, certifiably insane idea.
She quickly created a new profile on The Deep’s website under Reese’s name, then booked the now-open spot that she’d been denied. She dialed her best friend. Thank goodness she answered.
“I need your help, and I need it now,” Kirby said, launching right into her plea.
“What happened? Did that guy hurt you? Did something happen to Baby?”
“Baby’s okay. It’s about how I’ve hurt ‘that guy.’ I need you to help me make it right. Are you available tonight?”
“Uh. Yes. But first tell me what I’m getting myself into.”
“You’re getting into your prettiest dress and putting on your most serious game face. I’ll explain everything when I pick you up in an hour.”
14
ADAM COULDN’T FEEL his legs moving. Every step was a cold and heavy thud. Like the walk of a dead man.
The red-hot rage that had coursed through his veins plummeted into a deep freeze. It might as well have been embalming fluid. At this point, he needed to pretend everything was fine until he could get to the club tonight. If they’d even allow him inside.
He no longer gave a shit what any of them thought, or how Kirby felt. He couldn’t imagine screwing someone over as badly as she’d done to him. Not Liv. Not Becker. Instead of lashing out, he’d held in the rage and let it destroy him.
For once in his life, he appreciated having that restraint because he didn’t want the one person he cared about to know what had happened. Unless his grandfather already knew.
Adam knocked on the door. No answer.
“Henry?” Adam pounded with more force, all while balancing grocery sacks in each arm.
Even a simple shopping trip took three times longer than usual because every store reminded him of Kirby, and how he had played right into her hands that day.
Finally, his grandfather answered, looking as if he’d been jolted from a nap.
“I told you I could go to the store myself,” Henry said.
“And I promised I would bring a few things by before work. At least until we know you’re in the clear.”
“Well then, come on in. See for yourself. I’m still alive and kicking.”
Glad one of us is, Adam almost said. But the last thing Henry needed was to be burdened with even more of Adam’s problems.
He almost made it to the counter when the bottom fell out of one of the sacks. Canned beans and packaged snacks and everything else spilled across the linoleum. Seemed his life was full of near misses.
More like full-on disasters.
His grandfather surveyed the floor for several seconds before pitching in to put the items on the counter.
“Ritz crackers. Haven’t eaten those in years,” Henry said as he picked up the box.
Shattered Ritz would be more likely.
“I brought some cheese and peanut butter to go with ’em. Makes for an easy snack. Or even a full meal.”
“So that’s what you bachelors eat these days?”
A rhetorical question, no doubt. But the question managed to propel Adam’s thoughts back to last night. The porterhouse steak for two, complete with the burned edges. The slow dance that bordered on full-body groping. The sex that felt more like lovemaking.
Oh, and the ultimate dessert. Betrayal.
“So, how are things going with your lady friend? Should I get my tuxedo dry-cleaned?”
“Don’t bother. We’ve decided to elope,” Adam joked back. But even joking about it wasn’t the least bit funny.
“Fix a plate of those crackers, and let’s sit down and have a chat.”
Oh, boy. Here it comes.
Adam fixed an assortment. Some with cheese, some with peanut butter. Most with broken pieces, and a few still intact.
Henry settled into his regular spot on the tapestry-covered sofa.
Adam placed the snacks on the coffee table in front of them.
Ordinarily, he’d take the wingback chair facin
g the couch. But Henry had an uncanny knack for knowing what was going on without Adam having to say a word, so he settled in next to his grandfather instead. If the man hadn’t seen the broadcast, Adam wasn’t about to alert him to it. Intentionally or otherwise.
Henry reached for a cracker with cheese and seemed to savor it. “What’s going on with you, son?” he asked between bites.
“What do you mean? I’m having this nice dinner with you.”
“I mean, what’s with all those muscles of yours, and those tattoos?”
Oh, yeah. He hadn’t even bothered to cover up the one on his biceps this time.
“Ink is in, Henry. We’re going to get you a tat for your next birthday.”
Henry nodded. “And?”
“And what?”
“Since when did you become a prostitute?”
Damn. Just when he thought this dark cloud would pass by without raining on his already depression-soaked day.
“You saw the broadcast.”
“Yes. And I don’t believe a word of it.”
Against his better judgment, he looked at Henry. He could only imagine how much shame the man would have to endure over this.
“Unfortunately, there is an element of truth to it,” Adam admitted. “Where do you want me to start?”
Henry popped the half cracker with peanut butter into his mouth, chewed it slowly, swallowed and brushed the crumbs from his hands.
“Start at the beginning, son. And look me straight in the eye while you’re telling it.”
* * *
BY THE TIME Adam finished telling his slightly audited version of the “whole truth and nothing but the truth”—from the part where he covered the Liv tattoo, buffed up to the max and decided to sell his body, mind and soul to women for money, to the part where he was unjustly accused of prostitution and thievery, all in the same broadcast—Henry had wiped the snack plate clean and was staring, blank-faced.
“Well? Say something. This is humiliating enough,” Adam said.
“Okay. Why didn’t you get the tattoo of Liv’s name removed, rather than covering it up with a giant horse’s head?”
Now it was Adam’s turn to stare. Out of everything he had spilled, and after every sin he’d been publicly accused of committing, that was what concerned his grandfather?
The man cracked a smile.
Adam burst out laughing, then inhaled a soul-cleansing breath and exhaled as thoroughly.
“I wish you would have confided in me sooner,” Henry said.
“I already felt like such a failure after the whole Becker incident. Didn’t want you to be even more disappointed in me.”
“Disappointed? You get to be the shoulder for beautiful, heartbroken women to cry on, and get paid for it? You’re my idol.”
“Which reminds me,” Adam said as he glanced at his watch, “I need to get to the club. But I’ll wait until I get there to change. You haven’t seen the outfit I have to wear.”
