After This Night

by Lauren Blakely

  “Our bed,” he said, correcting her.

  “Our bed. I love our bed. Now, take me to bed, handsome. Because I want to sleep in my home. Tomorrow we can figure out all the details.”

  Yes, tomorrow. There were so many details for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  They’re freaking out about the film. CALL ME.

  The message blared at him, his phone vibrating on the nightstand, his eyes bleary from little sleep. But this was the third time his phone had rattled on the wood. He read it one more time, an emergency text from Flynn. Shit.

  Grabbing his phone, he scrambled out of bed and down the stairs so as not to wake Julia.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, stepping out onto the balcony, greeted by the early morning June sun rising in the sky. The hot and muggy days of late spring were coasting into New York. Heat vibrated in the air.

  “They’re worried that we can’t handle the studio. That we’re not big enough,” Flynn said, his voice shaky.

  “That’s crazy. I’ve dealt with that studio many, many times. So have you.”

  “I know,” Flynn said, exasperated. “And they were fine with it from the start. But now I think they’re getting nervous. I’m worried they’re going to back out. I have a breakfast meeting with them in thirty minutes on the Upper West Side.”

  Clay didn’t stop to consider the sleeping woman in his bed, or whether she’d be annoyed that he had to take off. All he could focus on was making sure this film deal went through. Flynn had busted his ass to land the Pinkertons, and if they needed to have egos smoothed or cold feet made toasty, it was his job to do so. The bottom line rested with him.

  “I’ll be there. Text me the location.”

  “Thanks man, I need you,” Flynn said, relief loud and clear across the phone line.

  He headed inside, walked quietly past a sleeping Julia, curled up on her side with her red, flaming hair spread across the white pillowcase, looking like a goddess. His goddess. And he was going to have to tell her what he’d done before they met Charlie.

  He showered and dressed quickly, and she snoozed the entire time, barely moving. He imagined she was in the most peaceful land of dreams, finally sleeping easily now that the price tag was off her head.

  At least he’d been able to do that for her.

  He bent down to softly kiss her cheek. She sighed lightly, but didn’t wake. Gently, he shook her shoulder. He was greeted with an inhale, and an exhale. “Julia,” he whispered.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Hi,” she said, opening them briefly.

  “I need to go. I have to meet Flynn and the Pinktertons,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Should last an hour. Two, tops. I’ll meet you at ten thirty and then we’ll see Charlie together.”

  She nodded sleepily. “Call me at ten, so I can shower?”

  “Of course. Don’t go without me.”

  “Do I look stupid?”

  “Sassy from the moment she wakes up,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.

  “Back to sleepy time for me,” she said, roping her arms around his neck. “But first. This.”

  She pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you,” she murmured, and his heart thumped painfully against his chest, lurching toward her. He desperately wanted to stay, to sit her down, and to explain. She’d forgive him. Of course she would, right? But he also had made a promise to Flynn and to himself that he’d take care of business. He had time for both. He could manage both. He’d tell her before they met Charlie. “Can we go shopping later for new towels?”

  “You don’t like my towels?”

  She shook her head. “I like big, fluffy ones.”

  “Then let’s get you some big, fluffy towels.”

  “And I kind of think you could use a more comfortable bench on your balcony. Those wooden slats are hard.”

  “Considering what I will do to you on that, let’s get it today.”

  She smiled again. “My flight’s at three.”

  “Then we will shop or we won’t shop, but whatever we do I will love every second of it because I’ll be with you, and I love you so much,” he said. “And if I could blow this off and spend the morning inside you, I would. Believe me.”

  Believe me. His words echoed. He needed her to believe him.

  “It’s okay. Soon, we’ll have plenty of Sunday mornings to be lazy and naughty together.”

  “Lazy and naughty. Gorgeous, that is a promise.”

  He’d keep that promise. He would absolutely keep that promise.

