Worthy of You: Book One in The Haze Nightclub Series

by Kandee Reyna

  Chapter Two: Krysta

  Once again, I’m freaking late. I’m late everywhere I go. Usually, I don’t give too many fucks, but I know my dad is going to have my ass for being late. I glance at the clock on the cabs dash again, tossing some cash into his hand and jumping out before the valet can even open the door for me. “Sorry!” I wave at him as I run past, heading toward the elevators. My black pumps click on the marble as I make my way through the lobby of the hotel. It’s lavish and over the top, full of creams and golds, dark woods and the perfumed smell of stuck up rich people. My people. The kind of people who raised me. Ugh. Love-hate relationship, that. I press the call button and step in, smoothing my simple gray linen dress in the mirror and fixing my pin-straight blond hair. My green eyes are bright, and my cheeks flushed from the rat-race I’ve just run.

  The doors slide open to the roof-top restaurant, and I see my dad in his usual seat watching the elevator. His eyes land on me, and they’re hard, already speaking volumes before I even make it across the roof to him. Oh, jeez. This is going to be fun. I checked my grades online before coming. I’m not failing any classes, I made sure I hadn’t gone over any of my credit limits. I even checked the tabloids, making sure I didn’t accidentally end up on the cover page after a night out with Viv and Ree and I haven’t been to Haze, the night club Lo owns since my night with Axis. I have no idea what this meeting is about, I couldn’t even formulate excuses for my behavior on the way here because I have no idea what the hell I’m here for.

  “Daddy.” I say, pulling my seat out and sitting down before he can make it over to me to pull it out, making his lips tighten more. If that’s even possible.

  “Krysta.” He nods and lowers himself back into his seat, putting a finger up for the waiter so I can order my drink. I order, and we sit in silence until he comes back with it, and we both order dinner. Chefs special, because he’s the best in the city, and why wouldn’t we.

  “So, what’s this about Daddy?” I ask as the waiter takes our menus and departs silently.

  “Always so brash, Krysta.” Oh, yeah. Ladies shouldn’t speak so openly. My bad. I resist rolling my eyes.

  “Sorry, Daddy.” I say, like I’m reading lines in my fourth-grade play. Everything about this life is reading lines, sticking to the script.

  “Krysta, your mother and I have been talking,” Oh, joy. Always a good conversation if it starts with my mother talking. She’s a pill-popping, high-society, charity ball junky. Saving face is everything to her. Image rules all, and is more important than anything, including your feelings. I take a sip of my water to hide my face as he continues, “We’ve decided it’s time for you to make your own way. It’s becoming abundantly clear you’re not interested in pursuing the life we’ve worked hard to arrange for you,” They’ve. They’ve arranged for me. “We’re going to cut you off.” He says it like he didn’t just drop a bomb. Like he didn’t just fuck up my life. Like he was reading a script.

  “What!?” I sputter, water flying across the table, and I quickly grab my napkin covering my mouth as I cough, my body trying to get in sync after inhaling water.

  “Honestly, Krysta! You’d think you were raised in Harlem.” My cheeks flair in anger. My other best friend, Vivian, was raised in Harlem and while she is definitely a little rougher around the edges, I couldn’t ask for a better friend. She’s smart as a whip, beautiful, and has a heart of fucking gold. “We’re going to be cutting your… funding… at the end of this school year. We have a proposition for you, though.” He catches my eyes before he continues. I’m in shock, I think. My eyes are wide as saucers and I feel frazzled, but I hold his gaze with my watery eyes, so he’ll continue, “You remember Benton Whitley, don’t you honey?”

  “Uh, yes.” Benton “Bent” Whitley was a fucking cunt for the most part. He’s a class A asshole who went to school with me since we were in pre-k, learning the fundamentals of why the working class was nothing but scum. I grew out of it, he, however, didn’t. He’s primed and ready to take over his daddy’s empire of over-seas shipping; screw American made, yo. He was known for, hazing kids from public schools, throwing epic, mansion ruining house parties, and other equally awesome things great people do with their lives.

