Winning the Game

by Leesa Bow

  Grant laughs as though I’ve missed something. “The last shot will be edited out, but I left it in for you. I thought you’d like to see how far your … what did you first call him? … oh yes, arrogant client has come. The electricity between Lucy and Rhett … well, it sizzles. And Rhett handled himself like a gentleman. He’s come a long way from the ocker man in my office a few weeks back. Not sure what you’re telling him but well done, Tori.”

  I down the contents of my crystal flute in a single gulp. Yeah. Great work, Tori. “Did you doubt me?”

  “Not for one minute.” He chuckles again. “I’m meeting with Rhett in … er … an hour to discuss next week. I think he’ll be happy with the hotel north of the city, which will be his home for the next four weeks. I’m sure he’ll thank you when he sees you next. Be sure to take time off from your next assignment to come to the show’s after party.”

  “Of course. You know how I like to party,” I say dryly. “In fact, I think I’ll head out tonight to celebrate the art of taming a contemptuous man to a cultured one. Maybe I’ll find some guy at The Angus pub and make him my real-life project,” I joke.

  “Is that where you’re celebrating? Surely you could pick somewhere more upmarket. You should call Ingrid to join you since everyone has the weekend off.”

  “Already sent her a text and she has a date night with Brent. Besides, I can walk home instead of catching a cab.”

  I don’t tell Grant, The Angus is the place I go when I need to hook up with a random guy, which doesn’t happen often. Tonight I need to find someone to help me forget. I have to get Rhett out of my system, and there’s only one way to do it.

  Walking along the dark, narrow hallway leading to the red, double doors of The Angus’s notorious nightclub reminds me of a scene on a CSI show. I hand over my ID to a security guard—wearing a suit, and dark glasses—as he assesses my attire: black cotton skirt covering my rear; red tank top with a low cut front, revealing far too much cleavage; and killer black, strappy heels.

  After scanning my card, he hands it back and gives a sharp nod. When the solid black doors open the music crashes into me like a tidal wave. I’m submerged, disorientated for a few seconds before I find my bearings. I’ve only frequented The Angus a half a dozen times over three years, so I’m far from a regular. Callie, who used to live in my apartment block, introduced me during the initial months when I relocated from Melbourne. It was the loneliest point in my life, and I was in desperate need of affection. Callie said the club was a way to meet guys who wanted the same thing as us, a connection for one night with no strings attached.

  We lived on the same third level of the apartment complex. One month after moving into my apartment we shared a few bottles of Pinot. The more we drank the more we talked about what made us happy, and somehow past loves and broken hearts crept into the conversation. I made a point of saying I’d never be fooled again, but I missed the lovemaking.

  “Sex,” Callie had clarified. “You miss the sex. Don’t get sucked into believing it means more to a guy. Only girls think it has anything to do with love.”

  And that began the education of Victoria, Callie style. Of course, I had to lie about how many times I visited The Angus, and my long work hours was always a valid excuse. But whenever I had an itch or my hormones were getting the better of me, I knew there was somewhere I could go, and remain anonymous.

  Thankfully, none of my work colleagues frequent this nightclub, and if they did I doubt they’d recognise me. My hair is teased and curled, and the dim, red lighting further obscures identity, which gives me a little more courage not to be my awkward self around guys. At work I have a tremendous sense of power when talking with guys because they need my help, and I’m good at knocking them down from their self-appointed pedestal and moulding them to become nicer human beings. Using the experience of my teen years, filled with taunts and adolescent hate, I help clients to understand the effects of their actions on shy, awkward girls. In my case it was rich, shy, awkward girl, with a smart mouth and no social skills. To guys like Jack Johnson, a high school football hero and king of the jocks, I was the girl they loved to tease. Somehow, making a fool of me, despite the fact I could do it on my own without their help, gave them the power they craved in senior school.

