by James, J. P.
I wonder if I can get him to sing to me while we’re—
“You need to pay me asshole!” a voice booms from the background, interrupting the smattering of applause. It’s loud and has enough menace in it to turn around nearly everybody in the place. I don’t need to turn, though. I’d know that annoying sound anywhere.
Don Hunt.
What did I do to deserve seeing this asshole twice in one night? What are the odds? Shit.
All of a sudden, my drink doesn’t taste as satisfying as it did a few minutes ago. Don’s slimy presence here is definitely my cue to leave. He’s here “working,” and that means any fucked-up shit he deals tonight might end up landing on me. The glass clinks against the table top as I push it away. But then the gorgeous man on stage catches my eye again.
Any relaxation I’d hoped to find here is officially gone. I just can’t bring myself to get up and leave, Don Hunt be damned. Not yet, anyways. Not without this man hanging on my arm.
“Come on, Don. You know I’m good for the money,” comes a trembling voice. Milton Harmsworth sounds terrified and desperate. His voice shakes harder with every word he says. “I’ll get it to you, I promise! You don’t have to do anything drastic.” His gulp of terror sounds loud and clear despite the low hum of conversation.
“There are a lot of things I know, Milton, and one of them is that you don’t appear to be a sound investment at this time.” Don sounds very pleased by that.
“Don! Please! I’m begging you!”
Really? Is Don the reason this bar is on the verge of collapse? Is he bleeding Milton and Playing Desires bone dry by demanding protection money? Hell, it seems straight out of a movie.
But I know this is no piece of fiction. A sinister laugh rings out. Don is doing his best to play the big, bad, mafia boogeyman, and from the way Milton shrieks a moment later, he’s getting an up close and personal demonstration of why you shouldn’t borrow money from mob bosses.
The man at the piano suddenly stops playing. His gaze darts around the room before finally settling on me. Those brown eyes are wide and vulnerable, and too damn sweet to be in this place. My chest burns with a strange feeling of protectiveness, and I take a deep breath. I’ll shield him, even if it means breaking every bone in that loser’s body.
But I’m the only one unafraid. Everyone else in the place looks stunned, and most are eyeing the closed door where a big red exit sign indicates escape. A guy who’d been steadily sliding down in his chair while staring into his full glass of booze suddenly perks up enough to pull cash out of his pocket, toss it on the bar, and then hot foot it toward the door. A couple of others follow his example, but some others stay with curious expressions on their faces. Not a smart idea.
Another terrified shriek comes from behind the closed swinging door hiding the kitchen. It sounds like Don, or one of his goons, is twisting something off Milt’s body that he wants to keep. “I can get you the money! I promise!” he squeals.
“It’s a little too late for that, my friend,” Don booms out like he’s playing to this audience of terrified people. The sick bastard knows everybody is listening and that nobody will say a word. But honestly, it’s starting to seem too Godfather like. This is life, not a movie, and my nemesis is hamming it up like no tomorrow, even if the violence is real.
Suddenly, the musician jumps up from the stool and stares towards the back like he’s ready to run in there and single-handedly rescue Milton himself.
Nope. Not going to happen.
My chair scrapes across the floor as I get up and start heading for the man at the piano. His wide eyes stare up at me, and for a second, it feels like he’s about to ask me to do something stupid, like go save Milton from this ridiculous situation.
“Do you know what’s going on?” he manages in a choked voice.
“Yeah, but it’s nothing you want to be a part of.” His arm is smooth and muscular beneath my strong grasp. “You need to leave here. Right now,” I tell him. “It’s not safe.”
“Wait, what are you talking about? Is Milton okay? I can’t leave here!” But his body is telling a different story. The young man is trembling, and as I watch, a slight sheen of sweat breaks out on that bronzed brow. Nonetheless, he’s determined to help. “I can’t let Milt get hurt,” he chokes out. “I need this job!” he adds in a low voice.
Just then, a bus boy bursts out of the kitchen, and as the doors swing open, I spot Don with Milton. His two goons have the poor guy between them, and Don has his fingers in a cruel vise around the other man’s neck. To make it worse, Don is squeezing slowly as Milt lets out choking noises with his eyes bugging out. Yeah, no way am I letting the songbird stay here when Don’s actually inflicting pain.
I lean closer to him. “Your job here isn’t worth your life, honey.”
But he shakes his head furiously. “I have to stay. Someone needs my help.” The words are edged with a touch of desperation, and I wonder if he saw Milton’s torment back there. I don’t know much about this man, but damn, he’s brave with a sense of loyalty, even if a touch misguided. Clearly, I need to save him from himself.
I gentle my hold onto his arm. “Listen, let me make you a deal...”
Quick and dirty, I hit him with the financial reality of his situation.
“Listen, how much do you make here? Ten bucks an hour? Fifteen?”
He goes pale. “Eight,” he says in a low murmur.
My eyebrows lift. “Well, since that’s the amount of money you’re worried about losing — and you seem more worried about that than your own life, by the way — I’ll pay you for some work just to get you out of here with me right now.” I ignore his instant confusion, and keep going with my offer. “You’re more than talented enough to perform at one of my parties. How does twenty thousand dollars sound?”
