by Jess Bentley
“Get some rest, Mama,” I tell her as her eyes droop closed anyway. “It’s his loss. It always has been.”
She probably doesn’t hear that part. Her eyes close, and she’s sleeping peacefully from the sedatives in her system.
I lean back in the hospital room chair and watch her sleep, wishing I could make it all better.
Chapter 40
Jake
It takes an effort to stop grinding my teeth as I step through the doors of Red Hall for the second time. This time, it will go better than before. I know that. It’s all planned out. Still, I’m unreasonably nervous going into the place. Why is it so slow in here? There can’t be more than forty or fifty people scattered around the lounge, and the last time I saw the place it had to have been in the hundreds.
That makes it so much worse, but I approach the bar anyway. What choice do I have? I never really needed to set aside anything like a nest egg. I’m Reginald’s only heir, and I’ve seen his will. Well, the original version anyway. No telling what it says now. The only business idea I ever had was —
No time to waste thinking about that right now. Not when I see Janie across the room and feel my stomach tighten. Or first meeting comes rushing back to me: the smell of her, the closeness of her body when we danced. The need that started to kindle at the base of my dick. I feel awful thinking about that now, but can’t help the fact that I’m looking forward to sweeping her off her feet, giving her something, even for a little while, to take her mind off of all of this.
I can do this.
She hasn’t seen me yet, and that’s fine. She’ll see me soon enough. So I go to the bar and lean casually on it, waving fingers at the bartender… is it Chester? I’m pretty sure it is.
Chester sees me, and pulls a face. Aha. So, I’m on some kind of watch list now. He quickly scans the crowd, probably looking for Janie.
His eyes stop searching, though, and he pales as he stares at one of the patrons at the bar, a guy in a cheap suit and large sunglasses, and a bag that he’s laying quietly on the bar. Chester isn’t staring at the man’s face, or his suit, or even the bag, though — he’s staring at the handgun. The man’s lips move, he’s telling Chester not to make a scene, to fill the bag up with whatever cash is behind the bar. Even with a crowd this small, it’s likely thousands of dollars.
Careful not to draw too much attention, I approach the man. I don’t move too quickly, and I keep my hands in sight. He glances at me, freezes, and angles himself so he can train his gun on either Chester or me without moving too far. A professional, it looks like.
“Making a mistake,” I say to the robber.
“Shut up,” the man says. “Don’t fucking talk.”
Chester is taking the bag from the counter. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll get the money, all right? Just don’t… just don’t shoot. I’m getting the money, but I have to duck down here to get it, okay?”
The man’s lips twitch nervously, and he waves the gun a little. “Fine. Go, get it. I’m watching you.”
So are several other people now. They’re not moving, just watching. I can’t tell if Janie is or not. If this goes badly, she could be in real danger. But all I can do is what I need to.
“Man, listen to me,” I say. “This whole place is full of cameras. It’s a high-profile lounge. There’s no way you’ll get away with that cash very far. How much is it gonna be? Five, six thousand dollars? Is that worth the years they’ll put you away for?”
“Shut up,” the robber says, and twitches the gun toward me. “Just shut up. Don’t make me do anything I’m gonna regret.”
There she is. I can see Janie out of the corner of my eye. She’s storming toward us, furious. Maybe she doesn’t realize? I spare a look toward her, and our eyes meet. Slowly, I shake my head, and hold a hand out to stall her, then I point at the robber where he can’t see me but she can, and curl three fingers in to make a gun.
Janie freezes in her steps, and her gaze shifts to the man with the gun. From her angle she can’t see it, but she’s too smart to take chances like that.
I inch just a little closer, almost in arm’s reach now. “You don’t have to do this, guy,” I say, monotone, calm, careful not to set him off. “If you put that gun away, and leave now, no one will call the cops. Think about it — you get a second chance. Who gets that? I’ll go with you, and we can talk about what’s going on, what brought you to this point. I got a lot of money, okay? Maybe I can help. It would be better that way, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” the man says. “No, I don’t want your strings. It’s better this way. This place is hoppin’, every night. They’ll make it back. This is chump change. Don’t fucking move!”
He twitches the gun toward me further, now almost pointing it at me. Chester is frozen in place behind the bar, his eyes shut tight. He’s afraid. Genuinely terrified of being shot. And why not?
I’m not, though. I try to match the man’s breath, pace him as he breathes, both hands up and empty as I take another slow step forward. “Let me help you. What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you my name,” the man says. “Forget it. Just… I just have to do this, okay?”
“Tell me why,” I urge him. “Come on. It’s all right; no one has called the cops. Tell me why you have to do this.”
He looks uncertain. His eyes are twitching back and forth, looking for some sign of danger maybe, and he licks his lips. He’s pale, and there’s sweat on his forehead.
“Come on, man; just tell me the story,” I say again. “We can just talk this out…” He’s frozen with indecision, and looks, for a moment, like he’s ready to give in. I reach for the barrel of the gun cautiously…
“No!” the man snaps. He tries to jerk the gun away before I can grab it, but I’m faster than him. I grab his wrist, and tug the point of the gun down, toward the floor where a stray bullet can’t hit anyone.
