by Anthology
Her therapist said she should take things slowly with Trick. However, if anything, “things” had sped up. She'd always had an overactive libido and Trick did nothing to slow it down. She refused to go home with him, or have him go home with her, so they had sex everywhere else. She'd learned that they could, indeed, move that mechanical bull an inch or two, that the couch in Trick's office creaked noisily, and that the surface of his desk, once cleared of papers and files, was wide enough to hold them both.
Barring the stop sign exercise, she had never been good at taking her therapist's advice.
She hoped her choice to continue working at Shakedown was wise. She didn't know what else to do. Acclimating to her new life was harder than she'd thought. How does one adjust to no longer being the ex-fiancé of a convicted embezzler but rather being an ex-sister of a drug abuser who was also a missing, probable embezzler? Rachel still had no substantial evidence, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hang on to the thought that Jay was innocent. Regardless of where she assigned blame, someone she loved had betrayed her, and she still waited tables—at least until day eighteen of living the Second Betrayal.
“But, Mr. Phillips—” she began.
“Declan, please.”
She stood in front of Declan's desk in disbelief. Trick stood to the side with a huge grin plastered on his face.
“If you feel sorry for me, please, don't,” she said.
“I assure you, offering you an assistant manager position is purely selfish on my behalf.” Declan smiled. “You've made me more money since you've started than anyone—no offense, Trick . . .”
Trick raised his hand, seemingly unbothered by the man's compliment to Rachel.
“But I never finished my degree.”
“I don't hold much stock in fancy college degrees. Most people who work here didn't finish high school.”
“Rachel,” Trick interrupted. “Declan started this club to give people a second chance. It seems you and I both could use one of those right now.”
Declan stood up. “I'd like you to start by launching a full-scale customer and services inventory.”
“Inventory,” she repeated.
“Assess our wait staff, bar staff, inventory selections, menu choices. Assess our customers. See what they like, don't like. Then tell me what's missing in our service.”
“Missing?”
“She can speak in complex sentences, Declan,” Trick chuckled.
“Details matter.” She glared at Trick.
Declan laughed. “Yes, Rachel, details are everything. I've observed you have a talent for hospitality, specifically anticipating people's needs.”
“She's great at that.” Trick was acting like a proud mother.
She shrugged. “Customers want to know they matter. It's pretty easy to make them feel special if you're paying attention.”
“You're hired,” Declan said. “Now, let's talk money. Most people don't like to, but, good or bad, it matters.” He rounded the desk, sat on the corner, and put an unlit cigarette between his lips. “Let's say $50,000 to start.”
“Fifty?” His offer was too good to be true. She tabled a little more grief each day. Her mental faculties, including a healthy dose of wariness, had begun to return. First, she didn't trust that things were going to return to the way they had been before despite Trick's apparent enthusiasm for their future. Second, Shakedown held secrets.
She glanced around and took in the ornate surroundings. “Trick tells me you used to sell antiques.” The office smelled of leather, wood, and pipe smoke. Gilded-edged hardcover books lined shelves along one side, and two 19th-century Gillows leather library chairs sat in a little seating area off to the other side. The room looked like it belonged in a master's manor, not a burlesque club.
“Yes, I'm good at identifying diamonds in the rough,” Declan said.
“I've meant to ask . . .” She looked at Trick and then back at Declan. “Well, please tell me you're not a front for the mob or something.” She didn't hide the desperation behind that statement.
“Rachel.” Trick sounded aghast, but she had to know who she was dealing with—no more cover-ups. Her investigation yielded no information about how this club paid for expensive antiques like real silver, tussy-mussy holders on every table, genuine Swarovski crystals on costumes, the latest in sound and lighting equipment, and the myriad of other clues that Declan had money—a lot of it.
She sighed. “I'm sorry, it's just. . .”
Declan raised his hand. “It's okay. It's an honest question, especially given what you've been through. You don't know who to trust anymore.”
“I've been trying, I have. It's just . . . how did you and Trick meet?” she asked.
Declan smiled. “We met in prison, Rachel. I have no mob connections or dealings with anything illegal. However, I do employ a great many ex-cons. When I got out, I started Shakedown to provide something not places are willing to give—a second chance. You'd be amazed at how many people need a fresh start, a clean new beginning.”
“This place is as straight up as they come, Rachel,” Trick said with annoyance.
Declan's face turned stony. “You won't find anything illegal here. If you do, I will end it.”
“Then how is all this possible?” She wafted her hand through the air.
“I was an excellent antique dealer.” Declan winked.
Was she crazy to take this job—a place full of people with criminal pasts? She'd be mad to leave fifty grand on the table. With benefits, she mentally added. She could go back to school on that kind of money plus loans. She also might have resources to hire a private investigator to find her brother since Max had failed to find him—and not for lack of trying. Max sounded more pissed at losing track of Jay than anyone else.
“When do you want me to start?” she asked.
Chapter Fourteen
Declan appeared in Trick’s doorway. “Still no word on Jay?”
