by Ava Harrison
“Good to see you, mate. I’m on holiday. What brings you to Boston?”
“Needed the break. You know how it is.” I smile, looking down at Bailey. “Charles, this is my girlfriend, Bailey. Bailey, this is an old friend of mine, Charles Cavendish.”
I don’t even realize what I’ve said until I’ve said it. Bailey’s cheeks are pink, and her eyes are wide. I smother the smirk that threatens to take over my face at her reaction.
“Nice to meet you,” Bailey finally says, and the charming bastard Charles takes her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine.” He moves to kiss her hand.
“Kiss her, and I’ll have to kill you,” I warn.
“You always were a brut. Don’t mind him, dear, Andrew doesn’t like to share.”
She smiles at him when he calls me by my full given name. One I refuse to go by, seeing as it’s my father’s name, and I want nothing to do with that man.
“What brings you all the way to Boston?” I say, changing the topic.
“It’s not all the way anymore.” He grins.
I cock my head. That’s news to me. “You live here?”
“I’ve moved to New York.”
“Really?” I say, happy to hear the news. It’ll be nice having a true friend around.
“Yes, I’m opening an office there.”
“Advertising, right?”
“Yes. New York could use some new blood.” He smirks, and I laugh.
“I might be needing you soon.”
“For the club?”
“No, I have plans to open a couple of restaurants.”
“Nice.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card. “Ring me.”
“I will. Good seeing you.” We shake hands as he smiles and says goodbye to Bailey.
“We have a reservation under Lawson,” I say when we finally make it to the hostess.
“Table for two. Follow me.”
I turn back to take Bailey’s hand as we follow the hostess to our table.
It’s an intimate table tucked away from the crowds. Just how I like it.
“Who was Charles?” she asks once we are seated.
“An old buddy from college,” I say, picking up the menu and perusing the selection.
“He’s from England,” she muses, and I laugh.
“What gave it away?”
“Probably the accent.” She smiles wide, joining me in laughter.
Once we order, I turn to look at her. She’s lost in thought, browsing the menu. The pensive way her eyebrows meet between her eyes is adorable.
I want to know more about this amazing woman.
I want to know everything.
She’s an enigma I want to uncover. In more ways than one. I hope being relaxed and away Bailey will feel like she can open up to me.
“Tell me about your family,” I say, breaking the silence between us.
She places the menu down, looking at me with a frown. “What? Other than my sister likes to yell at nightclubs, what do you want to know?” She laughs, but it’s an uncomfortable noise. One that tells me she doesn’t want to go down this path of conversation. Too bad.
“Seriously, Bailey. I want to get to know you.”
“Fine.” She sighs. “I’ll tell you all about my boring family.” She rolls her eyes in a funny way before she settles into her chair, but I know what she’s doing. She’s downplaying her life in order to make herself more comfortable. I’ve done it myself for years.
“Getting comfortable?” I voice my thoughts, and she looks at me skeptically.
“This could take a while.” Her lips thin, and she takes a deep breath. “Where do I start . . . hmm.” She taps her chin, continuing to stall. I level her with a look that says she’s not getting out of this, and she finally blows out a breath. “I guess the main thing you should know is that Harper and I couldn’t be more different.” She shrugs. “She’s blonde and fair-skinned like our mother, and I’m dark and brooding like our father—was.”
She looks away for a second, obviously still feeling the pain from his loss, but then she smiles back up at me. The smile warms her face. Hell, her smile could warm the whole room.
“I’m sure you know, but she’s one of the top prosecuting attorneys in New York City, and until you hired me, I was unemployed.”
“Bailey . . .” I start, but she shrugs me off.
“What? You asked. Seriously, the comparison of light versus dark or good versus evil comes to mind.” She chuckles. “It describes Harper and me to a T, but it couldn’t be any more different to describe our parents.” She forges on, and I wonder if I shouldn’t stop her. The self-deprecating way she’s discussing herself makes my blood boil. But she changes to talk of her parents, so I let it go. “Our father doted on us, loved us. Our mother only cared about status and whatever the next big event would be. While he had us out playing for the day, she was probably off spending his money on herself.”
As little information as she’s given, it’s enough to paint a picture of what life for Bailey must’ve been like after losing her father. No wonder she’s struggled. Who wouldn’t?
“Your mother sounds like a lot of people I know.”
“Right.” She frowns. “My father was the one who didn’t fit in. He was too good. Too caring.”
The way she talks about her father warms me. Knowing she had someone who loved her, and she loved just as much in return makes me feel better about Bailey’s childhood.
“When did your father pass away?”
She swallows, and I instantly regret asking that question ahead of all the others I could’ve asked. “He died of a heart attack when I was a senior in high school. It was likely caused by strenuous hours in stressful environments—both in the office and at home.” Her eyes well up with tears, and the need to comfort her is almost more than I can take. I reach out and grab her hands, lending the support I can manage from across the table. “When he died, I don’t think our mother cared about anything other than the payout from his life insurance. She collected and practically deserted us for a life in the city. She blew through our inheritance before finding another willing victim to sidle up to and drain of money.”
