Rhythm

by Gem Sivad

  Rhythm

  Smoke, Inc.

  Gem Sivad

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Summary

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt Taboo Frequency, Smoke, Inc.

  Excerpt Cowboy Burn, Smoke, Inc.

  A Note from the Author

  More Books by Gem

  Summary

  Rhythm, Smoke, Inc. 3

  As far as Smoke, Inc., CEO, Marty Jones is concerned, although he’s only thirty-eight, the meaningful part of his life is over. He has only one pastime that brings him joy—dancing. That usually often requires a partner, a willing body; some woman he doesn’t want to know.

  To participate in a charity dance-a-thon, Marty meets the contest requirements by hiring a dance partner from Baby Doll’s Escort Service.

  Underneath all her quirks, serial job-hopper, Holly Smith is a tough, no nonsense, kind of woman. She doesn’t date, has two friends, and concentrates most of her time and energy on restoring the old house she bought at auction. She has one form of fun—dancing. When her best friend asks her for help, she agrees to play partner to a local CEO at a charity dance-a-thon.

  What could go wrong?

  Copyright

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only and may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Rhythm

  Copyright © 2017 by Gem Sivad

  Kindle Edition

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. Manufactured in the United States of America.

  Published by Gem Sivad, LLC

  Cover Design: Kristian Norris

  Editor: V. N. Johnson

  Sivad, Gem (11-30-2017). (Smoke, Inc.)

  Gem Sivad LLC.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to firefighters, smoke jumpers, and hotshot crews from all over the world. To all the men and women battling the deadly wildfires currently raging up the US Pacific Coast Line, thank you all for your courage and strength. God Bless!

  Find the beat…

  Chapter One

  Marty Jones

  When I boarded on the twentieth floor, a steady beat of pain danced above my right eyebrow, a thumping ache filling my head. At least today I had the elevator to myself.

  After I’d begun getting weird looks over my obsessive rides, I’d announced I was evaluating the building’s security system. Not that its anyone’s fucking business. So, okay, sometimes I need a little self-therapy. Make that, often. I don’t know shit about running a big company. But, dammit, I’m running a big company.

  So, lots of times I board the elevator for a little sanity time. Smoke, Inc. is twenty floors up and if I push multiple buttons to slow the ride, I usually have a grip on my senses by the time the doors open on ground level. As for the elevator itself, there aren’t any real problems other than, in my opinion, the doors are open too long when the car stops on each floor, and the piped-in music must go.

  I had a pile of paperwork waiting on my desk, Elaine, my office assistant, threatening to stay after clock-out-time to help me with it, and Noah March, a friend in hell, on his way to my office to make my life more miserable.

  Shit. I had to get my paperwork done because I live in my office and no way do I want to entertain Elaine in my after-work hours. But my administrative assistant, secretary, or old harridan, whatever name fits her, knows I don’t want her hanging around and uses it to get work out of me.

  Jesus, I’m such a fucking pussy. Resentment rose inside of me. I did not ask for any of this.

  Unpleasant realities and my own short-comings had me grinding my teeth when I arrived on ground level. I braced myself for the inevitable company, and when the doors opened, I automatically stepped back, making room for incoming. Instead of entering the car and moving aside, the passenger stood between me and the buttons on the wall. I liked to look at the buttons. It helped me calm down.

  Without shoving the body sideways, I couldn’t see squat. That, plus the insipid piano music droning from the hidden speakers, made the vein in my forehead pulse even harder.

  “Twenty,” I growled and got nothing more than a nod. So much for reminding my fellow passenger he wasn’t riding alone. Denied the control panel, my interest switched to the person standing in front of it.

  Maybe not a he. The knit cap pulled low left no clue about whether the wearer was man or woman. He/she fidgeted in front of me, as if feeling my stare. Tough shit, you should have moved. I leaned on the back wall and crossed my arms over my chest, analyzing the intruder.

  There was a time when men wore the jeans and women wore… womanly stuff. I pondered that. A lot of things had changed and most of the time I felt like a whale beached in the middle of a four-lane highway.

  I could feel my blood pressure rising and stared harder at the passenger. Denim jacket and jeans offered the same gender anonymity. Thick wool socks pulled high under laced-up work-boots completed the unisex outfit.

  Male or female? And why do I care? Nevertheless, my gaze trailed upward, stopping when I reached hip high. Long legs ended where a nicely rounded ass began. Woman.

  Who the hell is she? I hadn’t seen her during my recent elevator escapes. She was either a new hire in one of the offices or a visitor/client just here for the day. I leaned against the back wall speculating about the newbie. Probably heading up to one of the insurance offices.

  Since she didn’t move, I continued my inspection.

  Nice coat. Though it had spots worn shiny with age, it still looked good, fitting her shoulders and tapering in enough to hint at a narrow waist beneath, before it eased out again. I approved the sheepskin lining as I pondered her identity. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, she stepped from the elevator.