“Nope, but I told Max not to strain himself. I believe he's wasting his time. The guy could be in Mexico by now.”
“Max hates loose ends, even ones that don't belong to him.” Declan strode inside and uncharacteristically sat in the chair in front of Trick's desk. “I'm surprised you're not more eager to find him.”
“No one’s more surprised than me, but it's been a long three years, Declan. I have Rachel, and, believe it or not, she is enough.”
“You could be exonerated if—”
“All I want is a life moving forward. It’s time to let go of the past.” He’d gotten what he needed. Rachel believed he was innocent. “I’ve seen other men, good men, spend their lives chasing ghosts to clear their name at the expense of having a life in the present. I won’t do that.”
“I see.” Declan didn’t appear convinced.
“What else is on your mind?”
“I'm going to give you some advice. Hear it or not. Rachel may not be able to move on without finding Jay. Your ‘present’ might jeopardize hers.”
“Yes, Dad.”
Declan smiled at the sarcastic moniker. He slapped the desk and rose. “I sure hope you know what you're doing. Women are stubborn.”
“Speaking of which, how's the Sunset?” Trick asked.
Declan turned in the doorway at the mention of the woman he'd been in love with for more than a year, though he'd never admitted it. Trick couldn’t figure out why the man never made a move, but Trick had his hands full with his own love life without trying to fix his friend’s. Declan smiled and strode out without another word.
Trick believed Rachel could move on with his help. She needed time to settle into this new life as assistant manager of Shakedown, as his girlfriend, as a college student, and maybe his wife someday. While he'd never practice law or work for an investment firm—he'd lost his taste for that world— there was no reason why she couldn't fulfill her dream.
~~~~~
Rachel couldn't help herself. Every day she dialed Jay's number at least four times
and listened to that same, double-pulse sound signaling the number was disconnected. Sighing, she killed the call. She tucked her phone away and closed her laptop lid. While her feet no longer ached from running from table to table, now her brain hurt from running inventory numbers. She supposed pain always would be part of her life. It was just a matter of choosing which kind of pain.
The clock had struck midnight long ago, and the distant sound of drumbeats and whistles filtered in from the showroom to tempt her with laughter and escape.
“You busy?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin at seeing Max standing in the doorway.
“Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb, but I got your note.”
“Oh, no, it's fine.”
He stepped inside. She rose and circled the desk to shut the door of Trick's office where she'd been working while Trick was out on the floor schmoozing with customers. “Thanks for coming. I wanted to talk to you.”
“About Jay.”
She liked Max’s abruptness. His gang tattoos made him scary-looking, but the way he got straight to the point was strangely comforting.
“Trick told me if you couldn’t find him within a few days, you could stop looking,” she said. “We had one hell of a fight about it.” Man, did they ever argue when she'd learned Trick might give up.
“Don't agree with it,” Max said.
“I don't either. That's why I want you to keep looking. I can pay you—”
“No need, Miss Grant.”
“Rachel, please.”
“Okay, Rachel. I'm glad to hear you're interested in finding him. Anyone who does that to his own kin doesn't deserve to get off.”
“I agree. It's just . . . I'm not looking for him to be harmed if you don't mind me saying.”
“Don't mind at all, and you don't have to worry.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. So you'll keep looking?”
“Since you asked, you can count on it.” He turned for the door but then paused in the entranceway. “I had a sister once. Lost her a long time ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'd give anything to have her back, so your stepbrother? He's a fool.” Max strode out the door without another word.
Yeah, this place was full of stories—some covered up in makeup and some hinted at through information as cryptic as what she'd received from Max. Now if she could get her own story in order.
Chapter Fifteen
Rachel checked her lipstick in the mirror to the sizzle sound of Trick's tie drawn through his shirt collar in the background.
“You never needed makeup,” he said.
“Thanks.” She turned to him and smiled. They'd had sex on his Oriental carpet, which looked soft but was not kind to knees and elbows. However, two orgasms had a way of making up for the rug burns.
“Here. Let me.” She took control of his tie because, as well-dressed as he always was, she'd learned it took him several tries to get the knot right. “I used to love doing this for you in the mornings.” She slipped the short end through the knot.
“You're invited to do this every morning from now on.” He peered down at her. “Which you could if you moved back in with me.”
She didn't answer. For the last month, he'd been making such invitations, but she wasn't ready for them to pick up where they'd left off. She'd needed space to think, to process, and to decide where to move forward. However, she could feel herself on the verge of giving in. Somewhere between the day she learned the truth about Jay and today, she finally admitted she loved Trick, probably had never stopped despite the fact she once thought him a criminal.
“I want to tell you something, and you have to promise not to get mad,” she said. One good thing out of this mess was her re-commitment to total honesty with all people in her life.
“Go on.”
“You didn't promise.”
“No, I didn't.”
She sighed. “I told Max to keep looking for Jay.”
Trick stilled. “It's a waste of time. That money is gone.”
“I don't care about the money. I care that you're innocent. Don't you want people to know?”
