by Rayna Vause
A host stood at a podium outside of the alcove. He smiled as Jack approached. “Good evening, Mr. Whitman. How can I help you tonight?”
“I’m just stopping in to see our resident psychic.”
“Chris is with a client right now, but he should be wrapping up any minute.”
Jack nodded toward the divider. “I’ve been hearing excellent reports.”
“Yes, sir.” The host’s smile broadened. “So far the people seem to love him. We’ve got quite an impressive list of appointments for the evening.”
“Appointments? We’ve only been open for a week.”
“Demand has been so great we’ve had to implement a scheduling system. We want people to enjoy the club, not stand in line all night.”
“Really?” Jack suppressed an amazed bark of laughter. Takes all kinds. “How long ago did they go back there?”
“It’s only been a few minutes. If you’d like, I can let him know you’d like to speak to him when he gets a break.”
“Thank you, but I’ll introduce myself when he’s finished. I want to listen in for a minute or two.” Without waiting for a response he stepped into the shadowed corner next to the alcove. The club noises faded as he focused on the sounds from within. A nervous feminine giggle trilled, and a rich, melodic voice grabbed his full attention.
“Take my hand, close your eyes, and think of your question.”
Chris’s voice slid through him, carrying him back to that long-ago night filled with both pain and pleasure. The night he’d sent his brother to jail. The night he’d shared a kiss, best forgotten, with Chris Vincent. Get a grip, Jackson. You’re his boss. Remember that. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, rolled his shoulders, and went back to eavesdropping on the session.
As he listened to the reading, he could sort of understand the psychic’s popularity, especially with the ladies. Chris soothed them, joked with them, and flirted shamelessly.
Jack clenched his jaw to the point of pain. He had the crazy urge to march in and yank Chris out of there and away from that woman. He stiffened with realization, and cloaked himself in professionalism. Chris sounded like one hell of a showman who could easily sucker in CW patrons with his sexy voice. He might be a moneymaker, but the Whitmans did not make money by scamming customers.
Jack stepped back over to the host. “I need to interrupt Chris’s schedule as soon as he’s done with this client. I’ll be waiting at the end of the bar.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man’s eyes went wide, and he nodded so fast, he reminded Jack of a windup toy.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack saw Chris’s client rush from behind the screen, a smiling ball of excitement. At least he seems to be making positive predictions. That’s one point in his favor. The host rushed over and stuck his head into the alcove before returning to his station.
Jack set down his drink and straightened to his full height as he waited for Chris to step into view.
He froze, breath huffing out of him at his first sight of Chris. Tall, lean sex appeal walked toward him. Short, jet-black hair shone with hints of blue in the flashing lights of the club. Chris wore a shirt like you’d see at a renaissance fair. It opened at the neck, exposing a long white column of throat and smooth chest. Snug black pants hugged his slim hips and toned thighs. Jack stared as Christopher Vincent, sex on a stick, approached him.
Jack reached to straighten his tie, only to realize he’d taken it off and left it in Angie’s office. Instead he straightened his collar, sucked in a slow breath, and struggled to get his heart rate under control.
“Jack. Or should I call you Mr. Whitman? You are my boss, after all.”
“Jack is… fine.”
Chris smiled at him, but the smile had a hard edge to it. “So, you wanted to speak with me.”
Chris’s voice wrapped around Jack, sending sparks careening through his system. Electric blue eyes studied him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. A long silence stretched between them because Jack’s ordinarily reliable brain refused to function, and words escaped him.
Chris tilted his head and gave Jack a slow once-over. “Jack, are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” For the first time since he’d gone through puberty his voice cracked. What the hell is wrong with me? He cleared his throat and tried again, but his cool, corporate persona deserted him. “I’m good. It’s nice to see you, Chris. It’s been a long time.”
“About five years, I think.” Chris offered his hand. “How have you been?”
The touch of Chris’s warm, calloused palm sent flames licking up Jack’s skin and dancing along his body. He fought the urge to tug the man closer and rediscover his taste, his scent. Get it together, man. He dug deep and, at last, found his professionalism and resolve. He straightened his suit jacket and rolled his shoulders. I am in control here.
He schooled his features—at least he hoped he had—and dove in. “I don’t recall Angelica ever mentioning that you are psychic. I thought that was just your mother, so what exactly is your game?”
“Excuse me?” Chris jerked his head back, his blue eyes flaring wide.
“No disrespect, but we both know psychic predictions are a load of crap.”
Chris raised his brows as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I’m only saying while it’s a neat trick you have, reading people like you do, we both know there is nothing paranormal about it.”
“Have you ever had a psychic reading before?”
Jack mirrored Chris’s stance. “I wouldn’t waste my time or money. No one can see into the future. ESP, tarot cards—it’s all bull. You’re scamming our customers, and I’m not comfortable with that.”
Chris went rigid, his remarkable eyes sparking with anger. “Excuse me?”
“I know Angie thinks you’re amazing, but I’m not convinced a psychic is appropriate entertainment for a Whitman property.”
