by Jacie Floyd
“I’ll take that into consideration, but I need a clear grasp of the full picture. Email me all the applicable reports and spreadsheets, will you? I’ll study it over the weekend and see what I can figure out.”
“Marcus is in Hawaii for his fiftieth wedding anniversary or he would have met with us. I’ll set up a meeting for him to explain it all to you as soon as he gets back.”
“Do that, but I am my father’s daughter, you know. I’ve taken tons of business classes over the years.” She’d learned how to read profit and loss columns at her father’s knee. And at the Culinary Institute, she’d taken business classes that prepared her for restaurant ownership, employee and vendor contracts, future merchandising and franchising. In her estimation, it was better to know too much, rather than too little. As this meeting with Mick had slammed home.
Mick looked skeptical but couldn’t disagree. “I’ll have Trudy send you what you’ll need.”
“Thank you.” She tucked the report into her tote along with her father’s will. “Unless there’s something else I need to know this minute, I’ve had about all I can take for today.”
“We didn’t discuss the fitness center.” He cleared his throat again. “But maybe it can wait.”
“The fitness center?” Jillian gripped her bag, steeling herself for the next big bang. Her father had been vague whenever that subject came up. Had it been listed in the papers she’d just scanned? “Was he footing the bill for that, too?”
“It’s complicated.”
She sighed. What wasn’t? “Tell me about it.”
“When Liam came back, he saw the potential there. He had some time on his hands and wanted a place where he could work out.”
“Liam !” According to the news reports, his personal worth was underwater. “Don’t tell me he talked Dad into investing in something risky.”
Mick waved the idea away. “He asked to lease the property and do the renovations in lieu of payment. Bert financed the lumber and other materials, and Liam provided the labor. Ever since they opened, they’ve been making money. Liam pours every cent he can scrape together back into the place.”
“Good to know something besides the strip club is making money.” Despite her personal reservations about him, if there was one thing Liam knew about, it was how to turn a dime into a dollar. Whether he was doing it legally was another question.
“All due to Liam’s efforts.”
“They can’t be making much though. A fitness club in a community where people do hard physical labor all day, where they don’t have extra time to work out, and don’t have the money to join a club if they wanted to doesn’t sound like a winner.”
“I was surprised, too, but it’s pretty nice, and they have some good programs that appeal to members. And located on the county line, it brings in clientele from the neighboring counties.”
She hated to ask, but she had to. “Can Liam be trusted?”
Mick looked wary but shrugged. “Your dad trusted him.”
“On what basis?”
“You know your dad. Liam had been kicked in the teeth and was down and out when he came back, but Bert saw something that made him want to give the boy a second chance.”
Her dad had tried to offer the same rationale the few times Liam’s name came up, but she hadn’t wanted to hear it. “Not much of a boy anymore.”
“He’s had a rough time. Most people around here give him a wide berth, but he keeps a low profile, he’s thrifty, and he has minimal living expenses.”
“Is he living with his grandparents on the farm?” Biting her tongue, Jillian wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to appear curious about him.
“Did you know his grandmother died a couple of years ago? The old man’s in Crestwood with dementia.” Mick sighed and shook his head. “With Leah living in Kansas City, he doesn’t have anyone left here. It’s easier for Liam to live in the rooms above the Kitty Kat instead of at the farm.”
“The strip club? Why?” Her heart sank as the answer jumped out at her. Her hand flew up like a stop sign. “No, wait, don’t tell me. He’s the new manager Dad hired, isn’t he?”
She should have seen that coming.
Liam heard Jillian arrive before he saw her. Since thoughts of her had been stuck in his head all day, it was possible he’d conjured her presence from the continual loop of mental pictures. But no, there she was in the flesh, brushing past the young girl working the Old Barn’s service desk, like she had every right to barge into his office and no time for protocol. A beautiful, crusading angel by the look of her flashing eyes and flushed cheeks. All she needed was a fiery sword and feathery wings to complete the picture.
