Past Regrets: Love and Friendship, Book 2

by Shelley Munro

  “And we both know Seymour can’t force me to remain single.”

  She stiffened even further, if that were possible, and swung around to face him. “The way you’re carrying on you might as well take an ad out in the newspaper.”

  Good point. He and the rest of the band didn’t want word to get out about their true identities. “Meet me tomorrow for lunch and we can talk.”

  “I’ll have to work here tomorrow.”

  “You have to eat. I’ll grab something and meet you here.”

  She muttered something under her breath before scowling at him. “Fine.”

  “Good, it’s a date. Since Caleb and I are here, we’ll help. Give us an assignment.”

  She tossed her head, setting her long blonde curls in motion. “Leave.”

  Caleb jogged across the club to join them and obviously heard their last words. “You’ve put your friends to work. What do you want us to do?”

  Julia’s shoulders drooped momentarily. “You’re not gonna leave, are you?”

  “Nope,” Caleb said, grinning in the familiar stir-it-up way he had.

  Ryan remained quiet, happy for his buddy to take the flack. Yep, he’d save the spotlight for a more private time.

  “Fine,” she muttered again—her go-to word apparently. “Go and check out the lighting and the stage for me. Let me know what I need to do to upgrade and improve on what’s there now.”

  “You own this place?” Caleb asked.

  Good job, Caleb. Keep up the quest for information. Ryan knew she did, or rather her mother and friend owned the joint, but he wanted details, fascinated by what he’d learned tonight. He was pretty sure Julia hadn’t mentioned a family business, and she’d had ample opportunity to tell him about her mother. He should feel anger, but he was so damn pleased to see her he couldn’t hold onto his irritation.

  “My mother owns The Last Frontier. It’s been in the family for four generations.” Her tight-lipped voice hinted at her conflict. She wasn’t the prim, uptight type, so he wondered why the club embarrassed her.

  “Cool,” Caleb said. “Do you strip as well?”

  Whoa! Ryan glared at his friend. He didn’t want anyone seeing his wife naked apart from him.

  “I’m a secretary,” Julia said in a tight voice. “I don’t normally work here.”

  Caleb raised his hands in surrender. “Just curious. You never said anything when we first met.”

  Julia’s glare darkened. “You two know about lighting. Give me a verbal report on anything that needs fixing.” She wheeled around and stomped away, the slap of her high heels highlighting her annoyance.

  “Did you have to wind her up?”

  “You wanted answers. I asked the questions for you.” Caleb glanced over his shoulder at a burst of feminine laughter. “I told her friends we were roadies with a successful band.”

  “And?”

  “They adore French Letters. Their words. They wanted to know about Dubois and Beauchamp. Their favorites,” he said smugly.

  At the revelation, a flash of amusement doused some of Ryan’s Julia-related anxiety. “Yeah?”

  “I said they were assholes but weren’t bad singers,” Caleb said. “What? I could hardly tell them Beauchamp was standing right in front of them and Dubois is married to their friend. Seymour would kill us for letting out that info.”

  “You’re a pain in my ass.” Ryan stalked off toward the stage, grinning when he heard his friend running after him. Secretly he was glad Caleb was here, helping diffuse some of Julia’s anger and aiding him as he floundered through unchartered waters.

  “She doesn’t want a divorce.”

  “What?” Ryan swung around to face his friend.

  “She watches you when you’re not looking. You’ve hurt her, but it’s fixable.”

  “That’s your considered opinion?”

  “It is.” Caleb’s seriousness gave way to a grin of pure evil. “Perhaps I should give you an incentive. If you fuck this up with Julia and let her get away, it will clear the way for me. She likes me a little bit.”

  “Don’t even think it,” Ryan snarled, possessiveness roaring through him at the idea of someone else with his wife. “Julia gave us a job. We’d better get to it.” He climbed the set of pitted steps at the far end of the stage.

  “You think I don’t mean it. Julia is a sexy woman. She might be the one to make me settle down.”

