Ben opened his mouth to speak, but as if Gabe could sense what Ben was about to say, he muttered a “Don’t answer that” as he signaled for one of the waitresses.
* * *
“What can I get for you gentlemen?” Ryan tried to infuse her voice with a little enthusiasm, but she didn’t feel it. Carrying drinks in six-inch heels left something to be desired. Especially when she had to cater to sleazy businessmen like the ones she currently had the pleasure of dealing with. They’d already been to Daisy’s three nights this week, and even though there were partially naked women sliding up and down poles, for some reason the guys seemed to be more interested in her.
“You cut your hair,” one of them said.
“Yup.” The reply was as forced as the smile accompanying it. She could practically feel the balding man’s gaze burning her skin as his eyes roamed over the length of her. It didn’t help that they were seated on one of the black leather couches, allowing them to practically see up her miniskirt. She didn’t know how all these girls could do this—flirt with complete strangers that they had no interest in. She’d make a horrible actress.
“I’m Steve,” he said, spreading his arms against the back of the couch and crossing his ankle over his knee. It was one of those poses men used to make themselves appear bigger, more powerful. He looked to be at least twice her age, and he smelled like stale cigars and aftershave. Which struck Ryan as strange since it didn’t look like he’d shaved in a few days.
Ryan hated him.
“I’m Paige.”
“Paige,” he repeated. “That’s a beautiful name.”
It’s also a fake one. She’d made a promise to herself when she’d started waiting tables at a strip club: There was no way she would give a guy her real name. And when she’d thought of possible aliases, Paige had seemed all too fitting.
Because that’s what this job was: a page in a chapter of much longer story. And she couldn’t wait to turn it. “Thank you,” she muttered before gesturing her head toward the bar. “What are you guys having? I have some other tables I need to check on.”
The other two men placed their orders—some high-end bourbon that she was sure they’d ordered so she’d know they had money. Like she cared.
“Martini,” Steve said. “I like ‘em dirty,” he added with a wink. Then he reached a hand out and grabbed hold of Ryan’s, which had been casually at her side until he’d touched it.
She jerked her hand away reflexively. She didn’t want a strange guy touching her, though the fact that she appeared so uncomfortable made her a bit self-conscious. He’d only touched her hand.
But she couldn’t help it that the contact made her visibly cringe. “Please don’t touch me,” she said, her voice firm, confident. Though she wasn’t quite sure where the courtesy had come from.
Over the two months she’d worked at Daisy’s, she’d become accustomed to customers getting handsy with her. And she had no problem putting them in their place.
Unfortunately, the owner, Paul Roman, did have a problem with it. He’d already had to tell her more than a few times that he’d employed security for a reason, and he expected her to make use of it. But she’d be damned if she would let a man put a hand on her without sticking up for herself.
“Sorry,” Steve said, though the way one corner of his lips drew up as he eyed the two other guys told her the apology wasn’t genuine. Not one bit.
“I’m sure you are,” she muttered.
“What was that?” he replied, almost laughing. He must not have expected the response, and he drew a gray eyebrow up in challenge.
“I said, I’m sure you are.” She knew he probably expected her to back down, say that she hadn’t said anything. But she never backed down. Especially when it came to guys like this. Guys who thought wealth and power gave them the right to be chauvinistic assholes. “I’ll go get your drinks,” she said, turning to leave.
But when she did, she felt a firm hand on her wrist. Her instinct was to pull away, break free from the grasp. But she couldn’t let herself walk away. “I said don’t touch me,” she spat after yanking her hand away for a second time and pulling it in toward her like a child in need of protection.
“And I said I’m sorry,” he shot back.
“Well, clearly you’re not or you wouldn’t have done it again.” Her voice was growing louder, but she could still hear Paul’s over it.
“Everything okay here, gentlemen?”
“Fine,” Steve said, his eyes never leaving Ryan’s.
“Good. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you,” Paul said. He shot Ryan a look of warning.
“This asshole grabbed me, and you’re asking him if everything’s okay?” She glared at her boss, her expression challenging him to justify himself. Not that there was anything he could say that would.
“Where did he grab you?”
“My wrist. But why should that matter? He put his hand on me, and we have a ‘no touching’ policy.”
Paul rolled his eyes and put his hand on her back as he ushered her away from the men. The fact that he’d now touched her as well wasn’t doing anything to help the matter. “This is a strip club. A guy touched your wrist. It’s not like he grabbed your pussy.”
Paul’s words made her visibly cringe.
“You have to make some sacrifices,” he continued. “And relax a little if you’re gonna continue to work here.”
“My dignity isn’t something I should have to sacrifice.”
Paul scoffed. “Yeah. Well, listen, honey. You gotta do a lotta shit in life you shouldn’t have to do. So suck it up. I don’t need my girls getting into it with our guests. It’s bad for business. I pay you to carry drinks and look pretty.”