He gasps. “For one performance?”
I’m just about to nod when a loud crash from behind the swinging doors cuts off the rest of his words. My handsome songbird jumps. Instantly, he looks afraid. Absolutely terrified, as a matter of fact. It’s that more than anything that makes me say “fuck it.” He might be pissed at me for dragging him out of this war zone later, but it makes no sense to stay around any longer. I need to get him to safety, with no more obstacles and no more arguing. Growling, I grab the handsome musician’s arm and yank him along behind me out of the bar. I’m acting pushy and domineering, but it’s my job to keep him safe from now on.
4
Milo
Twenty thousand dollars? This guy sounds totally crazy.
Sure, Milton is terrified, but it’s probably just a little argument he can sort out with this Don person when they both have clearer heads. At most, it’s just going to be a bar fight, nothing more. Tall, dark, and sexy is just blowing things out of proportion. Right?
But a tiny voice at the back of my mind reminds me of the loud crash I’d heard earlier, as well as Milton’s terrified shouts. And the sleazy looking guy doesn’t seem like he’s the type to fight fair, even if this is just a bar fight. He had at least three henchmen with him, all dressed in dark suits with their sunglasses on.
My gorgeous customer grabs me and gently pulls me out of the club, walking quickly enough with his long legs that I have to jog a little to catch up with him. Outside the club, the parking lot is nearly empty, but the guy starts urging me toward a dark Mercedes.
Wait a minute! This is not what I’d signed up for when I came into work tonight. I jerk my arm from his grip. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He doesn’t even look my way. “I’m doing you a favor, that’s what.” He stops under one of the blazing lights in the parking lot, and I can see that his eyes aren’t as dark as I’d thought. They’re the color of the deep blue ocean, and they burn with a light of urgency.
“I don’t need any of your favors,” I snap at him. “Especially any that involve me getting into your car.” After all, the car is big, dark, and expensive, and a lot like its owner, come to think of it.
Does he think he’s just going to throw me in his back seat and have his way with me by using a lame line like that? What a favor. Yeah, right.
“Okay, fine,” he says. “You don’t need to get in my car, but you do need to leave this club. Now.” He glances over his shoulder toward the door where three regulars have just come running out. They’re huffing and wheezing, while stumbling over their own feet to escape.
With a raised eyebrow, the guy turns back to me. “Staying at that job is a surefire way for you to get killed.” His gaze drops to where he’s holding my hand. His grip is so strong that even though it’s only been a few seconds, I can see a slight bruise starting to form. But immediately, the stranger looks repentant. With a low growl, he smooths his fingers over the growing bruises. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just trying to get you to safety.”
His obvious care is unexpected, and my cheeks flame with a blush. How can this man, this sex god, think I’m worth all this? Me, of all people? Milo Barnett, who’s barely getting by on minimum wage plus tips?
Then reality hits me in the head like a brick.
This is New York City. Look at this guy, and then look at me. Even I know that dreams don’t really come true. Hot guys don’t appear out of nowhere and then save you from the goons hiding in the shadows. Stuff like that is meant for TV and movies. This man wants something from me; I just don’t know what it is.
I straighten my spine and try to stare him down even though he’s at least five inches taller than me. I’m relatively statuesque at five nine, but he has to be at least six two. “Like I said, I don’t need your favors, and I certainly don’t need you to take care of or protect me in any way.”
Of course, this is all a bunch of crap. They’re lies followed by more lies. I’d love for him to take care of me, but more than one man in my past has already taught me that love and caring aren’t cheap.
But the dark man merely shakes his head.
“I wasn’t kidding in there,” he growls. “I know you need this job, but I’ll pay you the twenty grand like I promised. It’s basically for the same kind of thing you’ve been doing here.”
Hearing, for the second time, the amount of money he’s offering shocks me into silence again. That’s...that’s a fortune! More than I’ve ever had in my whole life. My mouth drops open.
“That’s right.” He pounces on my silence with a quick grin. “Twenty thousand dollars for performing at one of my private parties. One night only. Are you interested?”
One night? Does he think I’m a—? My heart starts beating crazy fast in my chest, and I can’t push away from him fast enough. “No way! I won’t do that. Not for twenty thousand, not for twenty million. I’m not rent boy, and my body isn’t for sale.”
The man has the temerity to throw his head back and laugh, displaying even white teeth.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, pretty boy,” he chuckles. The man even has the nerve to smile at me again. “I just want you to sing some songs, play an expensive piano, and entertain my guests, and not in the way you’re thinking. I’m sure you can handle that.”
I’m just about to challenge him again when his hand slips into his jacket pocket and emerges with a checkbook. “That’s all I want you to do,” he continues. “I promise.” Then, he starts filling out one of the checks, signing off with an exaggerated flourish.
“Don’t be so touchy, pretty boy,” he says, his deep voice low and soothing despite the crazy situation. “I swear, I’m not trying to stalk you or anything. But I need your name, unless I’m going to make this check out to cash.”
