by Piper Rayne
Whatever. It was a paycheck and I’d take it. At least until I could get my degree and get a real job.
If I could find the money for a four-year program. At this point, I’d settle for enough for the first semester. And I was almost there.
I had a bit of money from my grandmother’s inheritance when she passed a few years ago that the banks couldn’t touch when they came collecting. The classes were paid for. The books for those classes were another thing altogether.
Just a few hundred more and I’d be fine.
I tucked my phone away and did the cursory scan around the pro shop to see whether anyone needed any help. No doubt, Janine Lister did. Especially if she was trying to shove those size-ten feet of hers in an eight golf shoe. I rolled my eyes. For as long as I’d known Janine—a long time—she insisted she wasn’t a size ten.
I shook my head when a few minutes later Janine wandered over, the box of shoes in her hand.
It made my stomach roil to think that we used to be friends. As much as you could be friends with a stuck-up, snobby socialite. For the millionth time in the last few months, I was grateful I’d maintained my friendships with my real friends. Women who’d been by your side since you were thirteen—and knew everything about you and loved you despite it—were worth their weight in gold.
“Did you find everything you were looking for, Mrs. Lister?” I had to swallow back my disgust at addressing her so formally. But rules were rules, and I needed my job. “These are a nice choice,” I continued before she could say anything. “And a size eight. I’m so glad we had your size in stock.”
“I’ll wear them at the charity event next week.”
I nodded and smiled, as if I cared. She handed me two hundred-dollar bills to pay for shoes that were one hundred-ten and didn’t even bother looking at the change before she stuffed it in her Gucci wallet.
It would have been so easy to short her. She’d never notice a few dollars missing, and maybe I could at least pay for my—
No, Abby! I chastised myself while putting on a bright smile for her. “I hope they bring you luck.”
Because your game is terrible.
Fortunately, Janine was too dumb, or too oblivious to notice my jab. I held my fake smile until she left and then sagged against the counter.
Fuck. Double fuck.
I could not start stealing. I was not Daniel. I was absolutely not my husband.
Ex-husband, I quickly corrected myself.
No. I had morals. Daniel didn’t even know what they were. But…fuck morals. I needed the cash. Besides, this was different. Daniel took money from the rich and kept it. I would be taking money from the rich and giving it to the poor. Me! That was different. And I was just as much a victim of Daniel’s crimes as everyone else.
Okay. Maybe not.
But still. Was it fair that I was left to piece my life back together when all of Daniel’s victims barely even noticed a few dollars missing from their bulging bank accounts?
No.
But it was too much of a stretch. I was desperate but not that desperate. Yet.
I gave myself a nice little pep talk and did my best to put my money troubles out of my mind. At least for a few minutes. I focused on stocking the shelves and changing out displays until my shift was over and I could go home. I stood on a step stool, doing my best to reach for the bust of a mannequin dummy that needed a fresh shirt display, when I heard his gruff, rough voice.
“You should be careful up there. It’s not safe to stand on a ladder without someone spotting you.”
I spooked and lost my footing a little, causing the ladder beneath me to wobble.
I knew the voice.
And I knew damn well who was attached to it.
Phillip Conrad. A ridiculously handsome man built like a Greek god, with a full head of dark hair streaked with silver, and just a bit of stubble—that was new—on his incredibly chiseled jaw. Just like everyone else at the club, we used to be friends. Only Phillip had been more than a friend. He’d been…well, a lot more.
And now, here he was. Standing directly beneath me, one hand on each arm of the ladder, his face pointed up—giving him a fantastic view up my short khaki uniform skirt at my—oh shit. I was in desperate need of doing laundry, but the shoebox I was renting didn’t have machines and—I’d gone commando.
The blush in my cheeks came hard and fast. I grabbed the mannequin with one hand and quickly made my way to the floor. “Thanks.”
He grunted in acceptance but didn’t move away, leaving me boxed in between the ladder and his hard chest. He was taller than me, at least six two, with a broad chest and muscular arms that—despite the fact that he probably thought I was a nothing, just like everyone else—sent a thrill through me, right between my legs. Something about a big, strong man never failed to turn me on.
No. Correct that. Something about Phillip never failed to turn me on. Not that I’d admit it. Especially not now. And especially not with his dark eyes staring at me in a way that would have definitely made my panties wet—if I’d been wearing them.
“Excuse me.”
My body trembled and I hoped like hell it didn’t show.
I had no right to let myself feel anything around this man. Although it had been him, not me, who’d lost interest in our relationship. I thought we were going to…it didn’t matter. Once Daniel came home from Europe and I met him, everything changed. He’d pursued me intensely and Phillip…he’d just backed off, like I hadn’t meant anything.
And maybe I hadn’t.
But maybe if he’d called again, asked me out one more time…maybe I wouldn’t have married Daniel.
Yes. I knew that was true.