  Making my way to a vacant stool by the bar, I weave past girls with eyes painted with black kohl, laughing confidently as they huddle close. I wonder why girls stick together in packs when they go out. Maybe it’s safety in numbers. Meaning safe to their ego because, after all, they won’t be going home together. Surely it’s tough going for a guy to break into a pack of girls and talk to one, without another getting a tad jealous. Maybe the guys look for the weak link, the girl only in the group by default. The girl who reminds me too much of myself. I stop thinking right there, because I simply don’t understand the girly friendship thing. My instinct is to stay far away from them, away from the mirror ball in the centre of the ceiling, flashing light over the dance floor and across the crowd in intermittent bursts. I prefer to hide in the corner where some of the globes are blown. Edging my rear onto the stool, I nod at the barman.

  “Gin and soda. A double.”

  He returns with my drink. I place the straw between my lips and discreetly glance sideways when something catches my eye. The couple behind me might be clothed, but they’re damn close to having sex against the wall, and only metres from my stool.

  Slowly guys come and occupy the stool beside me. When I don’t say more than “yes” or “no” to their questions, they leave. I’m not offended. I simply haven’t had enough to drink to talk easily to anyone yet.

  There seems to be more action over in the booths, but I prefer the bar. Not that I’m a fan of PDA. It’s more of a safety measure, because you can’t always tell if a guy is a creep, especially inside these type of clubs. I down another drink while observing what’s going on around me. The dirty dancing—where the guy’s hand is between the girl’s legs, and she’s writhing more than dancing— and the booths with two or three girls making out with only the one guy. It’s been over a year since I was here, and I’m starting to regret my decision … even if it offers the quickest way to rid my mind of Rhett.

  Watching people make out in the glowing red light makes my stomach turn, reminding me of my first night here all over again. I remember how my hands trembled, and my heart raced, being somewhere like this. So I drank enough vodka to get the courage to go home with my first hook up since Tait. I don’t remember much since, well, vodka, but I do remember his eyes, and that his name was Aaron.

  I’ve always been a sucker for come-to-bed eyes.

  Tonight it’s not Aaron or Tait I’m thinking about it. I’ve progressed to straight gin, on the rocks, and down the remnants in my glass. It burns bad. I reach for the glass of water the barman set in front of me. I’m distracted by voices behind me, and then, “Do I know you?”

  Withholding a laugh, I snort at the oldest of all pick-up lines. “Doubt it.” I stare at the dark-haired guy who looks nothing like Rhett.

  “I’m Carlton.” He plonks himself on the stool beside me.

  “Tori,” I say. God, I hate the formalities before a hook up.

  “You come here often?” He twirls his beer in his fingers while his dark eyes assess me.

  I look away. “Nope. You?” Hell, I can’t even look at him.

  “Hey. You okay?” He places his hand over mine and I peer up.

  “Yeah.” I slowly pull my hand away. “What about you? Come here much?” His black hair is neatly styled with gel, not at all like Rhett’s blond, unruly hair. His dark eyes and chubby, baby face is a direct contrast to Rhett.

  Perfect.

  “No, it’s my first time. I’m with a friend but he’s somewhat occupied.”

  His tone jolts a memory, and I’m straightening my shoulders, feeling the same power I feel at work, believing I can actually help him.

  “Let me guess, you’ve recently broken up with a girl?” I an
gle my body towards his and my stomach clenches when a sad smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “That obvious, eh?”

  “Nope. It was why I first came here. You know, to forget.” I shrug in a nonchalant way. “It helps a little, but the only thing that worked for me was time. And having the smarts to know it was a mistake and never make the same mistake twice. Because then you’re a fool. And the world doesn’t tolerate fools.” Carlton’s eyes glaze over. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

  “No, I was thinking you nailed it. Sounds like you’re not over this guy you—”

  “I am.” I snicker. “It’s another guy. Guess that makes me a fool.”

  “On the contrary. It tells me I can find someone else and fall just as hard.” This time his smile reaches his eyes. “How about I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. A gin and soda would be great. Thanks.”

  When the barman returns with my drink and two beers for Carlton, I down it in a few seconds. Carlton gawks at me. “Another?”

