Cashing Out

by Pierce, Nicolette

  His hands slid down my back, down to the swell of my hip, pressing himself against me to feel his hard length. Holy Toledo!

  “This is what you do to me every time I see you, think about you, see the same shade of green as your eyes. I even had an extremely uncomfortable time in the produce aisle one day."

  “Why?” I peeked to see his amused blue eyes and seriously sexy stubble along his jaw.

  “Because I was buying tangerines. I took a sniff and was instantly hard.”

  “How is it my fault you have a fruit fetish?”

  “You smell like tangerines.”

  “Oh. It’s my body wash. Watch out if you take a shower here. You might hurt yourself." I smirked.

  “Funny girl,” he chuckled as he tickled my sides, making me convulse with giggles.

  “Stop!” I begged between gasping laughs.

  He ceased and looked at the clock. “I have to go. Do you promise to think about the wager?”

  I nodded.

  He kissed my forehead before he slipped out of bed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I didn’t think it was possible to fall back asleep after Caleb left, but I did.

  * * *

  “Wake up!”

  I cracked my eyes open to see two large eyes floating a few inches away. I flinched, tossing the covers aside to escape. Realizing I was naked, I yanked the pillow in front of me.

  “Why are you naked in my bed?” Muffin asked.

  “It’s my bed. Why are you here?” I demanded.

  “I need a place to crash. It’s only temporary.”

  “How many days?”

  “Just a few.”

  “What’s a few?”

  “Three hundred and sixty-five.”

  “That’s a year! You’re not staying here a year.”

  “I sublet my apartment to marry my new husband—which I didn’t do because of you.”

  I internally cursed, knowing I did this to myself. I should have never stuck my nose into her business. I should have allowed her to marry that tiny, petrified man; served him to the devil with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

  “How did you get in here?” I asked, wondering how my apartment had become a beacon for unwanted guests. Well, perhaps two out of three were wanted . . .

  “I have a key, remember?”

  “I’m changing my locks,” I muttered. With Frankie letting in strays and Muffin’s reappearance, there was no telling who would come in next.

  “That’s a good idea,” Muffin said. “It’s good to change your locks every once in a while. Make sure to leave a key, otherwise I’ll have to jimmy the lock.”

  She rolled into bed. The springs creaked and groaned under her linebacker frame. She plucked the pillow from my hands and turned over with a satisfied sigh, fluffing the pillow under her head.

  “Muffin, I was sleeping.”

  “Now I’m sleeping,” she muttered, rapidly succumbing to dreamland. “Make sure there’s breakfast,” she added before a snore sawed through the small room.

  I snatched clothes for the day and stomped to the bathroom, muttering a string of curses. I did this to myself, I acknowledged repeatedly. I should have known getting Muffin involved would kick me in the derrière later.

  I glanced at the clock before ducking into the shower. It was eleven o’clock, which meant I had roughly six hours of sleep. With my consistent anger surging in colossal waves, I’d been attempting to sleep a full eight hours. It helps keep the demons at bay. Today, I’ll have to allow a wide berth for myself and take a nap before work tonight . . . and dinner with Caleb. I smiled warmly.

  I knew he was interested and willing to chase what he wanted. I’d be blind not to see something so obvious. Though a part of me was shocked to know just how determined he was. Did he really think the chase warranted so much time and effort, or did he like me more than I perceived?

  The wager.

  It hovered through my mind like a balloon playing in a gentle breeze; never straying far, sometimes dipping in and out, always shocking me with my desired answer.

  An answer that I could never say out loud.

  * * *

  I watched as a tow truck hauled my car away. From my Dirty Flamingo winnings, I had enough money to finally fix my clunker and give Roy money for his broken windows. However, there wasn’t much left over.

  The fight’s five-thousand-dollar prize money would be coming soon, followed by a much-needed vacation. I smiled and called a taxi.

  There’s a casino on the strip I’d been meaning to check out. The Tropical Rain is in direct competition with Greyson’s Lost City. It opened only a year ago, and I heard the management is stellar, giving rewards and extras to their players, making even the lowest-limit-table players feel like they’re in the high-stakes room.

  It was a place worth checking out . . . even though it’s right across the street from Lost City. I doubted Greyson would bother to look out his penthouse window.

  A taxi pulled into the parking lot. I hopped in and gave the driver instructions.

  As I sat back, I wondered if Greyson had received the bill from the lawyer yet. I contemplated his reaction. Everything from hunting me down in a tornado of rage to tossing it into the garbage without a flicker of emotion played through my mind.

  I shook out the images and wondered if David had found Ian yet. Where is he? And why did he send the postcards? There must be a reason. No one sends a person they barely know a pile of random postcards with no messages. I felt as though I should be doing something with them; I just didn’t know what.

  When the taxi stopped at the Tropical Rain entrance, I paid and hopped out. Breezing through the entrance, I was immediately welcomed by the sights and sounds of a tropical rainforest. The high ceiling was painted like the sky, barely seen through the enormous leafy trees jutting out from strategic locations. A waterfall was near the front bar. It was as if I’d stepped into a jungle. A perfect place to hide.