Chris barked out a laugh without a trace of amusement. “You’re unbelievable. Is everything about your precious image?” He shook his head, then glared daggers again. “You don’t know a thing about me, but you’re going to stand here and call me a fraud. Nice. You know what? Go ahead and fire me.”
“Listen I’m only—”
Chris whipped up a hand to stop Jack from speaking. “You can be righteously indignant on your own time.” He paused, then glanced across the club toward the executive office. “On second thought, if I’m being let go, I want to hear it from Angelica. She hired me. She can be the one to fire me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a client waiting.” He pivoted and marched off.
Jack’s mouth worked but no sound emerged.
He clenched his jaw, lips pressing into a hard thin line. As he watched Chris disappear behind the decorated screen, Angelica strode up next to him.
“Crash and burn, big brother? Do me a favor. If you can’t play nice, then leave my psychic alone. Gnash your teeth and rail against him all you want—he’s not going anywhere. So suck it up and deal.”
Jack growled at her. She merely laughed.
“You’re lucky I love you as much as I do. Come on, let’s go get another drink, and you can tell me that I was six different types of an ass.”
She turned and called out to the bartender.
“Oh, you were at least ten different types,” Jack muttered.
Angelica accepted two flutes of champagne from the bartender and handed one to Jack. He downed the contents, then turned and leaned against the bar. He continued to watch the wall that hid the man who had sent him reeling, in the hopes of catching one more glimpse. He didn’t remember Chris being that confident.
Not many people had the guts to stand up to him, and he kind of liked it. He damn sure didn’t remember Chris being that sexy. He remembered an attractive, if somewhat geeky, guy. He’d never forgotten the one hot moment they’d shared—and then Jack’s life had imploded. Chris Vincent intrigued him and infuriated him and he wanted to know more. Sorry
, Angie, but Chris hasn’t seen the last of me.
IT didn’t seem right that a man as irritating as Jack should be that hot. Could he be that much of a jerk? When their eyes met, Chris’s lungs stopped functioning and the world moved in slow motion. Jack’s perfect blond hair gleamed in the club lights. His tailor-made suit hugged his body in all the right ways. Add in backlighting and a wind machine and they would have had the hot-chick intro scene from a John Hughes movie. Then Jack opened his mouth and everything went to hell.
Chris replayed the unpleasant encounter in his mind yet again, thinking of all the things he should have said but didn’t. Typical. The good comebacks all came after the argument ended. He sighed, fatigue dragging at him. He wanted home, a cold beer, and a hot shower. He needed to wash off the day. He hated opening himself up to people this way. He didn’t like delving into people’s minds and made a point to avoid using his ability at all costs. But, for his mom, he’d do it and deal.
He trudged to his beat-up Honda, then noticed a scowling Angelica standing next to a little red convertible parked at the bottom level.
“Ang, are you all right?”
Her head snapped up and she did a fast scan of the cars before spotting him. Then she pressed a hand to her chest and offered a wan smile. “You scared the heck out of me!”
He started down the ramp toward her. “Car trouble?”
“Some asshole vandalized my car. Slashed all four tires and keyed an offensive message in the paint.”
He stood next to her and took in the angry, white letters scratched into the deep red finish.
“‘Bitch.’ People are so nice, aren’t they? If you’re going to vandalize a sports car, you’d think they could come up with something a little more original. I mean, it’s not something I haven’t been called before, and they aren’t wrong. But I try not to advertise the fact.” She barked out a somewhat shrill laugh. As she smoothed back her hair, her hand trembled.
“Angelica, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, yes.” She waved him off, but he refused to be brushed aside. He just studied her in silence until she broke. “Look, garages, especially late at night, freak me out a little bit. Then discovering some punk kids have had some fun by committing a misdemeanor on my car didn’t help.”
“Have you reported this to the cops?”
“No. It’s just not worth my time and effort, at least not tonight. I’m done, I’m tired, and I’m cranky. I want to go home and get some sleep. You should too. I’ll call Jack to drive me home.”
“It’s three in the morning. I can give you a lift. I don’t mind. Besides, he’s probably asleep already.”
Angelica rolled her eyes. “You really don’t know my brother.”
“I’ve met his type before.” He shot her a side-eyed glance.
“If you’re sure, I appreciate the offer. Honestly, I’m glad I can avoid the lecture that’s sure to come with the ride if I call Jack.”
“Lecture?”
“You know, be more responsible and aware, you need to report this, and where the hell was security when this happened? Blah, blah.” Angelica made a face.
Chris smiled and shook his head. “Where was security?”
“After a certain time there’s only a skeleton crew. Likely the jerk struck while they were doing their rounds of the different levels. I’ll have them check the security feeds tomorrow.” She gestured at a camera mounted high up in a corner.
Chris stifled a yawn. “Come on, I’m parked right over there.” He looked at Angelica’s car, shiny and new, then back at his, dented and dull. He blew out a breath when a knot formed in his stomach. “It’s not much, but it gets me from point A to point B.”
She touched his arm and smiled when he looked at her. “I really appreciate the ride. Seriously.”
As they walked up the ramp to his car, Angelica kept checking over her shoulder. He laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I hate garages too. I’m always sure I’m being watched.”