  “No I’m … good.” It suddenly dawns on me I don’t need to be here.

  “Well yeah, but …” His eyes dart over my shoulder.

  “I think I’ll just go. Being here isn’t going to fix my problem.”

  His eyes meet mine, then he nods to something behind me. “I think your problem might have caught up with you.”

  “What?” I spin on my seat to find Rhett standing there, arms folded over his broad chest, staring down at Carlton and me.

  TORI

  Rhett’s brow pinches, as anger crosses his face.

  My heart pounds against my chest and any coherent thoughts blur. “What are you doing here?” I gasp. I’m staring, as though he’s the main attraction under the spotlight, and everything darkens in the background.

  “I spoke to Grant. He said you were here celebrating.” His eyes crease in the corners as though he’s in pain, then his gaze darts to Carlton.

  Carlton takes the cue and slides from the bar stool. “Better get this drink back to my mate.” He scoops up both beers and gives me a nod. “Nice to meet you, Tori.”

  “You gave him your name?” Rhett spits.

  “You still haven’t answered my question.” I angle my body away from his because it’s torture being this close to him.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” he growls.

  I jump at his tone. “What do you mean?”

  “I gave you some space because it’s what I thought you needed, and then when I spoke to Grant, he tells me you’re here of all places. For fuck’s sake … and dressed like this.” He cocks a brow. “Do you want to screw that guy? Because I’m guessing it’s why you came here.”

  “Did you fuck Lucy?” I yell back. Hell, the alcohol is making me even crazier. I dip my chin, not capable of looking him in the eye. My chest squeezes painfully at the thought, and the several gins I’ve downed barely ease the pain.

  “What? No. And don’t make this about me.”

  My gaze shoots up. He didn’t sleep with her.

  “Answer me, Tori.”

  “Just go, Rhett.” It’s a gentle plea. I’m weary, and tired of fighting my body already aching for him.

  “Not likely.” He swivels on the stool and rests one elbow on the bar. “It’s my weekend off and I wanted to spend it with you. But for some reason,” he says in a deeper voice, “you don’t have the same intention.”

  “No,” I say, meeting his tone. “I’m trying to do the right thing and not get involved with you, so I went out instead.”

  “To pick up?” We’re yelling over the music, but disgust and disappointment lace his tone.

  “What if I was?” I give him a challenging look.

  He stares at me, then his gaze travels to my chest, down to my bare legs. From the way he’s staring I might as well not be wearing any clothes. “You thought so little of what happened between us you now want to hook up with a stranger?”

  I down the remainder of my drink and swallow hard. “You should be familiar with the idea.” I slam my glass on the bar and push off my stool.

  He curses under his breath. “Where are you going?”

  “Home, and you’re leaving with me. Don’t take it as an invitation. You’re not supposed to be in a nightclub. You’re in breach of your contract. So instead of enjoying my night off I’m babysitting you once more.” I do my best to sound annoyed, to hide the fact he’s making my flesh hum.

  Rhett’s eyes narrow. “Don’t act like this is my fault. Besides, I want to know what the stunt you pulled Monday was about?”

  The memory turns my knees to jelly, making my stride more difficult. I do my best to block it out, ignore his comment and head straight for the door.

  Rhett follows me and soon matches my pace. He’s walking beside me in silence, neither of us wanting to make a scene out on the street. As soon as we reach my apartment complex he mutters, “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  After consuming too much alcohol, my walls are crumbling. I’m feeling, my stomach fluttering, my chest tightening.

  We step into the elevator, and he positions himself behind me. I sense him staring but I don’t say anything. I hit the button to close the doors and then press Level 3.

  Rhett clears his throat. “I don’t know what’s going through your mind right now, but I don’t think pushing me away is the answer.” His voice is shaky, and it gives me some reprieve. He too is struggling to find the right words.

  My eyes close momentarily. “I have to. One of us has to think straight. My job is the one thing I do well. It’s my life, and I’m not going to jeopardise it.”