  * * *

  Coffee. She needed coffee, stat. Her brain was fuzzy and her muscles were sluggish, and the late-night poker and even later-night sex had worn her out. After a quick shower, she grabbed her clutch purse and her phone, and headed downstairs. She didn’t bother hunting out coffee in the kitchen. She was a coffee-shop kind of woman, and besides, she really should get to know the cafes in this neighborhood. It was going to be her neighborhood soon, and that prospect brought a grin to her face as she pressed the down button in the elevator.

  Her elevator.

  Her lobby.

  She couldn’t believe she’d said yes so quickly, so easily to his question. She should be terrified of packing up and moving across the country. She should hem and haw, and think and consider. But as she pushed open the door of their building, stepping out into the bright morning sun on their block, she knew.

  There was no question about it.

  She and Clay were more than solid. They had a future, a bright and beautiful, smart and seductive future. He was her match; he was the one she hadn’t been looking for, but who had found his way to her regardless. He was the one she couldn’t imagine being without. To think they’d started as a one-night stand, and now they’d become . . . well, they’d become indispensable to each other.

  As she ordered her coffee—black with room for cream—she considered that it might be a risk moving here with him. She could get hurt. She could be left. Worst of all, she could be played like a fool.

  And yet, this was Clay, and he wasn’t that kind of a man. He’d be more likely to travel to Pluto than to play her. Maybe love made you take chances, or maybe real love made you take the right chances.

  She poured cream in the coffee, knowing he was the right chance.

  She left the cafe and ran a finger over her right breast. Not because she had a hankering for self-booby love, but to double-triple check that the money for Charlie was still tucked safely in her bra and ready to turn over. Safe and sound, and nestled against her.

  Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her purse.

  On my way. Be there in ten minutes. Love you.

  She couldn’t help but smile because he couldn’t stop saying I love you.

  Her stomach rumbled, a reminder she hadn’t had much dinner last night. The restaurant where they were meeting Charlie was one block away, but she wasn’t going to show up early to eat and risk running into Charlie alone just because her tummy was growling. She was a big girl and could withstand hunger. Besides, once they were through with the mobster she was planning on ordering French toast with butter and syrup, and enjoying every single bite. She texted back, letting Clay know she was parked outside the cafe at a tiny little sidewalk table.

  She sank down in a metal chair, took a drink of her coffee and scanned the block that would soon become second nature to her. With her sunglasses on, she watched the world of the West Village go by on a Sunday morning, checking out hip families with young children racing ahead of them, surveying couples draped over each other, guys and guys, girls and girls, girls and guys, then an inked young man heading to a tattoo shop across the street called No Regrets. Great name for a tattoo parlor, she thought, as he entered, probably to add to his markings.

  Her phone rang, and it was a 917 number she didn’t recognize, so she answered in case Clay was borrowing Flynn’s phone. Maybe his cell had died.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Julia! It’s Liam. I hope
I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

  She leaned back and smiled. “Nope. Just enjoying this gorgeous June morning in Manhattan.”

  “That was a fun game last night. You play fierce.”

  “Why, thank you. I rather enjoyed taking your money from you. Perhaps we’ll be able to play more. Seems I might be moving to Manhattan,” she said, and if she could bottle this feeling—happiness, hope, possibility—and sell it, she’d be rich. Because everyone should want to feel this way. Effervescent.

  “You are shitting me,” he said.

  She laughed. “Why would I joke about that?”

  “Because I was going to ask you if there’s any way you’d consider being my bartender at Speakeasy. That drink you made last night was amazing.”

  “Well, you’re easy, then, if I sold you on one drink,” she said, figuring he was joking.

  “I’m serious, Julia. Your drink was to-die for, and you also have the right attitude that I want behind the bar. Tough, but friendly. Playful, but not flirty. Smart, but inviting.”

  Pride bloomed in her chest. Her luck was changing. She was coming out ahead based on skills, not looks. She was landing options in life, rather than having them taken away from her. Her future was unfurling before her like a smooth open road, the top thrown down and the radio blasting. “Tell me more about the job,” she said, and Liam shared details on the pay, the timing, and his plans.