The exact opposite of the way she’d looked last night when he’d gone to her house. He’d felt bad about the way he’d left things with her and knew she was in for a rude awakening today. The least he could do was prepare her for his involvement in her life. But when he’d found her asleep on the deck, looking all soft, cuddly and kissable like the sweet, sassy young girl she used to be, he hadn’t had the heart to wake her. Looked like that good deed was going to bite him in the butt.
Ready to spit fire, she skidded to a halt in front of his desk, jammed her hands on her hips, and stuck her chin out. “From the reports of the past couple of years, I really didn’t think you could sink any lower.”
“You’d be surprised at how low I can go.” Pretending indifference and avoiding her glare, he moved his cursor around a spreadsheet on his screen like he had urgent business at hand. Finally, he flicked his gaze her way. “What are you accusing me of now?”
“Running a strip club! Peddling flesh! Selling sex! Demeaning, demoralizing, and objectifying women! And who knows what other bad or illegal things go on over there?”
Each accusation slammed against his mind and body like a battering ram, because she was the one wielding the weapon. Lucky for him, the hard work he’d put in strengthening his mind and body kept her words from flattening him into a grease spot on the floor. And prevented her from seeing their effect.
Taking his time, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. If her fury wasn’t focused on him, he’d much prefer this angry-Jillian to the sad, shaky, exhausted one she’d been yesterday. “I like to think of it as a public service.”
“Providing horny old men with a place to escape their wives, get an eyeful, cop a feel, pay for a lap dance, and fulfill their jerk-off fantasies?”
He wouldn’t let himself smile at her on-point description. If she could go for the insults, so could he. “That’s harsh, Jill. I don’t remember the Sunnyside Princess being so judgmental and uptight.”
Since he was seated, and she was standing, it was all too easy for her to look down her nose. “Back then, I hadn’t been groped, put-down, belittled, and hit on by more than half the male restaurant owners and chefs in New York.”
His gut clenched on her behalf. However rampant sexual harassment might be in any profession in the country, the cesspools of New York magnified and sharpened the difficulties. He’d heard how chauvinism permeated the restaurant world. But she wouldn’t expect him to sympathize, and he didn’t want to give her any ground. “If it gives guys a break from nagging wives and bitchy girlfriends, and lets them blow off steam away from dead-end jobs, what’s the harm? I don’t let them get out of hand with the girls, and it puts food on the table for more than forty people.”
“You have thirty-plus strippers working there?” Her voice could have held more condemnation for serial killers or child molesters, probably, but that was about it.
“We don’t call them strippers.” His response came out more sharply than he intended. Time to go back on offense. “For a feminist, you aren’t cutting the girls much slack, are you?”
“What do you call them?”
“Dancers. There are eighteen of them. They’re nice, too. Not like the floozies you’re picturing.” For the most part. “But there are also bartenders, servers, an A/V guy, two store clerks,
an assistant manager, a cleaning crew, musicians, and a couple of cooks.”
The scowl left her face when he hit on the one word that struck a chord with her. “Cooks? What kind of food do you serve?”
“Bar food like wings, pizza, burgers. Nothing on your scale.”
“Good Lord!” She nearly stamped her foot in frustration. “After ten years of building my culinary reputation, I finally own a restaurant, and it turns out to be a greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere.”
That had to be a let-down. But soon, she’d be out of his hair and back where she belonged. Where she deserved to be. “You’re getting ready to open your own place in New York, aren’t you?”
Her eyes narrowed to steely slits. “How do you know that?”
“Your dad. How else? He talked about you all the time.”
“To you?” Now, her eyes popped wide in horror.
“Not so much to me as talked to other people about you, and sometimes I was around when he did. He was thrilled you were finally getting to create your own menu and call your own shots. How’s that plan coming along?”
“It’s stalled while I’m here, but I’ll get back to it soon.”
