Ruffles & Beaus

by Carina Adams

  My father and his brothers had hated the idea, convinced some nut job would come all the way to the boonies and assassinate the ironfisted democrat. My grandparents had ignored the foolish asses until the harsh winters got to be too much for them. Now, every January, right after Christmas, they moved to Florida and hired a caretaker—my cousin—to run it until they came back in April or May.

  As I slowed and parked at the end of the drive, dread washed over me. Even though the Inn was typically the one place I escaped to whenever I needed a break from the world, I hadn’t been there, or seen my grandparents, in months. I’d been too busy avoiding everyone.

  “Why didn’t you and Brooke plan to have the wedding here?” The dickhead beside me asked carelessly as he peered out his window. “It’s the perfect spot. Secluded enough for privacy and the ultimate party, but big enough for everyone.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, silently begging someone to grant me patience. I didn’t want to think about the wedding that never happened, much less explain why I let my then fiancé make the call. Grove would never understand; he thought letting a one-night stand spend the night was too much of a commitment.

  I shoved open the door and barely refrained from slamming it behind me. I didn’t wait for Grover. He could either follow or not.

  Andrew strode out of the front door and met me halfway up the paved walk, grinning like a fool. Only a few years older than me, the goofy redhead was my favorite cousin. He also happened to be one of my best customers.

  “I’m disappointed,” he drawled, “I expected you to sit in the truck and brood for at least another fifteen minutes.” He stepped close and gave me a quick hug. “Never mind,” he muttered as his eyes landed on Grove, “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

  I laughed and slapped him on the back. “How in the hell are you?”

  “Annoyed,” he explained as we headed inside. “Do you have any idea what a pain in the cock it is to throw a surprise party for that asshole?”

  That asshole was his big brother Alastair, first born to the first born, heir to the MacGregor fortune, and the only one of us foolish enough to follow my grandfather into politics. A thousand times more uptight than the rest of the family combined, he definitely wasn’t one of my clients.

  “He’s going to kill you, you know that, right?”

  “For the party?” Andy shrugged, as if all his hard work was no big deal. “He’s going to be thirty. His life is half over, for Christ’s sake. He needs to sit back and chill the fuck out for a night.”

  “He’ll love the attention the party gives him. He’ll hate that you hired me.”

  “Yeah,” Andy paused mid-step, scratching at his temple. “We, ugh,” he turned his head, refusing to meet my eyes. “We need to talk about that actually.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for him to continue, to tell me I’d come out here for nothing, that he didn’t need my girls after all. Alastair had never seen one of my girls’ shows, but he was a judgmental prick who liked to make assumptions. Right after we’d started the company, he’d decided my dancers were all whores and as their boss, I was a pimp. No matter what anyone said to contradict his theory, he wouldn’t change his mind.

  Both Reid and I anticipated Andy cancelling at the last minute, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he did. It pissed me off that I’d driven all this way when a phone call would have done, though.

  Andy adjusted and turned toward me, looking uncomfortable. “I know you book out months in advance, but is there any possibility you have more dancers free?”

  “Why?”

  “I talked to Victoria this morning and she doubled the guest list.”

  “I’m sure she did.” I scowled at the thought of my cousin’s fiancé. “Hundred bucks says Victoria and her friends crash and you did all of this for nothing.”

  Alastair had foolishly attached himself to the spawn of Satan and I had no doubt she’d do something dramatic to keep him from leaving D.C. without her, his big birthday weekend or not.

  “She’s going away for the weekend, moving her little sister into a dorm. However, she called to tell me I’d forgotten to invite a few important people to his birthday golfing weekend.”

  All people Alastair hardly knew, I had no doubt. “How many is a few?”

  He cleared his throat. “Thirty-five total. Max.”

  “So, forty?” I countered. A low estimate, to see what he’d say. I could read between the lines; the thirty-five came from Victoria’s guest list and didn’t count Alastair’s other fake friends or the rest of the cousins.

  “Maybe fifty?” He grimaced.

  “Are the grandparents aware you’re bringing that many suits here?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “The MacGregor left this morning, Grannie in tow. Didn’t want to witness the debauchery of their beloved grandsons.”

  I snorted. There were few reasons the MacGregor would miss a weekend with his grandsons, no matter what we had planned, especially if it meant he could try to corrupt the eldest. Nothing we did would shock the old man; not with the stories he told.

  “So they left when you told them Victoria had added to the guest list?”

  Andy nodded with a laugh. “Packed a bag and were gone before I could blink.”

  I looked back at the drive, where Grover sat in my truck, and motioned for him to join us. The manor was large enough to host an inside event ten times the size of the one Andy was now responsible for, but this wasn’t your average everyday cocktail party. We needed a plan.

  I pulled open the heavy front door and headed straight down the hall toward the right wing. I paused just inside the entrance to the great room, lips twisted in thought. I’d never been allowed in there as a kid, the antiques that lined the walls and filled the cabinets had been worth more than my life. Ironically enough, it was the same space where the adults in my grandfather’s inner circle had gotten hammered and tripped over their own two feet.