  “Over someone like me,” he finishes. “It’s okay. I get it. I’m going to prove you wrong, and be the guy who makes you proud.”

  I turn and clear my throat. “That’s not what I meant,” I croak. “Besides, I’m already proud of you. Watching those damn tapes sent me over the edge, especially when you kissed the contestants. When I saw footage of you disappearing below deck with Lucy—”

  “I didn’t sleep with her,” he objects, deadpan.

  The bell dings at my level, and the door slides open. I say nothing as I walk toward my apartment, fumbling with the key as I unlock the door. Despite the alcohol my thoughts continue to race as we enter my apartment. I drop my clutch and keys on the bench, and Rhett locks the door behind him.

  “Everything I did was for the camera. Your voice was in my head, reminding me to be a gentleman, act like I care about my date, and treat each girl with respect.” I don’t interrupt him. Instead, I keep my back to Rhett and fill my water glass at the sink. “When Lucy asked me to sleep over I agreed, because I was exhausted, having to dine out for every damn meal. After all the wine I only wanted to sleep, not catch a long cab ride home. Before dinner, I set it straight with her. We had separate cabins. And Grant was made aware of the sleeping arrangements. I wanted to do the right thing by everyone.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. All I thought about was you. And the way you left me on Monday.”

  My gaze dips to the floor tiles, and I focus on the cracks rather than look at Rhett. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I murmur. “But I’m in no state to talk now.” I let out a long breath. My eyes sting with tears. I gulp down more water then turn to Rhett. “I need to sleep this off.”

  Rhett closes the space between us and wraps his strong arms around me. “You spooked me, Boss.”

  “I spook myself.” My head rests against his chest and I hear his heart beat out a rhythmic canter.

  RHETT

  I don’t remember the last time blood rushed to my head, fuelled by rage. It’s a vast contrast to how I’m feeling now, lying beside Tori. She’s asleep and curled up at my side. She’s wearing a lacy nightdress, and although she looks as sexy as all hell, tonight’s not the night to instigate anything. Tori needs to sober up. And I’ll be here when she wakes, and for as long as she needs me.

  We talked a little, and although we are good, I haven’t uncove
red what set her off to act this way. But I’m damn well going to find out before I leave her apartment. Even if it takes until Monday morning, I’m not leaving for the set until she hears me out.

  My team arrived home from the footy trip yesterday, and they’ve been informed about my contract. Hunter sent a text asking to catch up with him and a few of my team mates, to discuss what the show’s about, and my contract situation. I explained the rules, especially the one about keeping a low profile when out in public, so they decided to meet at my house tomorrow. Football and my team mates were always the most important things to me, other than my family, who will always come first. Now I’ve met Tori, and come to know her, everything has changed. So if matters are not sorted between Tori and me by tomorrow afternoon, I’m cancelling on my team.

  My thoughts remain on Tori, and what happened tonight. I should be relieved she didn’t sleep with that guy, happy she admitted to having feelings for me. But something still irks me. I can’t sleep. I’m worried about what she’ll do next, rather than trust me enough to be with me. The black-and-white décor grabs my attention, the geometric pattern drawing me in. Like Tori, there’s no colour in between. I understand what I have to do. She either has to commit to me or not at all. There is no grey.

  When I wake, Tori is not beside me.

  I’m out of bed and in her kitchen in a few strides. The compact lounge, dining, and kitchen are quiet. Nothing is out of place. Her car keys are sitting on the marble kitchen bench so she hasn’t gone far. A low hum echoes from the city street below. I part the curtains and look down to people dining outside on the sidewalk, and across the busy road inside cafés. Directly opposite are tall buildings, blocking out the sky. Her view is a vast contrast to mine.

  Behind me the door handle turns and creaks. The door swings open and Tori appears, wearing tiny running shorts and a pink tank top. Beads of sweat trickle down her forehead and shoulders. She hesitates, seeing me. Her gaze lowers, and her lips part. Realising it’s not the design of my Calvin Klein briefs she’s eyeing, my hand moves to the front and hangs strategically over my dick.