  Huh. Didn’t see that coming. Surprised, I gazed at her as her long strides carried her toward Baby Dolls Escort Service. While I watched, her feet did a little skip as her shoulders swayed to a private beat. For once I didn’t mind the extended length the doors stayed open.

  Guess she’s one of Maxine’s girls. Renting office space to an escort service in the company’s old building had been a financial decision. Smoke, Inc. had needed the money coming in and Baby Dolls Escort Service had needed a business headquarters.

  After the old building burned, it had seemed only fair to offer the former tenants space in the company’s new digs. That, like the elevator music, might have been a poor decision. I pondered yet another one of my possible mistakes on the way up. Elaine stood outside the elevator, ready to grab me as soon as the doors opened.

  “You have two courier messages on your desk. Since Noah March delivered one of them and refused to wai
t outside, he’s in your office, too.”

  I would have preferred a root canal. Playtime over.

  “Cancel the elevator music contract as soon as it comes up for renewal, tell security to make the doors shut faster, and call Maxine to get me a dance partner for the dance-a-thon we signed up for this month.”

  Elaine put-on her cranky face. “You could just invite someone you actually know. Like a woman. On a date.”

  When I ignored her suggestion, she added, “I’ll ask Gable Matthews to take care of it.”

  “That’ll work.” I plastered on a genial smile and said, “Specify tall,” as I headed for my office.

  Holly Smith

  Big. Man. Alert. I’d pretended to pay no attention to him, but being neither oblivious nor blind, I hadn’t missed the behemoth wearing a frown and lurking in the corner of the elevator. After I’d turned my back, I’d wished I hadn’t since I could feel his gaze, marking a spot between my shoulder blades.

  I hurried from the elevator as soon as the doors opened, resisting the urge to shake my booty at tall, dark and grumpy. I was in a good mood and he wasn’t changing it for me. As soon as we met in her Aunt Maxine’s office, I asked Megan, “Who’s the tall guy who rides the elevator up?”

  “Which tall guy?”

  “The one taller than me by a half a foot.” Given my own height, that should have limited the possibilities.

  “Probably works for Smoke, Inc. They’re all big men and when they’re not out on a job, they’re up and down all day.”

  “What’s Smoke, Inc.?”

  “Fools on parade,” Megan grimaced. “If it’s dangerous they’ll do it.”

  I didn’t wonder until later how she knew and why she cared.

  Chapter Two

  Holly

  Three weeks later

  Triple-digit damn. I’d been sitting on the edge of the cab’s seat, leaning forward so I wouldn’t crumple my dress, feverishly gripping a twenty in one hand and my dance ticket in the other when we arrived at my destination. I paid the driver and hopped out. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize I’d left my purse inside the cab until the taillights disappeared.

  Way to go, Holly. Can’t wait to see what’s next. At least I had the dance-a-thon ticket in my hand. Otherwise I’d be stranded outside in the cold.

  I frowned. I’d need a ride at the end of the night, or money to pay a cab…and I had no phone since it had been inside the purse. As soon as I entered the building, I turned away from the beckoning lights and music to walk down a dark hall instead.

  At least the office is open. A youngish man with big ears and a small smile sat behind a desk. He didn’t invite me in or look encouraging. Nevertheless, beggars can’t be choosers.

  “I left my purse in the cab dropping me off. May I borrow your phone to call the company?” It wasn’t a trick question, but the way he studied me I wondered if I’d lapsed into Klingon.

  “The office phone is unavailable. Business only.”

  Right. Of course. I looked around. Not a lot happening tonight. Maybe not most nights. “Would you have a personal phone I could use?”

  He waited again, then produced a cell phone from his pocket.

  “Thanks.” I called the cab company. The dispatcher said he’d let his driver know to look for a purse and phone. Okay. I gave him Megan’s number to call in case he found it. I also called Megan. She didn’t answer. The entire harebrained scheme having been her idea, it would have been nice if she’d hung around to make sure all was well.

  “It’s easy money. Just show up and forget about everything else. There’s never been a song you can’t dance to. You’ll be fine.” Megan’s assurances didn’t resonate now.

  Girlfriend, you owe me big time. I felt totally stupid being Marilyn Monroe. The platinum wig itched. So did the spot where Marilyn’s black beauty mark decorated my lower left cheek. And, under their heavy gloss of red, my lips felt stiff. Zombie woman dressed in glamour.

  An older guy in a suit walked in. The kid gave me the snake-eye, indicating it was time for me to get out. I handed back his phone.

  “Thanks.” Okay, showtime. I left the office and retraced my steps back down the hall to the arched door leading into the ball room. On my right as I entered, a stage had been erected where a DJ tested his equipment.

  I headed that way. The music man had set up an el-shaped table arrangement with speakers, mixers, and stuff I couldn’t identify. The microphone though, I recognized. I climbed the three steps to the stage and crossed to where the DJ sat looking bored.

