Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Marilyn rolled her eyes. “That’s rather vague, Mr. Gage.”

  He chuckled. It was meant to be. “I’m sure you appreciate I’m not one to kiss and tell since we shared a few nights together.”

  She rubbed her legs together and sighed. “Those memories keep me warm many nights.” She stilled and her demeanor changed from seductive to serious. “Since that’s not why you brought me here, Mr. Gage. Please tell me it wasn’t to make Jentry jealous.”

  Yeah, he was that shallow because that’s precisely why he did it, though that wasn’t the only reason. “Luce has been fired. I would like you to replace him.”

  “I accept,” she said quickly. “The job and the pay raise.”

  “Done.” He climbed to his feet and went to the bar. “Let’s have a toast. What’s your poison?”

  “You know how to make a Margarita?” She followed him.

  “Hell no! You have a choice between anything I can easily pour.”

  “Then I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  He poured her a whiskey. They clinked glasses and toasted to new beginnings. Hers, and his.

  “I have to say after hearing about you and Jentry, I thought she would get the job. That’s usually how these things work. New girlfriend gets the cushy position.”

  True enough. “Jentry’s my employee. She’ll work where I want her to.”

  The glass of whiskey stopped short of her red lips. “Does that mean she’s my boss?”

  Harden smiled. “She’s whatever I want her to be.” He tossed back his drink and poured another one.

  Marilyn didn’t push back on Harden’s statement. She had two choices. Take it or leave it. When she tossed back her drink, Harden had her decision. That taken care of, they lingered over the bottle, taking about Denizen. She had some ideas on improving it along with ideas on Catalyst. He listened, even liked a few. Now that there was no expectation on her part, they settled into an easy conversation. Marilyn turned out to be witty and funny. He never would’ve guessed.

  The skybox door banged open. Marilyn yelped and Harden had his gun free of the holster and in his hand a split second before Bruno stormed inside.

  Harden didn’t have to order Marilyn to leave. She was on her feet, clipboard in her hand, and heading for the door without another word.

  Harden rose, prepared to face anything headed their way. “What?”

  “The Ukrainians.”

  Bresnik and Fisnik. They were here, probably with an army. He had to get Jentry out of here. “Where are they?” Harden asked, rushing to the door.

  Bruno stepped into his path, blocking his mad dash. “They’re dead.”

  While that wasn’t a bad thing, he needed more details like when, where, and how. Bruno beat him to the punch.

  “Their bodies were dumped in our landfill some time last night. Throats slit. Tongues removed. An anonymous call to the police tipped them off. The police and feds are swarming all over the place.”

  And there Harden had his answers. He wasn’t worried about the feds or the locals. “They won’t find anything.” How could they when he left no bodies to find? All his bodies went to the crematory first. The ashes were taken to the dump and pitched into the wind.

  “Of course not.” Bruno snickered. “Plus, the bodies were dumped in section A, near the front.” Nowhere near section D in the rear.

  “Alezandar’s on the defense. Two trusted men are gone. I wonder who he’ll get to replace them?” The way things were moving, Harden suspected he wouldn’t have long to wait.

  “Everyone needs to be on alert and have the businesses check in every hour. It may mitigate any surprises.” Harden headed for the door, his brain gathering facts and processing them quickly. Back on the ground floor, he headed for the small kitchen to collect Jentry. She wasn’t there washing dishes and wiping counters with the staff brought in for the event.

  Gut starting to churn, he spun and headed for the office. She’d damn well better be there.

  Jentry wasn’t.

  Rage filling his head with white noise, he turned to Bruno. “Find her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  That did it. Jentry was done. Dinner and dessert had been served. There was no other reason for her to stay. After all, Marilyn was in charge. She yanked off the apron and tossed it in the hamper. Never let them see you sweat. It was more than an old deodorant slogan. He wanted Marilyn. Jentry didn’t give two shits. She had a job to do and a kid to support. That’s all it came down to. No matter how fucking humiliating it was to be sent to the kitchen, she’d worked worse jobs.