“Sorry about this,” I mutter, and snake a hand behind his neck before I twist and drop to one knee.
He goes over, dropping the gun on his way, and it clatters to the floor just before he does. I grab the gun the moment I let go of him, and he scrambles to his feet. One quick look around the room, and he’s off like a shot, across the lounge, shoving people out of the way and bolting through the door.
It’s over. I straighten up, smooth my slacks, and carefully lay the gun on the counter. Chester is staring at me, wide-eyed and with a hungry sort of look that I hope Janie will have when I see her.
That was too easy. And I know why. Because paying that guy to attempt rob this place and take a fall for me was about the only thing that would get me into her good graces again.
But it worries me that I’m turning into Reginald.
Chapter 41
Janie
Every bone in my body tells me not to trust Jake Ferry when he approaches me from across the lounge, where he’s just talked down and then put down an armed robber, but all I can think about is that if anything had happened to Chester, or if someone in my restaurant was shot, it would be the end of everything.
So when he comes close, his dark eyes filled with what looks like genuine concern, all I can think to say is, “Thank you.”
Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think he was serious. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I tell him honestly. “If someone had been hurt… I’m going to have to do something about my security detail. I thought a couple of bouncers were enough, but it never occurred to me that someone could come in and rob the place during business hours. I mean what was he possibly thinking?”
Jake shrugs, sympathetic and just as confused as I am. “I don’t know. Desperate, I guess. People do strange things when they’re pushed hard enough. Things they might not normally do. Who knows what his story is?”
“Well, hopefully the police catch him,” I say. “It’s dangerous to have someone like that running around out there. Plenty of people got that on video. I think you’ll be immortalized forever, or at le
ast for the next few weeks.” A thought occurs to me — a nasty one — and I blurt it out before I realize I’m speaking. “It’ll probably be great for your father’s restaurant, right?”
Jake blinks, his lips parted, and then starts to turn away. “I guess we’ll see.”
I should let him go. I don’t like him. I mean he’s gorgeous, and there’s something about a man who will face down danger that is objectively, undeniably sexy, but Jake Ferry is the enemy. Nonetheless, I find myself reaching out to stop him. “Jake, wait.”
He does, and for a moment I’m searching for the words. That’s about the time the police arrive.
Jake waits for me while I give my statement to the police along with everyone else. I have Chester show one of the officers the security footage from the night, and avoid being a bitch about how long it took for them to arrive. Chester hit the silent alarm behind the bar just a few seconds after he realized what was happening. Next time, someone could be dead.
But that’s the last kind of talk I want to have with the police, especially right now. So instead it’s all humility and profuse gratitude while they gather everything they can — which isn’t much. They take the gun, at least, and hope to get prints off of it. Since Jake touched it too, they have to print him just in case the robber isn’t on file. Jake is gracious about that, but people are taking pictures and I do wonder if maybe this won’t look bad for the Ferrys when it gets online.
And that’s a vicious thought, not the kind I’m used to having. Guilt worms into my stomach — this is the man that just saved my bar, my bartender, and if things had gone really badly, who knows — maybe even my life. I shouldn’t be thinking about whether the PR for this is going to hurt him. That’s not who I am. Is it?
When everything is done, and the police are on their way out, Jake comes back to me, looking embarrassed, his hands in his pockets. “Kind of a fiasco I guess.”
“Armed robbery usually is,” I say.
He laughs quietly, and shrugs. “I guess you’re probably right.”
“Noncommittal. Is that like a thing with you?” I wince at my own tone, and put a hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just… my nerves are shot and I get sarcastic when that happens. It’s a defense mechanism, that’s all.”
“No, you’re… you’re not wrong,” he says. He puts his large, warm hand over mine. His hands are soft. Not that I should expect anything else — he isn’t a field worker, after all. I’m not certain Jake Ferry has worked a hard day in his life.
Just behind him, several yards away, Gloria is practically on her tiptoes, trying to peek past him to see what we’re about.
As if reading Gloria’s thoughts, or mine, Jake glances over his shoulder and then back at me. “Would you… like me to take you home? We can leave out the back so no one can see us. I’m not parked far.”
I want to laugh. People have already “seen us.” But it’s a sweet thought. I did drive my own car but… “Sure,” my mouth says before I can get ahead of it. “That would be good.”
When he smiles, I almost want to kiss him, and that’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve had in recent memory. So I take my hand off his arm, out from under his hand, and go to retrieve my purse instead. I’m not kissing Jake Ferry. Not yet, anyway.
I probably look as nervous as I feel on the way back to my place. Every time I try to start up a conversation, the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe I just don’t want to pop whatever illusory bubble I’m actually in right now. Maybe I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing. This isn’t one of my talents — making nice with someone I very recently would have had killed if I thought I could get away with it.
I probably could have gotten a two-for-one deal on him and Gloria both.
So instead I drum my fingers on my knee and stare out the passenger-side window. We slow down at one point, well before we get to my building, and I realize that Jake is pulling up to a drive-through juice bar.