  “Could you announce Marilyn’s here?” At my request, the DJ spoke into the mike. “Marilyn Monroe’s looking for her hook-up…every sexy inch of her.”

  It wasn’t quite how I’d phrased it. When he flipped a switch and a spotlight surrounded me on the stage, I twitched my jacket closer over my chest and squinted out over the floor.

  It wasn’t much more than a moment before a cowboy came to the edge of the elevated platform, and held my arm as I climbed down, which was nice. The steps were shallow and my heels high. I appreciated the help.

  As soon as I hit the floor, he dropped my arm, walked away, and motioned me to follow. Okay. If this was my partner, we were going to have a problem. Also, our outfits didn’t match. I winced when I looked at his boots, already anticipating painful toes if those leathers miss-stepped. My eyes traveled upward to settle on his butt. Uh huh. That part of him looked fine.

  We arrived at our table and it became clear the cowboy wasn’t my dance partner. His very own cowgirl waited for him and frowned at me. I guess she’d seen me ogling her partner’s ass. I gave her a sheepish look and mentally clocked on.

  “Hi. I’m Marilyn. Nice to meet you.” I smiled at the cowboy couple and batted my fake eyelashes. The woman part of the couple waited expectantly for me to fill in the usual social blanks. When I didn’t, she assumed the role of hostess and introduced herself.

  “I’m Dale Evans, tonight, and this is Roy Rogers, a.k.a. Gable Matthews. My real name is Harley-Jane Arthur.”

  “Soon to be Matthews,” the cowboy added and possessively slid his arm around her shoulders. He wore a Stetson, plaid shirt, jeans, boots, a huge belt buckle, and a wide smile. She wore a western style vest and skirt, both fringed, and a long-sleeved plaid blouse matching her significant other’s.

  “My friends call me Janie.” She hugged the guy at her side and laughed. “I told you we’d look dumb.” She poked Gable in the chest and gave me a wry grin. “He won’t dress up like anything but a cowboy, and I’m willing to compromise since I like fringe.”

  “Roy and Dale,” Matthews growled. “Here to dance.”

  It seemed clear Gable didn’t care for the contest rules. Participants had to dress in fifties-era costumes. Megan had filled me in on the requirements before the event. I nodded understanding at him. My costume made me into something I wasn’t, which was okay with me, but not everyone’s idea of fun.

  “You should dance. I’m sure my partner will be along sometime soon.” I smiled without volunteering more personal information.

  I didn’t introduce the real me because these were not people I’d ever see again, and hopefully if we met, they wouldn’t recognize Holly Smith as the fifties-era blonde bombshell who’d shared their table.

  The Couples Only sign made it clear I couldn’t dance alone, so, leaving, seemed like the only reasonable option. As if he’d read my mind, or my face, Janie’s cowboy offered an update.

  “Your dance partner’s running late. He’ll be here soon.”

  How late was late? It was already 7:15 p.m. on a Friday night. My expression, no doubt, reflected impatience.

  “You’re on the company payroll, tonight.”

  “Company?” The sign on our reserved table read: Smoke, Inc. Oh yeah, the elevator ride and Megan’s ‘fools on parade’ comment came back to me. Adrenaline junkies who get paid for danger.

  “Private fire fighters. I’m a mechanic.” Gable downplayed the danger but
if Janie’s frown was indicative, she didn’t care for his job.

  “You work for Maxine, long?” he asked, changing the topic to me.

  “First dance gig,” I answered glibly, then settled back ready to become invisible.

  After an initial, awkward beginning, I shifted on the chair, bored and wishing I had my phone. I could have read a book or ranted in text at Megan.

  After I made it clear I didn’t intend to get friendly, my table partners, for the most part, talked to each other. They were sweet together. He straightened her collar. She patted his arm. They sat hip-to-hip on chairs pushed close.

  I read somewhere a couple’s compulsive touching indicated lots of sex. If the suggested predictor was accurate, Gable and Harley-Jane went at it like rabbits.

  Not wanting to be a voyeur, I quit watching the table’s occupants to study the room. There weren’t many people on the dance floor. If I could, I’d join them, but of course, the big bad sign written in bold letters, declared that to be an absolute no-no.

  Couples Only. What a crock… I dance by myself all the time. When I work at home, I always have the music on for background, and more often than not, I end up dancing through most of my projects.

  “You two should go on and have some fun,” I urged them again. I wished they would, so I could be alone and not worry about being polite.

  See that’s the flaw in Megan’s escort advice. At some point, you’re expected to be nice on cue. I had nothing in common with these people, and my date, still to be met, might be a complete troll. The later it got, the more I wanted to leave.

  “Nope.” The cowboy didn’t offer explanation, but his girlfriend rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, how’s this for the truth. If I can’t dance, I want to leave.” I scowled in frustration at my tablemates and clamped my mouth shut on more words fighting to get loose. Because I’d agreed to help a friend, I found myself sharing a table with Roy and Dale. Delightful as they were, with no dance partner in sight, it was time to say good night.