  She’d cook the food, mop the floors, and clean the windows if necessary. But she wouldn’t forget. Not one second of it. She didn’t see them again. Not for the rest of the night, and she looked at that skybox, couldn’t help it. Hating herself for giving in would have to wait until she got home, which would be in ten minutes. Closing up and making sure everything was ready for the next day wasn’t her problem. Marilyn was in charge. She could do the grunt work after climbing off Harden’s dick.

  Bypassing the staff, Jentry exited the kitchen and headed for the office.

  “I thought that was you.”

  A chill raced down her spine and spread until all of her trembled. She wanted to freeze, hide, run, scream. In the end, Jentry slowly pivoted, head, shoulders, then the rest of her body followed, it had no choice. And faced Carl David Jones—CDJ—her former pimp, and the father of her child.

  My public defender was supposed to let me know when he came up for parole. As a domestic abuse survivor, I should’ve been warned he was free. I never should’ve been blindsided like this.

  But here he was, bigger and ripped. Three hots and a cot. Eat, sleep, shit, and work out. He worked out a lot. He had the prison crew cut and prison tat.

  He’d changed. Gone was the muffin top, the result of too many beers and too much fast food while standing on a street corner making sure he kept his bitches in line. She was one of the bitches until he beat her within an inch of her life. Why? Because it was fifteen degrees outside and she refused to go on the stroll in a pair of shorts and six-inch heels. It took a week for her to recover enough to leave the hospital.

  She wanted to run, grab Allie and go. Her bank account wasn’t empty anymore. She had enough cash to get her a few states away and set up a new life. It wouldn’t be easy, nothing ever was. That was always her plan, to leave and vanish when the four years were up. Now that she had the funds to make it happen, it wasn’t a fantasy.

  “Damn, gurl. You looking good.” He scanned from the top of her head to the tip of her feet. “You looking real good.” A quick scan of the room and was back to her. “You work here, or you working here? With someone?” He leaned in close enough for her to map the veins in his eyeballs. “’Cause I’m out, baby, and I want you back. After some payback ’cause you owe me and I gotta deliver some pain for that. But afterward, you and me are golden.”

  Bile crawled up her throat. “There is no ‘you and me.’ There never was ‘you and me.’”

  His head kicked to the side as he studied her. Microscope, meet bug. Her boogeyman had returned, and she wanted to run. Hide. Scream. Die. Rather than have him touch her again.

  “I think our kid would disagree.” He tapped his forehead, something he always did when thinking. “What’s her name again? Alice, right?” He shrugged because he truly didn’t give a shit. “Either way, now that I know where you work—” Wink. Wink. He stuffed a piece of paper in her cleavage and, leaving her sputtering, he sauntered away without a care in the world.

  Shoving her hand between her breasts, she yanked the paper out. He’d scribbled down his phone number. She was going to be sick, violently. Air, she needed air. She spun, confused.

  “You okay?” Quincy appeared out of nowhere to ask.

  Where the fuck were you five minutes ago? She wanted to lay into him but didn’t. “I’m fine.” She said it in the way all women say it when they are not fine and want the worl
d to know it.

  “Okay.” One word with ten syllables. Quincy backed away.

  One step in front of the other, brought her to the office for her purse and coat. She left with the caterer out the back door and into the alley. She bypassed her car and driver, and Harden’s Range Rover, and headed for the street to hail a cab. She opened the door and slid inside. She should’ve given the address to the penthouse. Instead, she gave the address to a twenty-four-hour diner in the Village. Half-filled, she was seated and had a bowl of chicken soup and crackers in front of her within minutes. She didn’t touch it, couldn’t when her stomach roiled. Not at the pleasant scent wafting from the bowl. How could she eat when she was consumed by the image of Carl standing in front of her, smirking as if he’d found something he’d lost? Which he had. He’d found his pound of flesh. His meal ticket. His road to revenge and prosperity. He thought he found that in her, again.