  Andy usually held his parties there. With three couches and two dozen easy chairs scattered throughout, it would easily accommodate most of the guests. However, it had always been a pain in the ass to move everything valuable out of the way.

  I turned abruptly and headed toward the back of the house. Off the kitchen, almost hidden, was the addition my grandmother had insisted on. The space wasn’t as large as the great room, but with two walls and a ceiling made of glass, it appeared bigger than it was. Plus, the doors along the back of the room opened onto the stone patio, providing spill-over space.

  “We’ll set up in here.”

  Andy pursed his lips, nodding, as his eyes moved over the area. “It might work.”

  “It will.” My entertainers didn’t need a stage, but they did need room to perform. I turned my attention to Grover. “Let’s get to work.”

  I didn’t have an ounce of energy to spare, or an extra fuck to give, when Grove and I made it back to the studio. It was late, the sun had set hours before, and most people were settling into their homes for the night. Inside Soiree, though, my employees were going strong; the lights burned bright and the music blared.

  For a quick second, as soon as we walked through the door, it was almost déjà vu. Livie sat cross legged on the floor, chewing on the end of a pen, paperwork fanned out around her. She glanced up as we entered and smiled around the BIC when she saw us.

  “Liv?” Grover stopped short the moment he spotted her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him glance at me in question. “You’re back?”

  Livie popped up, brushing her hands over her tiny ass, and dropped her pen onto a large stack of papers in front of her. “God, no,” she laughed, as if to ease the insult, and stepped into Grove’s open arms. “Just helping.”

  “Shit,” he leaned in and hugged her. “Can’t fault a guy for hoping.”

  “Miss me that much all ready?” She teased as she backed away and sent me a small nod.

  “You know I do.”

  “You say that now,”
she teased, “but in a few weeks you’ll be sick of seeing my mug.” She glanced down at the watch on her wrist. “What are you guys up to this late?”

  “Meeting the new girl,” he explained. “Hopefully it’s a better match than Jade. I don’t want to be trapped with a stuck up hag.”

  Liv’s face fell. The two had never been friends, but it must have been a surprise to learn I’d actually fired someone. Liv used to joke that if I hadn’t let her go after all the shit she’d pulled, that everyone else was safe.

  All signs of ease disappeared and her face drained of color. “Roman, can I borrow you?” She stepped sideways, blocking the path to the studio.

  I frowned. “Give us a minute.”

  Grover headed toward the sitting area near the windows.

  “You can’t put him with Cady,” she hissed, clutching my forearm.

  I rolled my eyes. Liv had never been one for dramatics. Funny what a few months with China had done.

  “If she can’t handle Grover, she’ll never be able to handle clients.”

  Livie shook her head and her grip tightened. “No, you ass. He goes to UCM.”

  I didn’t understand why she was telling me shit I already knew. The fact they went to the same school was one of the reasons I’d never paired the two together. My bouncers brought in clients. There was always a risk that a guest at a party would recognize a dancer, but I refused to increase that chance by pairing a bouncer and dancer from the same circle.

  She groaned, as if I was the most annoying person on the planet. “With Cady.”

  “Cady goes to UCM?” I ground out, pissed I hadn’t known.

  “Yeah.” She snapped. “I’m pretty sure Grove has classes with her. They may not be friends, but they know each other.”

  That complicated everything. Fuck. She’d only just started working at Soiree and this Cady chick had already become a giant pain in the ass.

  “Grover, go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I didn’t wait for him to argue. I backed away from Liv and yanked out my phone. There was only one way around this, and no one would like it.

  Six

  Cady

  Every inch of my body ached. Nothing—not one single part—had escaped the torture I’d willingly put myself through over the past five days. The blisters on my feet had blisters, my thighs burned so badly it was pure hell to sit down so I avoided it unless I had to pee, and my boobs were so sore I wanted to cry whenever I took a deep breath.

  The pain wasn’t a surprise. I'd learned the routines by repeating them over and over until I could do them in my sleep. I’d worked muscles I hadn’t known I had, let alone used before. Up until the day I walked into Soiree, my only regular exercise had been running my mouth to Frankie when I was pissed off. I’d known it wasn’t going to be easy, but I’d underestimated how awful I’d feel.

  The girls had insisted I could learn without problems, and brought their never ending positive energy to the studio every morning. They claimed that dance experience wasn’t needed, and maybe it wasn’t, but it sure as hell would have helped. I’d listened intently that first day, watching them with excitement as they patiently showed me what they called beginner moves. Yet, when I'd tried something as simple as a hip bump, my body refused to move like theirs.

  Violet’s eyes had grown wide as she looked at Peach, alarm clear on both their faces. Instead of calling the entire thing off and admitting defeat, they took deep breaths and walked me through every step slowly. I had a long way to go before I'd be considered an actual dancer, yet I’d managed to master a few of the most basic burlesque steps.

  Thankfully, they’d created a few simple and extremely easy routines they claimed would still seduce patrons. Livie swore that I’d feel confident with my performance before I stepped out on stage Saturday night. I wasn’t sure, but I was determined to do my best.