  “Sounds interesting,” she said, playing it cool. “But I do already own a successful bar in San Francisco. I’m a little beyond the just-a-bartender level. I’m not that interested in working for someone when I can work for myself.”

  “I could even offer you an ownership stake if you’d like,” he said.

  “Let me think about it and get back to you. I’ll have to see what my lawyer thinks,” she said playfully.

  “We have the same one. Let’s hope he has the same interests.”

  “In any case, I am honored you asked. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  She hung up and shook her head, amazed at how this treasure map was revealing itself. And there, in the middle of it all, inside the chest weren’t gems or rubies, but the most precious gift of all—a real love. She was a lucky woman, and this could be her life, here in the Village in New York.

  She returned to her people watching. A pretty woman in a little black dress and high heels yawned as she passed Julia, likely wearing last night’s clothes. She wondered how many of these people were neighbors, and if she’d soon get to know the gentleman who owned the cafe, or the guy across the street walking a pug, or this fellow in the black suit coming into view.

  But when she looked up to see the face of the man strolling past her, her heart plummeted six feet underground. Then burrowed even farther when the man stopped, his muddy brown eyes on her, his dark hair freshly combed, his suit neatly pressed.

  “Red. Fancy meeting you here.”

  The voice was an icicle on her skin.

  She swallowed back her fear. Nothing to be afraid of. She had his money. That’s all he wanted, anyway. Even if Clay wasn’t here to protect her. He’d be here any minute, and besides, she could handle this.

  Charlie crooked his arm at a right angle and looked at his watch. “I am early for our pointless meeting, but I will join you anyway,” he said, pulling out the chair next to her.

  “Pointless?”

  “So pointless,” he said with a bored sigh. “Except for the handshake part.”

  She kept her face stony and impassive, but her mind was whirring. She had no clue what he was hinting at. She didn’t plan on letting on, though. One more time with the poker face for Charlie, because he didn’t deserve her emotions.

  She reached into her bra, and took out the bills. “I have what you wanted, and I believe this means we are through.”

  He gave her a look as if she were an idiot child, and waved her off. “We are all good,” he said, raising his hand dismissively.

  Her eyebrows shot up. Forget hiding her reaction now. “What do you mean?” she asked, as a cab screeched to a stop. “You suddenly decided to forgive my debt?”

  He scoffed at her. “That is funny. But I am not a forgiving man. He paid me. Your lawyer. Good man. Better than that ex-boyfriend of yours,” Charlie said, stopping to scratch behind his ear. Julia’s jaw dropped. She was sure she was hearing things. He couldn’t possibly have said just that. “Dillon Whittaker always seemed a little shifty to me. I hear he’s peddling island real estate.”

  But the words about Dillon didn’t register, because she was still reeling from the blow. It was as if she’d been punched out of nowhere. A jab to the right. A hit to the left. Her head was spinning, and she was seeing stars.

  Then she was seeing Clay. Standing next to her, fists clenched at his sides, staring at Charlie. “We weren’t supposed to meet until eleven,” he said to Charlie through gritted teeth.

  “I was out for a stroll since this is such a lovely neighborhood, and look who I ran into,” he said, gesturing to Julia. “Lucky me. I got to spend to spend a few minutes with her. She even tried to pay me. But I had to tell her the matter was already settled between men.”

  It was as if a truck had slammed into her, smashing everything in her body.

  Clay looked at Julia, and she saw it in his eyes. Guilt. He was cloaked in it. He reeked of it.

  “Clay,” she began slowly, but her brain was quickly lining up the pieces, and she had a sickening feeling that she knew what he’d done. “Charlie says— ”

  He cut her off. “I can explain,” he said, sitting next to her, reaching for both her hands and clasping them in his.

  “What do you have to explain? The fact that you paid him already?” she said heavily, the words like tar in her mouth. She hoped she’d heard wrong. She prayed that Charlie was lying. He was a liar, right? That was a more likely explanation than that her man had lied to her.

  He closed his eyes briefly, and the shame washed over his features. It was evident in his mouth, in his eyes, in his jaw. “It was all a fake? The game was rigged?”