  Jentry picked up the spoon and forced herself to sip a mouthful of broth. It may as well have been cardboard. Still, she took another spoonful. Sheer stubbornness forced her to eat, slowly, methodically, shoveling each spoonful down her throat because it was a victory. A small one, significant to her alone. However, a victory. That motherfucker didn’t and wouldn’t control a single aspect of her life.

  Not again. Never again.

  Only when the spoon clinked against the bottom of the bowl did she push it away. She collapsed into the worn faux leather seat and dragged the back of her hand over her wet face.

  The waitress stopped. Older, weathered. Jentry guessed she’d seen the world pass through the doors of the diner and had a million stories to tell. She reached out and patted Jentry’s hand. “Tears like that mean only one thing. A man.” She laid the check face down on the table. “You take as long as you need and just raise your hand if you need anything else.” She didn’t wait for a reply to leave.

  Jentry sat there, nursing a cold cup of coffee for another hour just because she could. Close to sunrise, she dropped a twenty on the table to cover the eight-dollar bill, then she hailed another cab at the curb.

  She returned to the luxury penthouse. Fuck running. Fuck Carl. And fuck Harden. Hell, fuck all men. They all deserved a big F. U.

  A few of Harden’s men were in the lobby, milling about like lost soldiers. That stopped when she exited the cab. Not a word was spoken as she crossed the lobby to the waiting private elevator. In fact, she dared them, meeting each in the eye with a big fat, silent, What?

  The moment she had to herself in the elevator wasn’t enough, yet it would have to do because when the doors opened, she’d have to deal with Harden. She knew it and there was no use pretending the confrontation wouldn’t happen. Because it would. She’d just have to get through it until she could be alone.

  The elevator opened to a silent hallway with a single guard at the penthouse door. The short march down the hallway felt like a walk to the principal’s office. Only this principal was armed with conventional weapons and a killer bod.

  The guard did his job and opened the door for her…and there he was, in front of her, in the foyer, blocking her from going deeper into the penthouse. The stony face and frigid eyes that looked at her earlier with disdain now twisted with fury and blazed fire.

  She wasn’t too angry to admit leaving wasn’t her brightest idea. Too bad she’d already apologized once for the night. Over her dead body would she apologize twice. But she could explain—not her initially leaving because he screwed Marilyn in the skybox. Jentry couldn’t give two shits about where he stuck his cock. She could explain about Carl.

  “How stupid are you?” Harden took her by the shoulders and shook her. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

  She jerked free and stumbled back. He reached for her elbow, but she wanted nothing from him and knocked his hand away. His glare deepened and his hand dropped to his side curled into a fist.

  She should be afraid. If it were Carl standing in front, without an audience to modify his behavior, she’d already be on the ground bleeding. He liked to slap her. The crack of his palms hitting her skin excited him. He got off on that shit. He’d beat her then jerk off on her body as she lay on the floor, leave her there for hours if she were unconscious.

  Harden wasn’t Carl. She’d never been afraid to be near him. Intimidated, absolutely. But no fear. Even when she started at Catalyst and caught him looking at her, studying her with those cold eyes, she’d chalked it up to her being new. It made sense for a mob boss to be wary of new people around him, even the bottle girl deserved scrutiny.

  No, she wasn’t afraid of Harden Gage. But she was afraid of the hurt coursing through her veins. It wasn’t rational, yet when had she ever been accused of that. No wonder she didn’t trust herself. How could she when she had such horrible taste in men.

  Tell him about Carl and let him deal with him. Jentry had the distinct feeling that was a death sentence. Could she really sign his death warrant? Could she kill her daughter’s father in cold blood? It would be secondhand, like secondhand smoke. One mention and Carl would vanish. She could make it happen. But could she really do it?

  “Where were you?” Harden’s voice was low and threatening.

  Lips pursed, she told him nothing because he didn’t deserve an answer. Not after the Marilyn skybox bullshit. And it was none of his damn business.

  “Who were you with?” He snarled, a vein throbbing at his temple.

  Startled, her jaw hit her chest. “What did you ask me?”

  “Who were you with?” he said slowly as if she suddenly didn’t speak English.