  “Well, he’s searching for a wife currently, and his mother and your mother have been talking—” I cut him off.

  “So you’re going to pimp me out?” I squeak.

  “Lower your voice!” He hisses, darting his eyes around the roof to see if anyone heard.

  “I was merely going to suggest you consider a couple dates with the young boy. He remembers and speaks very highly of you and when your mother mentioned that you are single, he requested your phone number. Who knows, maybe if you two hit it off, he’d even consider your art interest a viable hobby.” Asshole.

  “She didn’t.” I say in horror.

  “She did. You should be getting a call from him soon. Now, do you have any questions for me?”

  “Why?” I sound like I’m on the verge of tears. I blink a few times, pushing back the emotion I know he wants from me. It’s all a game; a show. He wants the tears, the sadness, the fear.

  “Because, Krysta, your mother and I thought this was a phase. That your foolish endeavor to immerse yourself in art like some Californian hippy was your way of lashing out at us, but it’s becoming increasingly clear it’s not. I get that times are changing, that it’s a practical option for you to take over the company in my stead, however, I just don’t see that happening for you. So, it’s important you marry well and that’s okay, Dear. Really, look at your mother. She’s made a big name for herself in the community with all the charity events and fundraisers and the galas. She’s a driving force in our community.”

  She is. But, that’s not for me. That’s not the life I see myself leading, and he’s right. It is practical for me to consider taking over his company, but I would hate every second of it. I don’t want to hate life. I’ve been comfortable my whole life, but now, they want to throw me out of the bed. Toss me out into the frigid air without a coat. Okay, fine. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, they are giving me a year. One year. I have one year to figure my fucking shit out. One year to save up enough money to break out on my own without help. One year to decide if marrying Benton Asshat “Bent” Whitley is in the cards for me.

  “Krysta.” My dad breaks into my thoughts, “Do you understand all of this.”

  Of course I do. I’m not an idiot. “Yes, Daddy, I understand.” And, bam. I’m back to being the little girl at the garden parties. Expected to sit up straight, be silent, witty, and cute all in one impeccable black and white stroke. I was the teen who held classy parties with champagne and caviar for her birthday. The one that drove expensive sports cars and went to raging after parties while stripping off my tiara and stockings in the front seat. Swigging vodka from the bottle to hide the taste of the caviar from the party I’d ditched. The girl listening to her parents drone on about social responsibilities while nursing a hangover the next morning.

  “Well, all is well then. I must get going, your mother will be waiting for me.” No, she wouldn’t. She’d be in bed, belly full of wine and pills. She wouldn’t hear him at the door, wouldn’t hear the maid take his coat… and then him to his study. She wouldn’t hear him take her over his desk.

  “Sure. I’m just going to, uh, finish up my meal before heading back for the night.”

  “Sure thing, sweetheart. Have a good evening. Say hello to that Renee for me.”

  “Will do, Daddy.” I whisper, and as soon as he’s out of sight, a tear falls down my cheek and I swipe it away, reaching across the table, taking a long pull from the wine my father hardly touched and when that’s gone I totter over to the bar, and drop my ass on the seat. Daddy’s paying for me to drink away this shit show tonight.

  “Never thought I’d see you again, though, I’m not complaining.” His voice makes my body stiffen and my clit throb. Pure fucking sex. Pure fucking boy-next-door, captain of th
e football team, lopsided smile, sex. I jerk my gaze up, no fucking way is he here, on the rooftop of my dad’s hotel. No. Way. Only, he is. My eyes land on his smoky gray eyes, complete with those sexy ass laugh lines that frame them, his chiseled jaw that sits a little to the left with an underbite that’s just enough to ward off the cutesy perfection that could be, and turn it rough around the edges and sexy as hell. He’s so damn gorgeous. He’s wearing an easy smile on his bowed, pink lips that sit above his strong jaw with a slight hint of stubble, showing that he didn’t shave that morning. Part of me feels a twinge of jealousy at the thought that, maybe, he didn’t have time because whoever was in his bed didn’t leave until late in the afternoon. His dirty blonde hair is perfectly styled though, short on the sides with a deep part on the right, the left swooshing up in a perfect lick. He was built like a fucking quarterback. Not too big, but nothing but muscle. I know. I know what’s under that shirt rivals the strength of steel.