I’m just about to say, “Make it out to cash,” when common sense gets the better of me. There are no banks open right now, and it’s dangerous to go around with that much money in my pocket. So I huff a bit and then manage to say, “I’m Milo Barnett.”
He finishes scrawling, and then tears the check out with a loud rip.
“Great. It’s nice to meet you. Here’s your money. I’m Neil Woods, by the way.”
I don’t give my hand permission to reach out for the check, but that’s exactly what it does. My eyes nearly jump out of my head when they see the amount he’s written. Wow. Just wow. It really is for twenty thousand dollars. How many people have that much money sitting in their bank account even?
The small but weighty piece of paper flutters in my hand as a breeze sweeps over me like some kind of dream. This can’t be real. But the dollar amount stares right back at me, unwavering in its bold, black script. Yes, it’s really there.
“Right now, there’s no commitment from you, Milo,” Neil says casually. He tucks away his pen and checkbook. “If you cash the check, then that means you want the job I’m offering. If not, you can always rip it up and throw it away. No hard feelings.”
Rip up a check for twenty thousand dollars? Just the thought of that makes me gawk with disbelief. So much money just to sing and play the piano for one night? It seems insane, and I’m frozen on the spot staring at the check like an idiot.
“Take it,” he said casually. “Or not. Your choice, either way.” Then he folds my fingers around the check and slowly steps away from me. Those blue eyes lance into my heart even as I continue to stare at the money crumpled in my fist. “Now, let me call you a cab since you won’t let me give you a lift home.” He pulls out his cell phone and selects a number on speed dial.
My head is still spinning when less than an hour later, a yellow cab drops me off in front of my little apartment in Brooklyn. I get out on wobbly knees and stare up at the façade of my building. It’s still the same. And I’m still the same, right? But somehow, I know that everything’s changed because of this man with the blazing blue eyes.
5
Milo
I still can’t believe what happened last night. I let a stranger – a hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless — rush me out of Playing Desires, which probably cost me my job. Sure, it was technically the end of my set, but still. It was crazy.
And that huge check he basically forced on me? I haven’t been able to stop looking at it since he gave it to me. I even slept with it next to my bed and had breakfast while staring down at it on the kitchen table. But it’s really there. It didn’t vaporize while I slept, nor did it disintegrate into dust on its own.
After breakfast, I went for a run around my neighborhood to relieve some of the stress of last night, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about that man. Who is he? And why does he want me to come play at his party for such a huge sum?
Twenty thousand dollars. Wow, I still can’t believe it.
Now it’s time for me to get ready for work again, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to get dressed and walk out the door. Sitting on my couch, clad in house shorts and a T-shirt, I turn the check over in my hands for the millionth time today. The TV chatters in the background.
God, why am I being such a baby about this? I roll my eyes at myself. Why am I even trying to figure this out by myself? My best friend Carla will know what to do because she always does. I give her a call and beg her to come over, promising I’ll babysit her two adorable kids the next time she and her husband, Gary, want a date night.
On the phone, Carla shrieks with evil glee, doing her best impersonation of an evil Disney stepmother. “You got it. I’m warning you thought - it might even be an overnight date. You’ll be enabling parent sexy times.”
Gross. I don’t really want to think about that, but whatever gets Carla some free time. My buddy’s over in less than an hour.
“What’s up, stranger?” she asks. My friend sits down on the couch beside me with a glass of white wine, her head of wild curls tied back from her face, and some sort of strange yoga cat suit covering her slim figure like a second skin. “Tell me everything.” Her grin is wild and sweet, which is part of the reason why I love this woman.
We’ve been best friends since we were kids, and nothing, not even separate colleges, has been able to get in the way of our friendship. Carla
is the smartest, most level-headed woman I know. Unlike me, she’s always been a good student, and she got through college without a hitch. The woman started her career shortly after school, married Gary, and had her little sweet peas, Sarah and Kathy, in short order.
By contrast, when I was in college, I had a breakdown and had to drop out. Carla didn’t judge me. In fact, she was there to piece me back together, and let me stay at her apartment for a few weeks until I got a job. So yeah, I love Carla like crazy. Sometimes I envy that she’s so put-together while my life always seems to be a perpetual mess. Most times, I’d give anything to have the kind of life she has: a husband who adores her and two smart and happy kids. But my love for Carla outweighs any envy I feel for her perfect life. She deserves it, and one couldn’t have a better friend.
“So dish, Milo,” Carla says, nudging my knee with her own. “What’s got you so rattled?”
While drinking from my own glass of white wine, I tell her what happened to me last night. Everything, including Neil Woods and the twenty-thousand-dollar check.
“So what do you think I should do?” I ask once I finish the story.
Carla nods, thinking.
“First of all, I need to see what this guy looks like. He sounds like a total fox.” Then she holds up her hand to stop me before I can remind her that she has a foxy man of her own at home; one who’s willing to massage her feet, perform oral sex without needing to come himself, and spend a whole week with his two baby girls while his wife runs off to Vegas to play slots. “I mean, my first impression is that you might as well give it a shot since it’s so much money. How many times do you get an opportunity like this?”
That’s true, and I gnaw at my lip.