“And I probably don’t want to, come to think of it.”
The atmosphere seemed to stabilize. This was a serious situation, all joking aside. But it already felt easier. Henry knew everything and he was still on Adam’s side.
“What’s your plan going forward?” Henry asked.
“After I get fired from The Deep? Or after I serve jail time for stealing some saddles that I didn’t steal?”
“When and why would you have stolen those saddles? You haven’t owned any horses for ten years. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly. We’re not sure what’s going on. Bernard wants to sue for defamation. Apparently, in addition to this misinformation now broadcast to four million or so people, the allegation appears in print somewhere. And the Beckers are intent on pressing charges or some sort of bullshit.”
“They don’t have a case.”
“They don’t need one. They have an entire legal team. Best of the best. I have Bernard, pro bono. I’m sunk. Suing them will be like throwing rocks at a giant.”
“Well, as you know, you only need one well-placed throw.”
“True.” Except, he wasn’t so sure of his aim on this one.
Maybe they could blow off the current situation, but Adam hadn’t revealed the actual raunchy depths of the club. Wainwright’s broadcast definitely set the stage, but Adam had a feeling more details would come out.
“There’s something else you haven’t told me, isn’t there?” Henry said.
The man was good.
“I probably shouldn’t jinx what’s left of my life by telling you anything else.”
“Not about that. About a certain gal you fixed dinner for the other night. Is there anything you need to talk about?”
She was a client, and I fucked her. And she fucked me over.
Still, he couldn’t bear to tell Henry the most humiliating part of it. Or, how he had absolutely no intention of looking for a nice girl because he couldn’t spot one to save his life.
“Let’s just say, it was over before it began.”
“Why? Did you serve her the packaged hearts of Romaine instead of the iceberg?”
“I bought the head of iceberg. I wanted to stack the odds in my favor.”
That made Henry smile. And it made Adam cringe. That beautiful head of lettuce was still sitting in the crisper.
“You didn’t get around to salad, did you?” his grandfather said.
“Not a bite, Henry. Not a bite.”
* * *
“THIS IS CRAZY. We could get killed,” Reese said.
Kirby pulled into the parking lot, short of the valet, and let her car idle while she talked her friend down from the ledge.
“Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re safe, Reese. Let’s go over it again.”
“Okay. You go first.”
“No. I have to know you memorized the drill. I’ll be by your side, right up until you pass through the red door. And I’ll be waiting outside the back exit when you’re done.”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“No, you’re not. Think of this as a rescue mission. Mine. Now walk me through it.”
Reese inhaled a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. I present the valet ticket to the guy inside the door, and say ‘I have a reservation, and here’s my number.’ He checks me in, and I go to the red door in the back of the club and punch in my ticket number. From there, I leave you behind and enter the foyer, where I will soon meet my maker.”
“No. You’ll be greeted by a superhot blond who calls himself Fabian and he’ll confirm your identity, take your ticket and lead you to a room where you’ll meet Easy Ride.”
“Got it. Then I say I need to go to the ladies’ room and tell him I’ll be right back. I’ll go to the exit instead, and you’ll be waiting outside. We’ll switch places. I’ll give you the wig, you’ll give me the hat.”
“Perfect! Just remember to note the room number so I don’t walk in on somebody else.”
“Oh. Right. What if I forget?”
“Breathe, Reese. You won’t forget. But if you do, I’ll figure something out.”
“For the record, I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I. But I have to talk to him.”
“Oh, my God. What do I do after I exit? I already forgot.”
“Walk around to the front of the building and wait for me inside, but near the front door. Let one of those cute cowboys buy you a beer. It will take the edge off. After I leave, or more likely get kicked out, I’ll retrieve the Volvo.”
“What if they don’t give you the valet ticket or the keys?”
“Then we’ll steal my car.” Kirby produced an extra set and dangled them in front of her friend.
Kirby pulled up to the valet, and the two of them got out. She
tipped her cowgirl hat to the man taking her car, then slipped the ticket to Reese. Together, they walked into Deep in the Heart.
The young man at the entrance was the same one Kirby had encountered. She turned her back and feigned interest in a stuffed moose head anchored to the wall while Reese checked in and paid their cover charge.
Reese grabbed her arm soon enough, and Kirby took the lead toward the back of the club.
The dance floor reminded her of her first night there, and how Adam had rescued her ticket. Looking into his eyes had jump-started her heart. The events that followed awakened every other inch of her, and she had felt alive and beautiful again.
Tonight promised to be very different.
Reese punched in the numbers and cast a desperate please-don’t-make-me-do-this glance at Kirby before disappearing behind the red door.
Kirby swallowed hard, then headed back toward the entrance, past the drunks and dreamers and everyone else who was oblivious to what was happening. If these people had seen the news report, they didn’t act like it. They all minded their own business and enjoyed the music. The thought was only mildly comforting.
She allowed a club employee to stamp her hand for when she returned for Reese, even though she didn’t need a stamp for where she was headed. She needed a guardian angel.
* * *
ADAM STOOD IN front of the fireplace in the back room. Although he had banned the reruns of Kirby’s first night there, they replayed in his mind anyway. Only this time, he could clearly see the agenda she had brought inside with her.
But that was the past, and he’d never let another woman inside his heart again. Ever.
One appointment down, three to go. Then he could go home to his empty house.
No refunds tonight. No rule-breaking, either, personal or otherwise, even though this might be his last opportunity. No doubt Lydia would decide to cut him loose. At least Wild Indigo would be making their decision by tomorrow. That was something to potentially get excited about.
Except the news report had pretty much rendered him impotent—physically and emotionally. He had no desire for much of anything now, including listening to a bunch of sob stories about love gone wrong. Hell, no one could top his latest story anyway.