  Un-fucking-believable! “Did you get a concussion between Denizen and here?” She waved a finger at him.

  He frowned and shook his head. “What?”

  “Someone must’ve clocked you good for you to think I’m going to answer that question when you had Marilyn in the skybox.” Calm and cool, she was so proud of the picture she presented when she was seconds from going postal.

  The frown slipped from his face replaced with a smile. He fucking smiled. Ugh! Done with the conversation and with him, Jentry sailed right past Harden as if he weren’t even there.

  Harden had her by the arm. He pulled her to him before she could break away. The length of her pressed against him. Her coat was no protection against the traitorous heat enveloping her from the outside in. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  She almost said her bedroom, but nothing in here belonged to her though she’d started to think of it as such. “I’m going to see my kid then get some sleep in the bedroom you gave me. It’s been a long day. I stink of cooked food and sweat. I am tired. My feet hurt. My back hurts. I want to sleep for a year, but I can’t do that because Allie will be awake in four hours.” She wanted to see her kid and take a quick shower, then oblivion. Tomorrow she’d start looking for another job. Her days of working for Harden Gage were over.

  She shoved away from him and headed for the nursery. Allie was sprawled on her back and sound asleep, her thumb in her mouth gently sucking every few seconds. Jentry stroked her cheek, and once again marveled at its soft perfection.

  Alice. Anger singed her entire body. How do you have a child and not even know her name?

  Drowsy eyes peeled opened. Uh-oh… She’d woken her. Jentry threw off her coat and picked up her baby. Rocking always worked to get Allie to go back to sleep. Not minding the aroma of food clinging to her skin, Allie nuzzled into her chest. Babies gave the best hugs, especially when you needed one.

  A sound behind her made her turn. Expecting Harden, she shouldn’t have been disappointed to see Ms. Vicki doing her job.

  “The motion sensor went off. I came to check,” she whispered. “Everything alright?” She gave Jentry space to be a mother.

  “It’s my fault. I woke her.” She kissed her forehead. Allie was already fast asleep again.

  “She’s such a good baby. A happy baby,” Ms. Vicki murmured.

  Jentry returned Allie to her crib. They both tipt
oed out of the room and said goodnight in the hallway.

  Refusing to acknowledge the disappointment gnawing at her from Harden not waiting for her, Jentry entered her bedroom. She tossed her coat and purse on the chaise and finally kicked off her shoes. Her feet screamed in relief.

  Before thoughts of Carl intruded, the scent of jasmine and lilac drifted from the bathroom accompanied with the sound of tinkling water. Confused, she pushed open the bathroom door to find the tub filled, fragrant steam curling in the air…and Harden seated on the lip.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jentry’s heart flipped when it shouldn’t. Just because he sat there looking like a damn treat didn’t mean she could have him. Or he have her. Whatever.

  He dipped his hand in the hot water and brought up a palmful in his cupped hand. Slowly the water seeped through his fingers to rejoin the rest as he watched her.

  Harden Gage was everything she shouldn’t want. He was a killer, the ultimate bad boy, and worse. This was a road she’d already traveled with the wrong man behind the wheel. It was insane to stand here, in his penthouse, in his bathroom on loan to her, with her pussy throbbing and her nipples diamond tipped. She should’ve gone to Montauk and shacked up with her family. It wasn’t too late. Her mother wouldn’t turn her away, not with Allie on her hip. Bonus: If she quit her job, Carl would never find her.

  “Get in.”

  She could’ve said no. She damn well should’ve said no.

  Blaming it on exhaustion and insanity, one button followed the next until her shirt slipped from her shoulders. The pants were next to join the shirt pooled at her feet. His gaze remained on her face as she unhooked her bra and let it fall from her body. A shimmy and her panties slid off her hips and her ass to glide down her legs.

  Only when she was naked did his gaze stroll down her body. That ticking muscle in his temple returned, and his entire body tensed…then relaxed. His nostrils flared and his gaze returned to her face. His eyes, Jesus, they were hooded and lusty.