  I wandered through the casino, absorbing it fully. It was perfect. If the play at the tables was decent, this would be it. My place.

  I smiled and nearly hugged myself. I should have tried this place months ago.

  A security guard made his way closer to me. I nearly dismissed the sight of him until I realized he was looking directly at me. I froze, wondering what I did to catch security’s attention. Maybe I’m banned from all decent casinos. How far does Greyson’s influence extend?

  “Nadia Wolf?” the security guard asked.

  I nodded since my words had jumbled as soon as he neared.

  “Please come with me,” he said, leading the way through slot machines until we reached the back.

  Why am I following him? I could refuse and leave. My tight rein on anger began slipping as I thought of the indignity of being led away as if I’d done something wrong instead of what I was doing . . . standing and gawking innocently in the middle of a casino. Did Greyson buy this damn casino too? Can he not leave anything alone?

  “Where are you taking me?” I demanded.

  “To the security office.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why are you taking me there?”

  The guard glanced at me as he held open a door that led to a staff hallway.

  “I’m not going in there,” I said.

  “I’ve been asked to escort you to the security office.” His arm waved through the door as if that was going to make me follow its path.

  I stood rigid. If he wanted me to go back there, it would be by force. I glared, daring him to make his next move. My hand clenched into a fist, ready to strike if he neared. He was on the large, muscular side and could easily overpower me. But not until I made a few marks.

  “You’re not in trouble,” he said, keeping the door open.

  “Then why should I go back there?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the security director. He asked for you personally.”

  “I don’t know him. Tell him to come out here.”<
br />
  Visibly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he sighed. He pressed a button on a device in his ear. Must be the radio, I thought as I listened. “Cooper to office. We are currently at the staff hallway entrance. Ms. Wolf refuses to go farther.” His eyes slid to me as though I was making his life difficult. I wasn’t too concerned.

  A door opened at the far end of the hall. Remy popped his head out. “Jet, get your ass in here before I come and carry you.”

  “Remy?” My scowl turned into a beaming smile. I scurried past the security guard and raced down the hall.

  Remy chuckled and shook his head as I grappled him into a hug. He awkwardly patted my back.

  “Come into the office, Jet.”

  I followed him, settling into a chair next to his desk.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

  He flipped his computer screen around. “I saw you walk in.”

  “Is that what you do all day?”

  “No. But I keep my eye on things.”

  “You’re the security director?”

  “I’ve had the position for a couple of months.” He eyed me with a pondering thought but didn’t vocalize it.

  “I heard you quit Lost City.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Greyson.”

  Remy eyed me. “He contacted you?”

  “Not initially.”

  “Then you got in touch with him.”

  “Not really.”

  He rubbed his hand over his shaved head. “Jet, you’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Making my head hurt. Tell me the story from beginning to end.”

  “It might take a while.”

  He let out a calming breath. “Start talking.”

  I did. I told him the story from beginning to end, watching as he tried to control his facial expressions. At the end, he relaxed into his chair, pondering again.

  “You’d be safer locked up. I told Greyson that several times.”

  “Very funny.”

  “So, other than getting your ass served to you in the ring, we seem to have a missing husband.”

  “Technically, Ian is Gwen’s husband.”

  “Either way, he’s missing. There’s been no word from David either.” He gave me that pondering glance again.

  “What? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  “Trouble follows you. You’re like a magnet.”

  “Trouble doesn’t follow me. It follows the Millers, and I get stuck in the middle. But not this time. I’m staying out of it.” And that was the truth. I’d been through enough because of those three men. They’re murder on women. How Mya survives, I have no idea.

  “Good. Can I stop by your place and see the postcards?”

  “Sure. But Muffin is staying there.”

  He grimaced. “Did she force her way back in?”

  “I wouldn’t use the term ‘force’ since she had the key. But it’ll be hell trying to get rid of her,” I sighed. “If I have to, I’ll threaten to go to the police and claim the reward still on her head. Right now, she’s helping the chapel win a contest, so I’ll let her stay. Then I’m going on vacation.”

  “Where to?”

  “I’m heading to the coast. I’m going to sit on the sand and forget everything.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Why don’t we meet later? Bring the postcards, and I’ll buy you dinner.”

  My head cocked to the side. “Remy, are you feeling okay? You don’t buy women dinner unless . . . Well, I’m not sure you’d buy them dinner afterward.”

  His lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Did you think I was hitting on you now that Greyson is out of the picture?”

  My eyes crinkled with mischief. Remy is very clear about his view on relationships with women; there are no relationships. He places women high on the shelf in single-serving doses. He has no inclination to attempt even a casual relationship.

  “I thought maybe you were lonely not following Greyson around. I know how you loved being his right-hand man. Maybe the strain of the break was too much so you’re looking for compassion to fill the void in your broken heart.”