“Of course, I do. But after thinking about this nonstop for over three years, I’m tired of it. Putting Jay away in jail won’t give me back my three years, and I hate to get people I care about involved in this mess. I don’t want to be an attorney anymore. I’m happy at Shakedown. Strange as that sounds, it’s the truth. Besides, how will you be if Jay is sent to prison? If he is, it won’t be for a year. It will be for far longer, and he might not survive such an experience.”
“Good.” She picked up her shoe. Leaning against his desk, she crammed her foot into her heel, her good feelings replaced with an ugly frustration.
“You say that now—”
“I will always say that. I want the truth.”
“Rachel.” Trick pulled her up and into his arms.
“Stop.” She pushed at his chest. “You always do that. Try to distract me with your . . . physicality.”
He laughed. “My what?”
“You know what.”
“Look, I know it's been hard, but—”
“Yeah…and that’s what distracts me.” She crossed her arms with a sigh when he snorted. “I need closure with Jay.” Wow, that came out as easy as breath.
“I understand, but can you live without it?”
“No.”
He dropped his hold on her. “Okay then.”
“Okay?” She felt her chin drop. He'd never been this easy before.
“Don't look at me like you don't believe me. I've had enough of that look for a lifetime.”
“I do believe you. It's just you're not fighting me.”
“I'm not interested in fighting anymore.” He reached for her. “Unless of course it results in make-up sex.”
“See? I knew you only wanted me for my body.”
“And you only want me for mine.”
“Of course.” She let him kiss her long and slow.
When he finally released her mouth, leaving her gasping for air, he looked down at her. “I want justice, too, but I had hoped it wouldn’t have to be at your expense and at the expense of us.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Good. Now, about you moving in with me. . .”
“Once Jay is found. Once that final piece is put to rest,” she promised.
“Then I am more than okay with pressing forward on finding him, but, Rachel, even if he doesn't turn up, we will move on.”
When Jay is found, she added silently.
Chapter Sixteen
Funny thing about wanting something so badly, the desire takes over your brain, body, and soul. Then when that “something” actually arrives? Like a long-lost stepbrother standing in the middle of Trick's office? No amount of mental visualization could prepare one for the reality. It took Max three more weeks, but he finally found Jay.
Jay swayed a little on his heels. His back was to her, but she could see his chin lifted in bold defiance.
“Jay?” she asked.
He turned, and she sucked in a breath. He looked terrible. A scruffy beard marred his once angelic face, and there was a wild, haggard set to his eyes. He glanced at her and then focused on a point behind her. Trick's hands came down onto her shoulders and with a gentle nudge to move aside, he skirted around her and into the room.
“Trick Masters. I should have known this monkey belonged to you.” Jay cocked his head toward Max, who leaned casually against the wall.
“Jay, it's really you.” She ducked around Trick.
“Hey, sis,” he said with a grimace.
“Where have you been?” She rushed forward, unwilling to let Trick stand in between them despite his best effort. She stopped a foot from where Jay stood. The musty scent of clothes gone unwashed and unhealthy hair and skin created an uncomfortable wall between them.
His glazed eyes narrowed a little. He shrugged. “Around.”
Max pushed off the wall
. “Pulled him out of a casino just outside of town.”
“Casino?” she asked. “Here?”
Jay scrubbed his hair. “Want to let your bulldog stand down? Just for the record, being thrown into a car trunk is against the law.” He stared at Max, which isn't something she'd seen many people able to do comfortably.
Rachel leaned forward and gave him a hug, which he did not return. “Jay, I was worried. Your phone is disconnected.”
“Lost it. Had to get another. I was going to call.”
“Lost phone? You'd still have the same number, idiot,” Trick said. “We found your phone in a dumpster. You tossed it because you knew you’d been located.”
Jay didn't respond, instead eyed her up and down. “Jesus, Rachel. What are you wearing?”
She looked down at the scarlet dress she had borrowed from Luna Belle. A splash of sequins decorated the front. Rachel was learning to like sparkle. She shrugged and walked over to the couch, gesturing to it. “Sit, and then tell me where you've been.”
Jay didn't move. “Not until someone tells me why I got tossed into the back of a Crown Vic by that thug and driven to this”—he waved his hand around—“dump.”
“Watch your tone,” Trick said.
“Like hell. I should call the police.”
“You do that.” Trick chuffed.
“Listen, asshole—”
“Fuck you.”
“Stop, both of you,” Rachel said. “Jay, you have to talk to me, starting with the truth about our trust fund. Tell me you didn't take the money. I need to hear that.”
Jay shook his head. “You need. That's rich.”
She glanced at Trick, who appeared angry and on edge. Of course, he would. The man who landed him in prison stood before him, clearly high on something.
“Tell me you didn't set up Trick, leave—”
“Rachel, you're tilting at windmills here,” Trick said.
She glared at him, and he raised both hands in surrender.
“Okay, I'll tell you I didn't,” Jay said and stumbled over to the antique bar cart in Trick's office. He lifted a bottle of Oban scotch. “Fancy.”