  Ryan snorted. “She’s my wife.”

  “Only because you thought of it first.”

  “Because I’m the intelligent one,” Ryan said. “Where the fuck are the lights? It’s dark as hell back here.”

  “Isn’t hell full of fires?”

  Ryan groaned, feeling better than he had for months. Caleb, ever the smart-ass. He felt along the wall with his hand. “Ah, I’ve found some switches.” He flicked them and bright light illuminated the stage.

  He and Caleb exchanged a look.

  “I wonder how the acoustics hold up.” Caleb warbled a few notes of a current pop song. “Nice. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “We get a place to practice that’s out of the public radar, and I get to hang out with my wife.”

  “Good plan.”

  “I liked it,” Ryan said.

  “What about Julia’s friends? Won’t they wonder why we’re playing music?”

  “We’ll tell them we got the bug and are starting our own band. Besides, we’re working on new songs. If we play an oldie, they’ll just think we’re doing a cover.”

  Caleb smirked. “I never knew you were so devious.”

  “Whatever it takes to win back Julia,” Ryan said.

  Whatever it takes.

  “Julia! Where did you meet two roadies? They’ve worked with French Letters,” Christina said, excitement making her bounce around like a kid. The motion set her multitude of bracelets jingling.

  “Did they say how long they were back in Auckland before they head off again?” she asked in an attempt at casual.

  Christina and Maggie both stared at her. “Don’t you know?”

  “We’re getting a divorce. It’s none of my business,” Julia said.

  “He doesn’t want a divorce,” Maggie said. “I think he’s cute.”

  “Connor, your wife is lusting after my husband,” Julia shouted.

  Maggie clicked her fingers in Julia’s face, her satisfaction veering close to smugness. “So you admit he’s yours. I thought as much.” She sobered. “Was he the father—?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that,” Julia snarled, her teeth bared in a heart-pounding flash of rage. “And if you tell him I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Maggie’s humor faded and she backed away, her hands held up in a gesture of surrender. “Julia, I’d never do that to you. I’m sorry I mentioned it. It was a bad joke. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Anguish filled Julia then, the feelings she’d tried to stuff in the pockets of her mind jumping front and center. The fury at Ryan, at herself for the loss of their child. The accursed guilt that never seemed to go away. Why had Ryan crashed back into her life? She’d started getting herself back together, and now that he’d appeared every bad memory seemed brand new again. She sucked in a breath, battling the need to blubber. God, she was turning into a crybaby. Her hands clenched the clipboard like a lifeline.

  She wondered how long Ryan was back for this time. French Letters was doing well on the charts. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before they headed off on tour and her life could return to normal.

  Julia’s glance hit the stage and landed on Ryan and Caleb. Or as normal as it could be for the manager of an ailing strip club.

  Chapter Four

  “I need to check in with Susan and get the staff meeting underway.” Julia strode away from Maggie.

  Have you no shame, woman? Stop looking at his ass.

  The vibes from her skeleton staff weren’t encouraging, but she pinned on a friendly smile. “Thank you
for coming,” she said, studying the faces of the women clustered around the bar. “I’ve gone over the books and thought about our situation, and this is what I propose. We’ll close for two weeks while we do a facelift on the place.” She ran through the rest of her plans for the club. “While the club is shut I’ll need help with painting and some of the other stuff. I’ll also do rehearsals for stripping and burlesque. Before you go tonight let me know if you want to keep working here or if you intend to hand in your notice. Any questions?”

  “What about pay?” one woman asked.

  “Those who come in to help and turn up for rehearsals will receive their regular pay.”

  “I can’t survive without my tips,” the woman said.

  “From what I saw last night, tips are few and far between,” Julia said briskly. “I’ll pay your base wage. Once we open again I hope we’ll bring in more punters, and everyone will receive tips.”