  While the pain had been expected, the amount of fun I’d had while putting my body through the ringer, had not. I might have looked like I’d just gone ten rounds with Ronda Rousey, but despite the limp and the frequent winces, I felt great. And I genuinely liked the rest of the crew.

  Both my body and my mind were utterly exhausted though. The days had started to meld together, aided by the fact I hadn’t left the studio since Tuesday. It’d been much easier for me to catch a few hours of sleep in the corner of the costume room after Randy left in the wee hours of the morning and get up when Peaches and Violet arrived around five, then for me to drive home and back. Livie had been worried I’d burn myself out and had tried to get me to slow down, but I’d been on a roll, running on caffeine and laughter.

  Plus, I’d started to feel the pressure. I wasn’t the main attraction at the show Saturday night, thank God, but I did have to open. Which meant that even though I didn’t have a full set of dances to learn, I’d be the first thing the partygoers saw. I needed to be as prepared as possible.

  However, as I stared at the man in front of me, agitation barely contained, I realized I should have listened to Liv and gotten a good night’s sleep.

  I’d grown quite close to Randy over the past few days and we’d developed a quick and easy friendship. I’d been so comfortable with him I’d told him more about myself than I usually told anyone. He knew me and my likes and dislikes. Which was one of the reasons I was completely appalled at the outfit he’d proudly displayed.

  “You don’t like it.”

  I opened my mouth ready to tell him exactly how much I hated the hideous monstrosity, but snapped it shut before I uttered a word. The hardest working person at Soiree, Randy arrived before the sun rose and left long after it set. I refused to hurt his feelings or damage our relationship.

  In an attempt to bide my time, I glanced out the window, trying to find the right thing to say. The view of a sunlit river was gone, replaced by my reflection in the black glass. I hadn’t realized the day had slipped away or just how late it had gotten.

  I turned back to Randy and gave him a sweet smile. “Can I sleep on it?”

  One eyebrow shot up. “Why don’t you like it?”

  My shoulders sagged as I searched for words that might soften the blow. The other girls had all worked closely with Randy to design their own costumes. Our boss claimed it made us feel more comfortable and confident. However, because I’d had so much to learn in such a short amount of time, Randy had taken on the task himself without any input from me.

  I chewed on my lip, hoping someone would come in and interrupt before I had to answer.

  “Well?” Randy demanded.

  I glared at the material in his hand. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, per se. On someone with a different body type, the bits of fabric would cover the necessary parts while making her every geek’s wet dream. On me, though, it would look plain silly. I wasn’t tall or lean enough to pull it off.

  If I uttered that thought out loud, the man in front of me would call in the rest of the girls and I’d get another unneeded lecture about body image and loving myself no matter what I looked like. It was sweet of them, but I didn’t have a low self-esteem.

  A realist, I was aware of exactly what I wasn’t, and I embraced the person I was. I actually liked my flaws, chub and all.

  My life rule had always been that if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry and if you didn’t laugh at yourself, you were an idiot. My snarky and self-deprecating humor made me more relatable to most people. These new friends of mine, though, didn’t understand. They found my jokes offensive and constantly told me I needed to be kind to myself.

  With that in mind, I answered as honestly as possible. “It doesn’t fit my personality. If we’re going with a theatrical theme, I picture me more Mobsters than Star Wars.”

  “Mobsters?” His doubt was clear.

  I nodded. “You know, Christian Slater, Dr. McDreamy, other actors I can’t remember?” I grinned when he looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Oh-kay. Think Roaring Twenties. Flappers. Sequins, fringe, feather boas.”

&n
bsp; “Feather boas?” His voice dipped in surprise. “And ruffles, I suppose?”

  A genuine smile lifted my lips. “Absolutely ruffles.”

  I’d loved all the costumes I’d seen with ruffles. I may have even gushed over one of Myra’s that had cascading organza down the back. It seemed silly for a girl like me—one who refused to wear skirts unless forced to—to love something so ultra feminine. For some reason, ruffles made me happy.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Randy pursed his lips and turned back to the clothing rack. He tucked the Princess Lea-like dress away and tugged another free. Guilt overtook me and I started to apologize for insulting his hard work when he spun with a smirk.

  He held another costume out and it took a moment for me to realize it was new, not one of the many I’d admired over the last few days. The top of the velvet corset dress was the color of a candy apple with black lace netting peplums, sequin trim detail, and embroidered lace cups. The bottom was black sequins. It was perfect.

  I opened my mouth, ready to tell him I wanted one just like it, when he shook it a bit.

  “Like this one? It’s also got a headpiece with a rose and feathers to match your beloved boa.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the soft material. “Whose is it?”

  “Yours.”

  “Mine?”

  He turned it around, displaying the back. I squealed in delight when I saw the ruffled tulle bustle. “Yes, yours.”

  “Oh, Randy!” I closed the gap and threw my arms around him, crushing the outfit between us. “It’s perfect.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” he scolded with a laugh as he pushed me away from him. “You and your ruffles,” he shook his head. “Go try it on so I can make adjustments and you can start practicing in it.”