“I know just the thing,” he says. “This place makes a great herbal bubble tea for stress and anxiety. They’ve been here for a few years. Nothing gross, either — you’ll like it.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, like an idiot. “Um… thanks.”
A few minutes later he hands me a drink, and I give it a taste test. Herbal hoodoo isn’t really my bag. Western medicine for me, thanks — I’ve seen Mama go through everything from Reiki to acupuncture to six-hour chakra realignment workshops, and that’s not even including the laundry list of “miraculous” herbal supplements she’s tried.
I don’t know if this herbal thing is going to do anything for my nerves or not, but it’s delicious and that right there is medication enough for me. “Thank you,” I tell Jake. “It’s really good.”
“Glad you like it.”
All the way home I expect that any moment he’s going to make a move. And, honestly, if he did this would be his lucky night. Who knows why, other than the fact that it’s been ages since I got any, but I’m primed for it at this very moment.
He doesn’t, though. Jake Ferry is, mysteriously, a perfect gentleman all the way home, even up to the point where he walks me to my door. I work the key into the lock while he keeps a lookout for any danger, I guess, and when I’ve got it, push it open a bit and then turn to lean on it and watch him. I will him to make some kind of a move because I am not going to be the one that goes crawling after him like some puppy.
“I hope you feel better,” he says, instead of taking me upstairs. In fact, he takes a step down, and looks up at me with those smoldering eyes. They stay on mine, which, in this dress, has to be an act of will worthy of Viking ballads. “Have a good night, Janie.”
“Yeah,” I say, numb with need, taking in his cheekbones, his square jaw, his ruffled hair. His broad shoulders. “You too.”
A last smile, and then he’s gone, and I’m rushing inside to get ahold of myself.
I’m in the elevator, totally alone — except for whoever eventually watches the security tapes — before I sag against the wall and let my breath catch up to my racing heart. Heat surges between my legs, and I’m swirling away in thoughts of Jake Ferry, of his large, warm hands, his soft-looking mouth and… whatever else he’s got to work with.
By the time I get to my floor, I’m ready to ooze out of the elevator and leave a trail all the way to my apartment door. I rush to get into my place, shaking slightly until I can finally unzip my dress and recline on my couch, my fingers quickly working to get Jake out of my mind — or deeper into it, depending on your point of view, I suppose.
Flicking and stroking myself, I imagine those eyes looking up at me from my wet pussy as he laps at me, his tongue teasing me, and I can already feel the growing heat and tension beginning to build and —
As if he can hear me thinking dirty thoughts about him, my phone chimes loudly from inside my bra and I jerk my hand away from my sex like I’ve been caught by my grandma. It’s Jake. How did he even get my number? Never mind. There’s probably some billionaire boys’ club you just dial up like 411.
“You getting some rest?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Something like that. Trying to relax. Unwind.”
“Good. Sorry. Just thinking about you.”
Just thinking about me? I half wonder if he’s jerking off in his car the same way I was about to rub one out. “Don’t think too hard,” I text him. “Dangerous to drive one-handed.”
Once I hit send, only then do I realize what I’ve just done. It’s a long time before he texts me back.
“Fine now, both hands on the wheel.”
I get the image of Jake in my mind, stroking himself while he imagines me in the passenger seat, rubbing my clit for him. The image comes unbidden, out of nowhere, and with it comes a pile of misgivings. Do I really want to get sucked in by Jake Ferry? Everything he does comes with strings attached — Reginald Ferry’s strings, whether Jake means it or not.
No… it’s better if I don’t. So, I won’t. I turn my ringer off, and put
my phone on the table facedown.
I won’t.
Chapter 42
Jake
Reginald’s invitation to what he calls the “Big Boys Club” — his shareholder meeting — is the first I’ve received, but it’s not precisely an honor. “You need to meet these men,” he tells me, “if you plan on taking over my company when I retire.”
The implied consequence, of course, is that failure to attend is tantamount to turning down that offer. And I almost do. But then again, being there means I know what they discuss, and for all I know my absence means they’ll be discussing how to establish someone else as Reginald’s heir — or worse, how to blacklist me entirely in every venue they can.
Instead, they discuss plans for Janie Hall’s location. The meeting is at a massive cabin upstate, about an hour’s drive into the foothills at the edge of a sparkling lake. One of Reginald’s vacation properties. Seated around the large meeting room at the back of the luxury cabin, his fifteen principle shareholders pass around Cuban cigars, hundred-year-old whiskey, and discuss the men’s lodge they plan to put where Red Hall currently stands — as if it’s a foregone conclusion that Janie will be out of business any day now.
“It is, Jack,” Reginald tells the one man who bothers to ask that very question. He claps me on the shoulder. “My boy is on it. Janie Hall’s pussy is so wet for him, he’ll have her right where we want her in no time.”
“Not right where we want her,” Paul, a man old enough to be my grandfather, says lasciviously. He laughs as he makes the universal sign for blowjob, and the rest of the shareholders join in.
Reginald laughs along with them, and winks at me. “I’m sure Jake wouldn’t mind passing her around — would you, son?”