  “A facelift is all very well.” The woman’s weary features held challenge. The heavy lines fanning from the corner of her eyes and mouth hinted at a hard life. Her voice rasped with the undertones of a heavy smoker. “But why the hell should we trust you? You’re young. A secretary, I hear. What the hell do you know about running a strip club?”

  Julia met the woman’s gaze and understood she’d need to prove herself, to respond to the opposition. Wheeling about, she caught Ryan staring. A ripple of awareness shot the length of her body, irritating the hell out of her. She didn’t feel anything for the rat. She. Did. Not.

  She stalked over to him. “Cue some music for me, please. Can you manage that?” Her voice was icy and held distinct challenge. She held back a tiny snort of amusement at her behavior. Bitch, anyone?

  “Anything in particular?” Ryan asked without missing a beat.

  “Something up tempo.” Julia made her way onto the stage, aware everyone was watching her. The women on the staff nudged each other, most still wearing their belligerent expressions. To them she was the interloper, the daughter who thought she could fix everything—the educated ‘ideas’ person who excelled at theory but had no field experience.

  The first strains of a rock ballad flooded the club, one of French Letters’ top ten hits. How apt. Julia didn’t give into the temptation to glance in Ryan’s direction. The wretched man knew this was her favorite song. He’d sung it to her one night after they’d made love, their sweaty limbs still tangled together. The song—it held memories.

  Julia closed her eyes to absorb the beat of the music, then opened them again as past experience came to the fore, placing her firmly in the stripper mindset. She grinned, arching her back and gripping the pole in front of her for balance. Gazes fastened on her swaying body and followed the subtle twists of her shoulders, her hips, shooting prickling awareness through her. Ryan was watching her. She faltered for an instant.

  Concentrate, stupid. This is about proving your point.

  The length of her leg slid along the pole as she gripped it and tipped upside down. Confidence flooded her again, and she moved fluidly, as if she’d been dancing all along. Gliding sinuously to the French Letters’ tune, she righted herself and winked at the gawking group, changing the mood of the dance into fun and flirty.

  She strutted away from the gleaming pole, her fingers trailing up and down the placket of her blouse. One by one, she released her buttons, slowly revealing her curves, working it. A shoulder shrug here. A hip roll there. A few minutes later, her expensive blouse hit the floor.

  A sharp whistle cut the air. Connor smirked at her while Maggie rose on tiptoe to clap her hands over his eyes.

  Julia continued, determined to prove to her employees she knew what she was doing. Each move was sensuous, calculated and designed to enflame those watching the act—both male and female. The removal of her trousers wasn’t elegant, but she did her best, fluttering her eyelashes and pursing her lips at her audience. The fabric slipped down her legs, and she stepped free. Thank goodness for the wide-legged style.

  Unhindered by clothing, she sashayed back to the pole, her breasts heaving with exertion. She went through another sequence of gyrations, twisting and turning, dipping and arching her body into positions designed to entice. Entertain.

  As the music passed the climax and slammed to an end, she upped her pace, spinning and hugging the pole, flowing into some of her showier tricks. Julia used the music and when it crashed into the finale, she held her final pose, chest rising and falling rapidly, blood rushing through her veins.

  Silence fell.

  Julia slid from the pole, scooped up her shirt and trousers and sauntered back to face her employees in just her matching lacey underwear. She was aware of the pleasure flooding her body, the buzz of exhilaration. Although she’d walked away from the occupation, it was obvious—to her at least—that showmanship ran through her blood. Her father’s family had told the truth. She was as common as her mother.

  A round of applause broke out, her friends leading the charge.

  “Any questions?” she asked crisply, purposely refraining from checking Ryan’s reaction.

  “I’m in,” Maggie shouted from the left. “Lessons and everything.”

  Julia scanned the faces, homing in on the woman who’d challenged her. “Do you have any other concerns?”

  The woman shook her head slowly, poker face firmly in place. “You’ve surprised me, and that doesn’t happen often, but I’ve got kids to feed. I can’t wait around until you get the club running again.”