“As soon as you’re done in Sunnyside, I guess.” He gestured to the visitor’s chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Since you’re here, let’s discuss our common business interests.”
As she looked around, he viewed the sparsely-furnished room through her eyes. When most of his belongings were confiscated and sold last year, he’d learned that the absence of things money could buy wasn’t as important as the loss of intangible possessions. Like integrity, dignity, self-respect, trust. And hope. Most of all hope.
Without hope, he’d had trouble getting up in the mornings. Adopting a dog had helped and the distraction of working out constantly had occupied a lot of his time. Which had led to the idea of clearing out the barn and remodeling it.
Back then, he’d started with nothing but a folding table and a laptop. Eventually, Bert dropped off a desk, two chairs, a printer, and a filing cabinet he’d appropriated from one of his other businesses. Now Liam had a floor, walls, and a window. Nothing more than a lamp, a framed photograph, a jar of doggie treats, and a dog bed in the corner had been added to the office since. He had the minimalist look down pat.
Jillian was the only bright spot in the room, besides the photo of him and Adam at a Cardinals game last summer. A photo that conveniently faced Liam. No point in waving that red flag in Jillian’s face.
When she shook her head, sunbeams from the window highlighted the curls she’d always detested. He slid his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her, from plunging his fingers through her hair, taking her mouth with his. Well, hell. Old desires died hard, it seemed.
“I’m too upset to sit.”
The dark circles under her eyes and jittery pacing verified that fact. A wave of sympathy hit him, knowing what she’d been through and regretting the hard time he’d been giving her. He stood and came around to stop in front of her. He leaned against the chipped edge of the desk, putting their heads at the same level. “Is this tantrum really about the club? Or your dad?”
Dropping her shoulders, she muttered a return question. “Can’t it be about both?”
He bounced another one back. “You talked to Mick?”
“You know what’s going on?”
Just like in the old days, their thoughts worked in sync, leaping over the obvious to get to the meat of the subject. With a gentle finger, he eased a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know you have a big mess on your plate.”
She drew back, narrowing her eyes. The moment of synchronicity vanished. “I sure do. Dad’s funds are almost exhausted, and your little sex-shop is the only thing bringing in income. But my conscience won’t let me own a business that exploits women. I couldn’t sleep at night.” Her voice cracked with anguish.
He clamped down on the surge of sympathy. “You’re taking your self-righteous attitude a little over the top. We aren’t running a human trafficking ring here. What if the women want to be exploited?”
She raised her exquisite eyebrows. “They want to be exploited?”
He winced. “That didn’t come out right. Nobody’s making them do anything they don’t want to do. Maybe if they could get other jobs, they would but working at the club offers certain perks they find appealing.”
“I’ll bet! Are there perks for you, too?”
Was she implying he sampled the merchandise? Was she jealous? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you selling sex here or not?”
Her holier-than-thou attitude was pissing him off. Let her think what she wanted, just like all the other uptight biddies of Sunnyside.
“Naked bodies bring in the customers, but sex isn’t on the menu. What the dancers do on their off-hours is their business.” A couple of them were party girls who liked a good time, but if they took their partying off-site, he didn’t care. The rest were wives, mothers, or college students too busy to participate in extra activities for money or pleasure. But Jillian didn’t know that, did she? Because she was too damned narrow-minded to think the situation through, to consider any conclusions besides the ones she’d already jumped to.
She expelled an exasperated breath and turned to leave. “I’ll have to think about this, but I don’t see how I can let that place stay open.”
“Give me some warning if you decide to shut it down, okay?” His hand around her wrist pulled her up short. Her pulse jumped beneath his fingertips.
She snatched her hand away like she’d been burned. Her gaze flicked up and down the length of him as if weighing what she saw and finding it lacking. “So, you can make arrangements for your harem?”
“No.” Pausing for a deep breath, he ignored the insult in the interest of future peace and harmony. “So people don’t get fired right before the holidays.”