  “What are you doing here?” It was out of my mouth before I could even stop it. Stupid, stupid, Krysta. He’s working, idiot, and looking damn good in the black serving tux, too.

  Chapter Four: Ax

  I didn’t think I was going to see her again. She blocked my number, blocked it, after I texted her the day after we slept together. I’m not sure what she was expecting. She dipped off on me while I was still asleep, so I texted her, thanked her for the night and asked if I could see her again. I didn’t fucking tell her I was sniffing her pillow or jacking off while holding the earrings she left on my night stand. I just expressed interest in getting her beneath me, or hell, even over me again. There was something about her that set my blood on fire, something about her that made me search for her face in every head of blonde hair, something about her that made me compare every set of green eyes to hers. She’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. Intelligent, fiery, and classy as fuck. She grew up with cash, I didn’t know it because she told me, I knew it by the way she held her shoulders back, her head high, and the small things she did at the club like making sure there was a napkin under her drink before setting it on a table, saying “excuse me” instead of just saying she was headed to the restroom, and now I knew it because she was having dinner with my boss and calling him ‘daddy’ and I’m assuming it’s not in some weird sugar daddy type way. I mean, really, he’s my bosses, bosses, bosses, boss. Which just proves my point, she comes from fucking money.

  I didn’t see her again until the day I went to their apartment to help move boxes. “Their” being her and her best friend, Renee who is now married to one of my best friends, and boss at Haze nightclub, Lo. They didn’t need my help, to be clear. There was three fucking boxes and I carried one like I was there to do everyone a class-A favor. I’d overheard Max and Lo in the stockroom talking about how they needed to swing by the girl’s apartment to grab the last of Renee’s stuff and I jumped at the chance to see Krysta. I wasn’t even sure if she was going to be there. Lo read right through me too, warning me not to get my hopes up, that Renee told him more than once, in nicer terms, that her best friend got around and didn’t settle. He also bet me fifty bucks she had daddy issues and judging by the tear she wiped away at the table, the way she guzzled his left-over wine and that she was now sitting in front of me at the bar meant I’d be owing him fifty bucks.

  “Never thought I’d see you again, though, I’m not complaining.” I say, giving her my best panty-melting smile—yea, I know what I look like, sue me. Three things happen in all of five seconds: She freezes, like, her entire body stiffens, telling me she remembers my voice, doesn’t even need to put a face on it to know who I am. Two, she looks at me with wide eyes that land at the smirk on my face and I can practically see the heat roll through her body, she fucking wants me. Three, she asks me a dumb ass question.

  “What are you doing here?” Her words are laced with the tears she’d shed and sounds hoarse and airy.

  “Well, I mean, I guess I’m working here. Don’t’ tell the boss though, I don’t want to get fired or anything.” I wink at her, because, why the hell not?

  “No, you work at Haze.” She states, and I almost question her I.Q., but she looks like she’s been through some shit tonight.

  The smile drops from my face and I allow sarcasm to take over, “It’s the damnedest thing, sometimes, people work more than one job. Like, they commit to one thing, and then, in their spare time and such, commit to another. Crazy as fuck, right?”

  “You’re an asshole, Axis.” I almost groan. No one uses my whole name. No one, but it’s sexy as hell when she does.

  “Oh, and she remembers my name! You have to admit your question was beggin’ for a little sarcasm.” I plaster a smile back on my face, “Need a drink?”

  “Would I be sitting at the bar if I didn’t? Gin and tonic, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am….” And because I’m an asshole, “Got any I.D. on you, Sugar?”

  Her mouth pops open and she looks around the roof shocked. “Are you serious? And I swear to all that is fucking living and dead if you call me Sugar again I’m going to gouge your eyes out with a fucking seafood fork.”