She stared hard at him, feeling her muscles clench inside her skin. She couldn’t keep spending the next God knows how long hopping from one friend’s couch to another until she got her life in order. Since she’d left her hometown, everything was in disarray. She needed this job.
But more than that, she needed her pride.
“Well you don’t pay me enough,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a firmness to it that made her feel like she’d recaptured some of her confidence.
And with that, she walked to the back room to get her bag from her locker. She didn’t respond when Paul called after her, and she didn’t answer when some of the other women asked where she was going.
She didn’t know.
All she knew was that she needed to get away from here.
Chapter Three
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
After Ryan left the building through a side exit, her brain seemed incapable of any thoughts that didn’t involve obscenities and panic. What the hell was she going to do now? She’d agreed to give Camille—the friend she was currently staying with—a small percentage of every paycheck from Daisy’s and split each night’s tips with her, so Ryan was at least contributing something toward the rent.
She already felt like an ass for not being able to support herself like she thought she would, and now she’d set herself back even further by quitting the only job she had. So what if some skeevy guys made a few unwanted comments and got a little touchy-feely from time to time? It wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
But what it came down to was that she didn’t want to handle it. Or maybe it was that she felt she shouldn’t have to. Ryan pressed her back against the brick wall of the side alley and considered her options. Though options plural may have been wishful thinking. She could only think of one way to get a job tonight, and that involved going back into Daisy’s, admitting she’d overreacted, and begging Paul to take her back. And though she was fairly certain he would let her return to her shift immediately, she couldn’t allow herself to admit to him that leaving had been a mistake.
Because, ultimately, she knew it wasn’t. One way or another she’d figure things out, like she always managed to. Tomorrow was another day. She’d get a good night’s sleep and de
al with the job search in the morning, she thought, as she pushed off the wall and turned to walk toward the street. When one door closes, another one opens.
Or in Ryan’s case it opens and smacks her right in the face. “Goddammit,” she yelled when the metal door collided with her. Bringing a hand up to her nose, she felt what she figured was blood beginning to run from her nostrils. She wiped her hand over it to make sure and then pinched the bridge of it to stop the bleeding that had already started. She didn’t have any tissues on her, so she grabbed a shirt from her bag and brought it to her face.
“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”
She didn’t recognize the male voice, and her eyes were still shut from the pain of steel colliding with her nose, so she had no idea who the offender even was. “Well, it’s hard to see people who are on the other side of metal doors.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have . . . Are you okay?” the man asked.
When she felt his hand touch her bicep, she brushed it off, stepping back from him instinctively. “Yeah. Fantastic.”
“Right. Sorry. That was a dumb question.” He was silent for a moment and then he added, “Tip your head forward, not back.”
“What?”
“Tipping it back could cause you to swallow the blood, and that could result in vomiting. I already hit you in the face with a door. I don’t wanna make you throw up too.”
She leaned over so her head was almost parallel to the ground. “Like this?”
“Not quite that far. Stand up straight and drop your head slightly.”
She did as he said, finally opening her eyes enough to look at the mystery man. She had to step back to see his face, which, despite her heels, was still several inches above hers. But when her gaze finally got there, she was glad it did: smooth dark skin, a perfectly squared jaw under a short beard, warm eyes that held more concern for her than she’d seen in as long as she could remember. “What are you, some sort of nosebleed expert?” was all she could think to say.
He laughed, revealing his dimples. “I guess you could say that,” he said. “I’m a hockey player.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked confused by having to explain further. “I play professionally, so I’ve seen my share of bloody noses.”
She could feel her eyes widen when he told her he was a professional athlete. It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it. With his broad shoulders and long, muscular arms, she didn’t doubt his athleticism. But this was like meeting a celebrity. Granted, it was one she knew nothing about. “What’s your name?” she asked. Though no matter what he said, she knew there was no chance she’d heard of him.
“Ben Williamson.” He extended a hand to her before he seemed to remember that hers had blood on it and returned it to his side.
“Ryan Cruz,” she replied. It hadn’t even occurred to her to give him a fake name, but she wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d introduced himself first, or that he seemed like a nice guy. Or that her injury had resulted in some sort of brain damage.
“Nice to meet you.” Ben nodded politely. “Though it probably would’ve been nicer if our introduction didn’t begin with me hitting you in the face.”
Fearing it would make the bleeding worse, she did her best not to laugh. “Probably.”
They were both silent for a few moments, though strangely it didn’t feel awkward. Or at least it didn’t to her. She wasn’t sure if the same could be said for Ben because she’d been staring at him for the past thirty seconds or so and was probably creeping him out. But she couldn’t help it. Compared to her five-foot-three frame, he seemed to tower over her. And the fact that he looked like he’d been cut from stone didn’t make it any easier for her to look away.