  Clay shook his head adamantly. “No, the game wasn’t rigged. It was all real. I swear.”

  “Then why doesn’t he need the money I won? Is it true you paid him already?” Her heart, so full of hope and joy, was turning black, like it had been painted over with a brush, becoming dark and cold in seconds.

  “I paid him yesterday,” he said, grasping her hand tighter. But she shook him off, tears threatening to spill down her face as that word—yesterday—rang in her ears. The only thing that stopped the waterworks was the presence of Charlie. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t cry in front of that man. “I did it because I love you. Because I needed you safe.”

  “When? When yesterday did you pay him?”

  His jaw tensed. “Last night.”

  “But when last night?”

  “During the game.”

  “When?” she asked once more time. Biting out the word. “It. Matters. When?”

  “He called earlier in the day, and said he needed it by midnight,” Clay said. Julia was used to Charlie’s capriciousness, to the way he changed up times and dates and deadlines to suit himself. This was Charlie’s M.O. “And you were losing, and I didn’t know if you were going to pull it off,” he said, and his words cut her to the quick. “So I wired him the money.”

  “Answer the question, Clay. When exactly did you wire him the money?”

  Clay looked as if stones were in his mouth. “Around eleven-thirty.”

  “After I told you I loved you?”

  He nodded.

  “After our conversation about Michele?”

  Another nod, followed by a heavy sigh.

  “After you told me you were texting Flynn about the Pinkertons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you texting Flynn or Charlie?”

  He looked down, and in his silence she knew his answer, and it ripped through her body like a painful tear, like invisible hands were shr
edding her to pieces.

  A loud scraping sound met her ears. Charlie had pushed back his chair. “As fascinating as it is to witness a lover’s quarrel, I have business matters to attend to. Mr. Nichols, I thank you very kindly for securing the transaction last night so that I could get on my flight to Miami. I have business to attend to there. I believe the final term of our deal was a handshake,” he said offering his hand to Clay. The two men shook and Julia wanted to bite both of their fingers, leaving teeth marks, and making them both yelp. Charlie patted Julia on the shoulder. “And that means, Red, you are free and clear. It has been a pleasure working with you. You made it entertaining for me, and I will miss my top ringer. But I will surely find someone else who owes me soon. Enjoy Cubic Z. I will not be drinking there again,” he said. That was what she wanted, what she’d been fighting for, and she somehow knew Charlie meant every word. There was honor among thieves. His word was good on this matter.

  He walked off, leaving Julia alone with the man who’d played her. “I don’t understand. You think this is okay because you did it for love?”

  “No. Yes,” he said, his voice wobbly as he shoved his hand through his hair. “Yes. Julia, I didn’t want anything to happen to you, so I got him the money.”

  She softened for a moment, because she understood some part of his actions. Deeply and truly. “I get that. I honestly do. I understand you wanted to protect me, and I don’t fault you for that. Because I’d have done the same for you, and I’m okay with that,” she said, dropping her hand on top of his. Relief flooded his eyes when she made contact. But it was short-lived because she took her hand away, placing them both in her lap. Her anger stole all the softness, replacing it with only the sharp, cruel betrayal she felt. “But I don’t understand why the hell you didn’t tell me. It’s been twelve hours since you sent him the money. You had so many chances to tell me that the rules of the game had changed.”

  She watched him swallow hard, a terribly pained look in his eyes. “I wanted to tell you.”

  “But you didn’t. You let me play the end of the game thinking it mattered. I was losing, and you told me to go back in there and kick ass, knowing it didn’t matter how I played. You sent me back to play a game that was, for all intents and purposes, rigged. Because it didn’t matter what I did,” she said, her voice threatening to break. “That’s the moment, Clay. Then. There. On the street. After you told me you loved me. That’s when you needed to tell me about Charlie’s new deadline. I’d have understood completely if you pulled me aside and said, ‘Hey gorgeous, bad news,’” she said, dropping her voice to imitate a man’s deeper tones, “‘Charlie called and we need to get him the money now.’ That’s all you had to say. That’s it.”