I want to hunt down her mother and strangle her for deserting Bailey. She doesn’t deserve to have a daughter like her. And if I ever get the chance, I’ll tell her as much.
“She’s back and forth between our small town of Hudson, New York, and the city, pretending she’s royalty.”
“I’m familiar with Hudson. It’s a great town.”
She nods. “I love it there. If only she were gone, I’d go back more often. She’s a leech, and someone I only half tolerate.”
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“I didn’t really deal with it,” she says, lowering her eyes to the table.
I frown, trying to work out the meaning behind her words. I don’t have to ask because she forges on as though she needs to purge the past from her subconscious.
“I got drunk and partied, eventually screwing up my life. Things got bad.” Her eyes seem far away and hollow as she looks down at her arm and rubs at the small scar. “I was in an accident in college.” We both grow quiet at the admission. “I-I . . .”
“You don’t need to tell me more,” I offer, not wanting to ruin this day by forcing her to relive painful events from the past. But a part of me wants to know. Needs to. It’s the only way I’ll know how to help her.
“I want to.”
“But it doesn’t have to be here, Bailey. We can do this somewhere private.”
“If I don’t tell you now, I’m not sure I ever will.” I nod, signaling for her to go on. “My best friend and I were drinking . . . I was too drunk to drive. Hell, she was too. But I pressured her to take us to another party . . .” Her words trail off, the meaning clear.
The guilt and self-loathing present in her tone. I don’t have to hear more to know what she’s going to say. I know this story.
Bailey was th
e only one who walked away from the accident.
The guilt was her burden to bear.
We both sit in silence until Bailey lets out a deep audible breath, releases my hands, and then reaches for her water. After she takes a sip, she stares at me.
“And that’s my story.”
“And that’s how you ended up in my club. Something I’m happy about, by the way. Your path was rough, but it got you to where you are now, Bailey. Our pasts don’t have to define our future.”
“I basically screwed up my life, Drew. No degree, a string of bad jobs, and an empty résumé, I had no choice. No offense. Silver is a great place, but it wasn’t the best place for me to work. It was the only place.” She places her hands on her lap and looks at me. “My rent was due, so as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. The job paid well, and it was a lot better than my last position.”
“What was wrong with your last employer?” There’s an edge in my voice because when she said it, she stiffened. There’s a bigger story there, and I want to know it.
“Nothing, forget I said anything.” Her eyes shift around the room, and now I’m growing angry. Not at her, but at whatever has her trying to avoid the conversation.
“I’m not going to forget.”
Taking a deep breath, she relays the story. “My last employer was handsy, and I finally quit when I realized he wouldn’t stop. I didn’t tell Harper because she would’ve tried to prosecute him, and what my sister fails to realize is New York City is one big boys club. She can fight the injustices all she wants, but I’m not getting dragged into it.”
I see red.
“Who was it? I want his name, Bailey.”
She sighs. “And this is the reason I didn’t tell Harper.”
“She would have helped you. Like I’m going to,” I grit through my teeth.
“I don’t want her pity. And I don’t want yours. I made mistakes. Now I have to live with them.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, Bailey, but that doesn’t give any man the right to touch you.”
“I know,” she says, peering deep into my eyes. “But it’s done, and I’ll never go back there. You’ve given me that opportunity.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. She’s right. She’s no longer in that position, and I’ll make damn sure she never is again.
“Now enough of this heavy stuff,” she says. “Let’s enjoy dinner.”
With that, even though I’m seething at the thought of someone touching Bailey without her permission, we settle into a comfortable silence as we eat.
35
Drew
Guilt settles in my chest.
Bailey opened up to me while I have been less than forthcoming with my own past. I’m not ready to tell her everything, but I need to tell her something. “Are you okay?” she mutters, her voice laced with worry.
Without thinking it through, I blurt out the words. “Remember how I told you I lost someone too?” She nods. “Her name was Alexa.”
Her eyes widen, fully awake now. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks tentatively, her voice low and soft.
“No,” I say, quickly changing my answer. “Yes. I don’t know. I feel like we should,” I admit.
“Tell me about her,” she prompts, and I do.
“She was gorgeous and fun, and it was easy.” I look off across the room as if lost in a memory, and it makes my throat tighten as my heart beats rapidly in my chest. “We dated on and off for years.” I confess.
“Keep going,” she encourages, so I do.
“She was a talented model, but that career has a short lifespan. She was aging out, so to speak, and was looking for her next move. Both of us had more money than we knew what to do with, and owning a club seemed like the answer.” I huff. “It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time. We came up with it one night when we were high off our asses. It was typical for us.”
“What was?” she asked, eyes wide as though the scene were playing out in front of her.
“Taking bumps under the table. Chasing our next high.” I sigh. “We were young and stupid.”
“What happened to her?” Bailey’s voice is small, scared even. It’s as though she knows exactly what happened but is hoping for a different outcome. One I can’t provide.