  “Jet, you’re pushing my buttons again,” he warned. His warm olive skin twitched under his clenched jaw. He stared hard, making me squirm in my seat. Maybe I hit the mark a little too close.

  “I was kidding,” I insisted, inching out of my seat, ready to bolt.

  His gaze leveled on me. “No. You’re right,” he said thoughtfully . . . and a little too calmly. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. You were a vision standing in front of the Naughty Shack trying to hide your kinky purchase. I’m relieved Greyson’s out of the picture. He stepped into another man’s territory. My territory. I’d hate to have to hurt him.” Remy stood, hovering over me. His hand cupped my chin, raising my face to his. “You’re mine.”

  Chapter 10

  You’re mine?

  My brows shot up so high they were lost in my scalp. Holy ships!

  Remy’s features cleared as his head fell back with an uncharacteristic chuckle; his laugh filled the room.

  “You jerk.” I swatted him. “I didn’t know you had the capacity to tease. I nearly fell over.”

  He chuckled, dodging my swats. “You should have seen your eyes. I wanted to keep the charade going but I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “You were too convincing. I have enough man problems without adding your sorry ass to them.”

  “So you admit you were interested enough to think about me in that way.” His eyes crinkled. “Interesting.”

  “In what way?”

  “You know what way. Don’t worry; you’re safe from me. I have select tastes.”

  “And I’m not on the menu.” I grinned.

  “Not even an appetizer.”

  “Glad to hear it. It makes me wonder about the menu, but I’m happy in ignorance.”

  His smile sobered. “I am sorry about what happened between Greyson and you. It’s one of the reasons I quit.”

  “How bad did it get?”

  “Bad. Fiona began chauffeuring him under the pretense that limos were too visible to dodge the media. I was hired to protect and drive. If I couldn’t do either, there was no reason for me to stay.”

  “When I talked to him, he seemed to finally understand what Fiona was up to and why you quit.”

  “Is he going to fire her?”

  I shook my head. “It sounds like she’ll stay on board. Greyson said he would advise her on the assistant director role.”

  “Somehow I don’t think the lecture will help. She’s one bird short of a cuckoo clock. It makes me wonder about Greyson’s sanity to not see her actions for what they are.” Remy ran his hand along his jaw; his bicep stretched the seams of his security polo.

  I reached over and poked his arm. The muscle twitched. His muscle is so big, it has a mind of its own, I thought.

  Remy sighed. “What the hell is going through your cluttered brain now?”

  “I don’t have a cluttered brain,” I argued. “But your arms seem bigger than what should be physically possible.”

  “I’ve been working out,” he stated.

  “Me too.”

  He raised a single brow.

  “Really. I have.”

  “Come to the gym with me tomorrow. I want to see this phenomenon.”

  I put my hands out with a shake of my head. “No. I’ll embarrass both of us,” I said, thinking of the times I’d let my anger take control.

  “Be at the gym at five. It’s on the second floor.”

  “I guess I can be there tomorrow night.” I’ll think of an excuse later.

  “You mean tomorrow morning,” he corrected.

  “Five AM?”

  He gave one nod.

  “Remy, that’s the time I went to bed last night.”

  “Then it will be an excellent bedtime routine.”

  “Why must you torture me?”


  “Exercise is important. Bring the postcards with you.”

  “What happened to you paying for dinner?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t have accepted since I’m having dinner with Caleb.

  “This is better. Exercise first, and then I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “I’m only coming to bring the postcards. I guarantee I’ll be passed out on the stationary bike in less than two minutes.”

  “Just keep those pedals moving as you’re snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  He eyed me. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  * * *

  After playing at Tropical Rain for a few hours and then picking up my car from the mechanic, I raced home to change. Dinner with Caleb had been running an extended marathon through my mind all day, making my head spin at the table. Overall, I’d had a decent day, earning enough to call it quits before I made a donkey play while thinking of Caleb’s hands . . . and mouth . . . and . . .

  I bolted through the chapel and upstairs to find Gus sitting outside my apartment door.

  “Gus, what are you doing out here?” I asked as I opened the door.

  “Stop!” Muffin hollered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, stepping inside. My shoes cemented to the floor like a fly stuck on sticky paper. “Muffin, where’s my carpet, and why are my shoes stuck to the floor?” I growled.

  “Did you know you have hardwood floors under your carpeting?” she asked from the bedroom door. “Really nice stuff. So I ripped out the living room carpet.”

  “And why are the really nice hardwood floors sticky?” I couldn’t close the door with my stuck shoes. I eyed Gus, making sure he wouldn’t dash for his couch or food bowl.

  “I know a flooring guy. He said it would only take an hour to make them shine. He even came over to do it for free.”

  “They’re not shining. They’re gelatinous.”

  “Yeah. Well, he might still be holding a grudge. I wondered why he insisted I take a nap.” She shrugged. “Can’t pass one up. It’s a good thing I used your slippers when he was finished. Otherwise I don’t know how I would’ve escaped.”