  “Fair enough.” Julia wasn’t about to argue. She needed a team who stood behind her in everything. Men and women who were open to change and new ideas, because that’s what it’d take to get this club back to the stage where the punters queued, willing to wait to gain admittance.

  “If we hang around while the club is closed, are we guaranteed our jobs?” It was the barmaid, and she sucked noisily on a lollypop while she waited for an answer.

  “I might decide to reshuffle positions,” Julia said without hesitation. “Everyone will receive training, and I’ll assess your strengths and weaknesses—”

  “If you intend to do any of that touchy-feely shit businesses do to bond their staff, I’m out of here,” the barmaid said.

  “That’s your prerogative,” Julia said.

  The lollypop bulged in one cheek. “Huh?”

  “She means you need to make up your own mind,” one of the strippers murmured.

  “If there are no other questions, you’re free to go. Please let Susan know if you intend to continue with your employment here or, if you prefer, you can stop by tomorrow morning and let me know. Those of you who wish to remain, please arrive at nine tomorrow morning. We’ll work office hours until the club reopens.”

  “You can pull your tongue in now,” Ryan said with a glance at Caleb. “And get your eyes off my wife’s ass.”

  “Wow,” Caleb said. “Did you know she could do that?”

  “No,” Ryan said, torn between wanting to stare hungrily at her exposed flesh—because she hadn’t pulled on her clothes again—and wanting to rush over and cover her long limbs and torso with a… He glanced around for something suitable. Maybe a curtain would do the job. “My wife has hidden talents.”

  “I’m only going to Tauranga for the weekend,” Caleb said.

  Ryan ripped his gaze off Julia to stare at his friend. “What? Why? You told your parents you were going for an entire week.”

  “This is way too good to miss. Besides, I want to help. They’re going to paint and stuff. We can do that. We can help sort out the lighting and the stage props, and since you already have so many songs done, we can get a head start on the arrangements.”

  “One condition,” Ryan said, turning back to watch Julia. God, she was so beautiful. He’d already known she was bright and intelligent, but now he was seeing it in action, and it was damn sexy.

  “What’s that?”

  “You stop flirting with my wife.”

  “Nope,” Caleb said. “I�
��ve decided I have a thing for troublesome women. I need to keep you honest. Besides, if she kicks your sorry ass to the footpath, I want to be on the spot to grab my chance.”

  Ryan snorted rudely. “Julia is mine, and I have the marriage certificate to prove it. We’d better finish our assignment and make ourselves indispensable, otherwise both our asses will leave skid marks along the pavement.”

  “You know we could help her out with finances,” Caleb said.

  “I’ve thought about offering money already, but I don’t want to hurt her pride.”

  “We can offer to pay for rehearsal space.”

  “Yeah, that might work. I’ll run the idea past her tomorrow.” He considered Julia’s sexy stage routine and began to smile. “I have an idea for another song. Two, actually.”

  “Spill. Wait. It’s not a ballad is it?”

  “One of each,” Ryan said, excitement pounding through him. This was a way to help Julia, something concrete to assist her with the club—a special theme song by French Letters. There must be a way to swing something so the band wasn’t outed, because he wanted to help.

  Caleb started playing with the lights, testing the different spotlights and the color filters. Ryan watched with a critical eye.

  “I don’t think she’ll need to do much with the lighting. The wiring and everything looks good,” Caleb said, after peering into the switchbox and prodding a few things.

  “The curtain and some of the props they have back here need renewing. They’re tacky and old.” Ryan tapped a large metal birdcage, big enough for a person, and a cloud of dust rose. He backed away before he sneezed.

  “You want to report to Julia?” Caleb asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan appreciated Caleb giving him space and the opportunity of a few private words with her. He practiced what he’d say in his mind while he searched the club for her. He ran her to ground in the stock room where she was doing an inventory of the booze with one of her friends. “Hey.”

  “Damn, that’s bad timing,” the friend said. “I was about to grill her about you.”

  “Why don’t you ask me?” he asked.