“Right, like that’s your big concern.”
“Believe it or not.”
“Not!”
“Fine!”
Annoyed as all get out, he shouldn’t have been so eager to ogle her ass as she stomped to the door. But just like old times, he couldn’t resist.
Her snarl when she stopped abruptly and whirled back around could have been rooted in intuition or frustration. “Can you buy the Kitty Kat if I want out?”
Whoa, loaded question! For reasons of his own, he didn’t want to own a strip club any more than she did. He owed it to the employees to keep it open, if not the clientele, but his resources were limited. “We could discuss it.”
“We’ll have to discuss this place, too.”
Old Barn Fitness ? He had some leverage on this subject. It was his baby. He owned half of it with a business contract and a proprietary and personal interest in what happened next. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, give me a call. Day or night.” He didn’t mean to sound so suggestive. So obvious. Or desperate.
As if she sensed a deeper meaning in his words, she bit her bottom lip. A lip he’d licked a thousand times and wanted to lick a thousand more, messed up bastard that he was.
Breaking the tension, the door behind her opened. His obnoxiously friendly golden-retriever-slash-German-shepherd mix swept in, sniffed Jillian’s boots, and jumped up to put his paws on her shoulders. “Well, hello!” Jillian greeted as Shelby swept her tongue across Jillian’s cheek. “Yes, I like you, too, but I don’t want to have my face washed.”
Mindy followed the dog into the office. “Sorry, boss. I didn’t know you had anyone with you. Should I take Shelby back out?”
“You can leave her, thanks.” He snapped his fingers, then reached for the doggie treats. “Down, Shelby. Sit.” Shelby instantly obeyed.
Jillian leaned down and patted her head. “Good dog,” she cooed in her doggie voice. “Aren’t you a beauty?”
Liam came around to offer his pet the treat she’d earned, but that brought him right back to Jillian’s side. “I knew you’d like her.�
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“What’s not to like? But she reminds me how much I miss Ziggy.”
“Yeah, he was a good old dog. Bert was upset about having to put him down.”
“He didn’t have him put down.” Jillian stopped scratching Shelby’s ears, got real still, and looked up at him. “That’s not what happened.”
Uh oh . “Isn’t it?”
“Dad said he died in his sleep.” Her voice came out in a whisper.
Of course, Bert would have said that. He’d always protected Jillian from life’s harsher realities whenever he could. Who was Liam to try and change that? “Sure, that’s what happened. I remember now.”
Relief flooded her eyes. Accepting the thinly veiled lie, she resumed petting Shelby. “How old is she?”
“Rescue dog, so I’m not sure. Probably about a year.” Shelby stood and sniffed Jillian’s groin. Liam snapped his fingers, and the dog retreated. “We’ve still got some work to do, but she’s a good dog.” The best. She deserved most of the credit for bringing him back from the brink. Shelby, Zach, and Bert. He’d have to remember that debt to Bert when dealing with his daughter.
“I can see that.” She swept her hair over her shoulder. “But…”
His heart really shouldn’t leap with anticipation when she said leading things like that. “Yes?”
“Maybe Mick should be present, or Marcus,” she said. “When we meet to discuss the club.”
“Maybe so.” He retreated behind his desk, hiding his disappointment and pretending that he had other, more pressing business to attend to. “And maybe you should leave now.”
The sooner the better.
Before he forgot she wasn’t his to touch and taste and tease any longer. He’d thrown away that right a long time ago.
Chapter Four
Jillian had been eating leftovers out of the sub-zero refrigerator for three days. Of course, the fridge was stuffed full of the local favorites that had been brought to every community get-together for the past half-century. As a final tribute to Bert, friends and relatives had brought dishes they knew he liked best. And they brought specialties they remembered had been Jillian’s childhood must-haves, too. These people were more like elephants than humans and never forgot a thing. That fact made living down past indiscretions difficult.