“I should probably clean up,” she finally said. But as soon as she said the words, it occurred to her that cleaning up would involve going back into Daisy’s—something she refused to do even if the only alternative was standing in an alley covered in blood while she attempted to make small talk with a sexy professional athlete. “Actually,” she said, “it’s probably not a good idea if I go in. I’d have to go through the front doors because the door locked behind you, and I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
Ben put a hand up to his forehead. “Right. God, I’m such an asshole. I planned to keep the door propped open, but then I hit you with it, and I panicked. And then I didn’t even offer to get you something to clean up with. I’ll go grab you some wet paper towels or something. I’ll be right back.”
She smiled, though he probably couldn’t see it with her hand in front of her face. “I’ll be here,” she said as Ben turned to walk toward the entrance.
* * *
Ben entered the strip club and headed straight to the men’s room, cursing himself when he realized the bathroom was equipped only with hand dryers. Of course. Exiting the restroom and looking around at the club, he headed over to the bar and asked the bartender for some napkins and a glass of water. When he’d decided he needed to step outside and breathe some air that wasn’t laced with perfume and cigarettes, he hadn’t even told the guys where he was going. And though he’d been gone at least ten minutes, his buddies would have to wait.
Once Ben had the supplies he needed, he left some money on the bar and walked quickly toward the side door. But as his hand pressed against the metal bar to push it open, he reminded himself to press gently. The only thing worse than injuring a woman would be injuring her twice.
“It’s safe to come out,” he heard Ryan say after he’d cracked the door open just enough to peer out.
Ben laughed, though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “Here you go,” he said, handing her the napkins and holding the water out so she could dip them in it.
She dampened the napkins and brought them up to her face. “Did anyone ask what you were doing?” she asked.
“No,” Ben said, confused. “Why would they?”
Ryan shrugged as she cleaned herself up. “Oh, um . . . the owner doesn’t really like people using that exit, so I thought maybe someone said something to you.”
“I don’t think anyone saw me.”
“Oh, okay.” Ryan finished cleaning herself up and tossed the napkins in a nearby dumpster before taking out one of those round mirrors and dabbing her face with a little powder. “So why did you come out here in the first place?”
Ben rolled his eyes and laughed. “The better question is why did I go in,” he said. Though he quickly realized that his comment might have offended her. Nothing like smacking a woman in the face with a door and then insulting her career to make a first impression. “I mean, strip clubs aren’t really my thing. My friends brought me here.” He pointed with his thumb toward the building. “I was coming out to get some fresh air. They’re probably wondering where I am right now.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” she said. “And I’m fine. Thanks for getting me the napkins.”
Ben brought his head down so he could meet her eyes. “You sure you’re okay to go back?” he asked. He felt bad that she’d probably spent her entire break dealing with a bloody nose.
“Oh, uh . . . I’m done in there. I was actually just leaving.” She pointed to the street and adjusted her bag over her shoulder, but she hadn’t moved to leave.
Ben was thankful for it. It gave him a chance to look at her in a way he hadn’t yet. As he let his eyes drift over her body, he found himself surprised by her appearance. Though he couldn’t identify why. Maybe because, judging from some of the women inside, he’d expected the strippers, who were apparently also escorts, to be a little more weathered. But the woman in front of him didn’t look the part. Despite her sharp, angular features, there was a warmth to her dark eyes that comforted him.
When they’d first arrived, Ben had wanted to ask Gabe if he’d lost his mind. There was no way Ben would be able to trust the women here to keep their arrangement quiet. He’d told himself he’d h
umor his friends and then call a high-end escort service the next day. But as he continued to peruse the woman in front of him, he wondered if he’d been too quick to judge what Daisy’s had to offer.
She cocked her head to the side and looked at him. “What?” she asked.
Her question startled him because he wasn’t aware that his appraisal of her had been obvious. “I . . . You’re not what I expected.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms over her chest, pushing her perfectly round breasts up a little higher.
For Christ’s sake, stop looking at her tits. “I didn’t mean . . . It’s not like I thought all of you would have some sort of identifying marking or something.” Stop talking.
“All of us?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry. Jesus.” He rubbed a nervous hand across his forehead. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“Hired an escort,” Ben blurted, figuring putting it out there would be his best course of action.
But as Ryan stared blankly at him, he second-guessed his strategy. Her expression looked to be a cross between anger and shock.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know it’s like a secret type of thing or whatever. But it’s only the two of us out here, and I figured it’d be best if I were honest.”
Ryan’s eyes were wide, and since she still hadn’t spoken, the two continued to stare awkwardly at each other before Ben spoke again. “Can you please say something because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing?”
Chapter Four
It was a good question. Could she say something? She could certainly say she wasn’t an escort. Say he was an asshole for assuming she was. But the thing was, Ben wasn’t an asshole. At least he didn’t seem like he was. Ryan had always considered herself a pretty good judge of character. Her childhood necessitated her developing an ability to read people. And she wasn’t getting creeper vibes from Ben.
The Proposition Page 2