She gave him a stiff smile and pulled open the door of his gray sedan, then climbed in. Chris followed suit and locked all the doors. A click resounded through the car and he watched Angelica’s shoulders relax a bit. He fired up the engine and eased them out of the garage.
A few minutes later, Angelica broke the exhausted silence. “Look, I want to apologize for what Jack said earlier. He had no business insulting you like that.” She glanced over her shoulder out of the back window.
Chris frowned and checked the rearview. “It’s not exactly an unusual occurrence for someone in my line of work.”
“I know you don’t know him all that well, but sometimes Jack can be an ass. He’s had to be the logical caretaker for most of our lives, and sometimes he takes it too far.”
Except for the times when the responsibility becomes too much for him, and he almost sleeps with his sister’s best friend.
“Sure.” Chris focused on the road ahead. He appreciated Angelica’s family loyalty and all, but he’d been to too many house parties with his mother to mistake what he’d seen in Jack’s eyes. She’d be brought in to entertain the bored, rich ladies, and they’d gladly partake of her services but had no real respect for a woman who worked hard to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads the only way she knew how. He damn sure never expected to be walking a mile in her shoes, but now that he had, he respected her even more.
“I have an idea and I want you to hear me out before you attempt to say no.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Just listen. I want Jack to chill about the whole psychic thing, and I think the best way to do that is for you to do a reading on him.”
A lump formed in the pit of Chris’s stomach, and he clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. He shook his head. “No. Come on, Angie. I need this job. Wouldn’t it be better if I just kept doing my thing and flew below Jack’s radar as much as humanly possible? Actively seeking confrontation is not my idea of fun.”
She squeezed his arm in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Chris, you are amazing at what you do. It’s a gift, and if I can get my brother to even remotely understand that, then maybe I’ll get him to stop harping about how it makes the company look, and we can both live in peace.”
When they stopped at a red light, Chris closed his eyes and blew out a breath. He didn’t want to spend any more time with “Mr. Proper Image” than he had to. He didn’t want to subject himself to Jack’s arrogant, skeptical attitude. “I don’t know.”
“Trust me. Besides, I’m your boss and I say it’s a good idea.”
“Fine. You suck.”
She worked up a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll set it all up. You just have to show at the arranged time and work your magic.” Again, she glanced out the back window.
“Okay, Ang, what’s going on? That’s the second time you’ve checked out the back window. You’ve been on edge since I found you in the garage. Yes, slashed tires and a keyed car would freak me out too, but this seems like more. Talk to me. Let me help if I can.”
“I’m just a little wigged out. I got a strange e-mail earlier this evening. It’s probably stupid spam, but something about the message really got under my skin.”
“What did it say?
“I’m watching you. I’m everywhere. I’ll see you soon,” Angie intoned.
“Creepy.” Chris cringed.
“Right? Add in the car stuff at three in the morning and the creep factor goes even higher.” She checked behind them one more time.
“Paranoia justified.” He nodded.
Angelica shifted in her seat. “Let’s change the subject.”
He glanced at her, noting her narrowed scrutiny. Uh-oh.
“Why did you never mention your abilities to me before?”
He hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. “Ang, please don’t take it personally. Mom, she revels in her abilities. Me, not so much. I wasn’t hiding them precisely; I just
don’t talk about it. And until now I made every attempt to not use them.”
“Why?” She rolled her head against the headrest to stare at him.
“That’s a story that will take longer to tell than we have time for.”
“Hey, true friends shouldn’t need to hide things from each other.” She reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle push.
“Ang, that’s dirty pool and you know it.” He sighed.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right? What’s going on at home, your abilities, why you don’t seem to be sleeping well? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the circles under your eyes, buddy. They get much darker, and we’re going to have to start covering them with concealer.”
He snorted. “I don’t do makeup. You know that. And on that note, I believe this is you.” He parked the car at the curb in front of a townhouse with a yard that a landscaper kept manicured to within an inch of its life.
“Nice stall tactics, my friend. But Chris, sooner or later you’re going to have to let someone be there for you.” She took his hand. Squeezed. “Know that I’m here, and if I can do anything to help you, just ask.”
“I appreciate that. I really do.” He squeezed in return.
When an incoming text sounded, she jumped and squeaked. She pulled her cell out of the pocket on her handbag, checked the message, and frowned.
“What is it?”
“It’s—It’s a picture. But Chris, I’m pretty sure that’s the shoe rack in my closet.”
She handed him the phone. The picture on the screen displayed two pairs of high heels, one blue and one pink.
“Why on earth would someone send you pictures of your own shoes?”
She looked at her darkened house, then back at Chris. “I know it’s late and I hate to impose further, but would you mind coming in with me? If there’s an ax murderer waiting inside, I’d rather not face him alone.” She tried to laugh, but it came out a quivering huff of air.
Knots tangled and untangled in his stomach. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. He didn’t want to say anything that might scare Angie further, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let her go into her house alone. He climbed out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door for Angelica. They stood on the sidewalk side by side, staring at the picturesque townhome. She scanned the front yard and then up and down the street, looking around like a spooked cat ready to jump straight to the sky at the smallest touch. Chris did the same, looking for any signs of a break-in or intruders.