“One night, shit just got out of hand, and I wasn’t able to save her.”
She nods her head like she knows exactly what that’s like. And she does. I know she does. We’re kindred spirits in the worst way possible, having experienced loss and heartbreak too young. I wish I could erase that past for her. For us both.
“Did you love her?” she asks, pulling my attention back to her face. She bites her lower lip as she waits for my response. As much as I don’t want to say it, I know I need to be honest.
“Yes.” My voice cracks. “I did. I’d known her since we were kids. We were all friends growing up, and one thing led to another with us.”
A small tear falls down her beautiful face. Not because of my admission to loving Alexa, but for my heartbreak. Of that, I’m sure. There’s no jealousy at this moment. Only shared misery.
“That night . . . that night was my fault, Bailey. I was fucking stressed and needed to escape. I didn’t have shit on me, so I bought a bag from a new guy at the club. It wasn’t pure. I’m not sure what it was cut with because I never ended up taking any of it . . .” I run my hands through my hair as her eyes meet mine. “But she did.”
Bailey stands, leaning across the table. Her hands reach out to touch my face. “It’s not your fault.” I lean into her touch, whispering the words I hate to speak more than anything else.
“It is.”
I turn my face into her hand, placing a kiss on her palm. She smiles sadly, before sitting back down and leaving me cold once again. Her warmth is what I need at this moment, and I curse myself for allowing us to have this conversation here in this restaurant of all places. It isn’t crowded, but it’s not private enough for such heaviness.
“Believe me when I tell you, you can’t hold this in your heart. Nothing good will come of it,” she says, pulling me back to her. “Maybe you gave her the drugs, but you didn’t make her take them. If she didn’t get it from you, she would have found a way.”
“She wouldn’t have died.”
“You have no way of knowing that,” she says. “I don’t know much, but what I know is for years I harbored the guilt over my friend Emily’s death. After the accident, it was easier to take pills for the pain than to grieve properly. Soon the physical pain faded because my wounds had healed.” She lifts her arm and turns it over to point out a very faint scar. “But the wounds inside me were still there. The pain was still there. I tried to dull it with pills, but that never helped. I needed to forgive myself.”
“It’s not that easy, though, is it?” I say, knowing she feels the same way.
“It’s not always easy, you’re right. Yes, sometimes I want to reach for a pill. But instead, I look at my scar to remind me of why the pain is there in the first place. It won’t bring Emily back, but it could cause me to join her. I don’t want to die. I want to live.”
“I do too,” I croak out the words, emotion welling in my throat.
“Then live . . . with me,” she implores. “Allow me to help you heal your scars.” She stands, coming around and taking a seat next to me. She leans forward and places her lips on mine. Kissing me. Caring for me. Making me feel I’m not to blame for a moment.
36
Drew
“What’s with the perma-smile?”
I look over to see Carter watching me closely. Fucking Carter never misses anything. “None of your business. Get back to work.” Hopefully, he doesn’t ask where I went this past weekend. There will be no way I can lie to him.
“Okay, okay.” He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll leave it be.”
The front door swings open and in strides Monica. Fucking Monica.
“Hey, cowboy. Wanna ride?”
I wince at her innuendo. I glare at Carter for forgetting to get his key back despite my insisting several times.
“What are you doing here, Monica? Your shift doesn’t start until nine.”
She shimmies her hips as she strides toward me. Running her tongue across her lips, she eyes me with predatory aggression, and I back up to avoid her defilement. “I thought I’d come help you work off some tension before my shift.”
Carter grunts in the background, reminding me that he is still here and can save me from the impending assault . . . but he doesn’t come to my aid.
“I know you want it,” Monica drawls. “Stop acting like you don’t think about the things I’ve done to you.”
“You’re clueless. I don’t think about you, and I most definitely do not want anything you’re offering. Where do you even get these ideas? I haven’t given you any reasons to think that,” I grate.
Carter clears his throat loudly and rather grotesquely. This does the trick. Her head snaps in his direction, and she retreats a step. “Oh, hey, Carter. Didn’t know you were here.”
“Yep, you know me. I’m always around.” Whistling, he goes about slinging barstools down off the bar. His movements are exaggerated and obnoxious, but I might just give him a raise for saving my ass.
“You know, Drew, I could use some help lugging bottles from the cellar. Do you mind if Monica sticks around and helps me out?”
As much as I just want her gone, I appreciate Carter’s tactics. “Sure, whatever.” I make haste to my office. Releasing the breath I had been holding, I slink into my chair. I have to do something about Monica. She’s becoming an issue.
My mind drifts to thoughts of Bailey. The girl has me wrapped up in her. It’s not only about sex. I like simply talking to Bailey. She’s easy to be around. It’s refreshing.
My phone rings, and I see my mother’s face light up the screen. She’s beautiful, if bitch is your type. I love her, but she’s a high-society snob. “Hello, Mother.”
“Darling, Andrew,” she purrs through the speaker. “What is my favorite son up to? You aren’t at that filthy club, are you?”