  I throw my head back laughing loudly, “Chill, Krysta. I’ll get you a fucking drink, you know I will.”

  “No, I don’t know, because I don’t know you,” She lowers her voice, “and before you say it, yes, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  I don’t respond as I make her drink and then, because I like to see her all riled up, I lean in close, getting a whiff of her expensive ass perfume, “Tell me, Sugar, what exactly has you so bent out of shape when it comes to the opposite sex? I’ve got fifty dollars riding on a bet that says it’s daddy issues.” I stand back and shrug my shoulders. “I was on your side,” Her face is red and she’s flitting her eyes around, trying to see if anyone is listening to us, but no one is. Everyone is too engrossed in their own selfish ass lives. “But, after that little display over there, I’m not so sure. Think I may be losing fifty bucks.” I take the white towel off my shoulder and lightly smack it against the bar top and she jumps in her chair like I shot off a gun.

  Chapter Five: Krysta

  Speechless. There’s very few times in my life where I’ve been speechless. And this is twice, fucking twice in one night that I’ve not had an immediate response to someone. Do I have daddy issues? Fuck yeah, I do. My dad has fucked every maid we’ve had since I was a little girl, and probably before. My mother finds out, fires them, hires another and my dad slides right on in. Is he a “silver fox”? I mean, I guess, but he’s my dad so I’m not going there, however, he must fucking be. Which is my only explanation as to why every maid we’ve ever had has ended up under him on his office desk, and hopefully, they clean that shit when they’re done. Barf.

  “You indigent asshole. I should have you fired. What the actual fuck is your problem?” My mouth snaps shut, I sound haughty and exactly like what I was raised to be, and I think I can feel my ears bleeding at the sound. I wish I could just pick those words back up and burn them, but that would be too easy.

  His nostrils flair and his eyes look wild, but the corners of his mouth are still tipped upward in disbelief, “Indigent, huh? Damn, I guess now I know why you blocked my number. Went slumming for one fucking night and then when the peasant who enjoyed your fucking company tried to play the nice guy by fucking texting you the next day it seemed the only way you could get rid of the beggar is by blocking his number.” He nods his head, his mouth open and jaw ticked to the side, like it’s all making sense to him, but that’s not it. It’s really not. When he texted me the next day I wanted to text back, I didn’t want to report his number as spam, or hit him with a “who’s this?” like all the others. I wanted to respond and tell him that it was the best sex of my life, that I wasn’t as drunk as I may have seemed, and that it was so good in fact, I could turn into my mother without a second thought, because if anything was that good it’d be worth a life time of whatever the fuck life would throw at me. I wanted to save
his number in my phone with some heart emojis.

  Yeah, no.

  I’m about to respond when a busty brunette dressed in a white button down and black slacks walks up, “Hey, Ax. I’m here. Thanks for covering me for a few, Lilly’s not feeling well, and it took me a little longer to get settled with the sitter.” She looks worn out, and I kinda feel sorry for her, but also kinda want to rip her hair out of her head for looking, talking, standing next to Ax.

  “It’s cool. You know I’ve got you. Us, indigents gotta stick together.” He’s addressing her but looking right at me. Color paints my cheeks and I break contact, looking into my glass I’ve yet to drink.

  “Right,” She says super confused, eyes darting between the two of us, “Well, um… I’m gonna see if I can refill Mr. Henderson at the end over there,” She looks between us again, “Yeah. See ya, Ax.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t be spreading it to anyone that you slummed that one time a year ago.” And then he was gone and so was my restraint.

  I trudge across the roof to the elevators, my body feeling not my own and then I somehow make it down stairs and into my dad’s car before the sobs break through, I feel like my chest is cracking under the weight of my conversation with my dad and then with my run in with Axis. I’m a bitch, and he’s an asshole. It wouldn’t work, anyway.

  Follow me at Instagram.com/kandee.reyna for more sneak-peeks of Krysta and Axis and for a release date!

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