I’d been completely turned inside out with Phillip. I would have done anything for him, and our attraction was off the charts. So I’d thought. But it had never gotten physical. He wanted to wait, and I’d agreed because I didn’t want to mess things up by sleeping with him too soon. I still wondered if that’s why he was able to walk away so easily. Phillip was the one who…what? Not got away. But the one I still thought about, wondered about. And fantasized about.
He eyed me for a moment. Any other time, I would have been absolutely sure there was desire in his eyes. Just when I started to think I should go back to work, he took off his suit jacket and handed it to me. “I forgot to return this to the restaurant,” he said. “It’s a ridiculous dress code. You’d think since I spend thousands of dollars here every bloody day they’d let it slide.”
“Rules are rules,” I said, just the way I was supposed to, even though I agreed with him. Phillip Conrad was known to routinely tip extravagant amounts in the bar and restaurant. If only I could get transferred there and away from the stupid pro shop, a lot of my troubles would be over. At least financially. I’d have a whole host of new problems actually serving my former friends. Still.
I took the jacket from him and laid it over my arm. “I’ll return it right away, Mr. Conrad.”
For a moment, I thought he might say something else. His lips turned up in a slight, very sexy grin, and then he nodded before he turned to leave.
I watched him walk away. No, I watched his firm ass as he walked away. Damn.
As soon as he left the shop, I let out a pent-up breath and returned to the till to find something to do until I could close up. The sooner I could put Phillip and his ass out of my mind, the better I’d be. I needed to focus, and not on the one who got away.
I’d return the coat on my way out. The restaurant had a ton of loaner coats for guests who forgot the dress code or like Phillip, just refused to comply. They wouldn’t miss this one for another hour or so. I tossed the coat up on the counter and something fell out of the pocket.
Oh.
Phillip’s money clip.
He must have forgotten it. I picked up the thick stack of bills. And holy shit was it thick. There must have been thousands of dollars there. I flicked through it quickly, mentally adding up the numbers.
&
nbsp; “Oh my God.”
I counted again. Slower this time.
Twenty thousand dollars. And he’d just forgotten it, as if it were nothing.
What was clearly pocket change to that man could pay for two whole semesters of my college education.
Or maybe only a few bills could pay for my books?
The idea was intoxicating.
And so very, very wrong.
Morals. Remember?
Still.
It’s not like Phillip would miss it, and it would be a life changer for me. I’d be able to breathe again. I wouldn’t have to drop out of school. Really, it would be an act of charity.
Only the donor would never know.
Not that it mattered.
I fingered the bills again, and before I could chicken out, peeled off a few and stuffed them into the only place I could think of—my bra.
Holy shit! What had I just done?
No way had I just done that.
If anyone found out, it could cost me my job. Hell, I could go to jail. It could cost me everything. Just like it had Daniel. But…it was just so easy.
And nobody would get hurt. Phillip was richer than God. He wouldn’t—
A hand clamped around my arm like a vise and a familiar rough voice rumbled through me. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I’d gotten all the way to the car before I realized I’d left my billfold in the pocket of that stupid jacket. Damn. Abigail Blakely—I mentally used her maiden name—had me completely distracted. The way she always had. And that was before I’d had a look up that stupid little skirt the club made her wear.
Damn. Did she even know she wasn’t wearing panties?
I blew out a breath, slammed the door of my car, and turned back to retrieve my money clip, and I sure was glad I did. Because not only did going back give me another chance to see Abigail, but as it turned out, I was treated to a whole different kind of show.
Abigail didn’t see me watching as the money clip fell out onto the floor. She didn’t notice me when she picked it up and started flipping through the bills. Her eyes grew wide and then even wider as she realized exactly what she was holding.
Twenty thousand, five hundred and twenty-two dollars.
You didn’t get to my position in life without knowing exactly how much money you had.
It wasn’t any secret that Abigail Blakely was broke. Worse. She was broke and humiliated. It hadn’t surprised me that Daniel had been arrested for embezzlement and fraud. At least she’d finally seen what a douche he was.
Not that she had any choice when the authorities burst into their home, dragged her husband out, and confiscated pretty much everything they owned. It would be pretty hard to miss the truth then.
Still, watching Abigail look at my money clip the way she was, as if it were food and she were starving, tugged at something deep down in my core.
I could have watched her all day. Abigail always did have that effect on me. It was why I’d tried to stay away.
It was why I needed to get away then, and why I needed to get away now.
As soon as I got my money clip back.
I was about to set foot into the pro shop and do just that when, out of nowhere, right there out in the open, in front of what probably were security cameras tucked in the corner, and directly in my own line of sight, Abigail peeled off at least five bills and shoved them in her bra like it was nothing.
Fuck.
I knew she needed the money. How could she not? But still…
I couldn’t be sure how much she’d taken, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need it.
I didn’t have to say anything. And really, what did I care if Abigail took a few dollars? I certainly wouldn’t miss it. Sometimes I felt I owed it to her in a weird, twisted way. Besides, if she got caught, it was her ass on the line, not mine.
Her ass.
Damn. Her ass was like a ripe peach in that snug, short skirt. It was that ass that had caught my eye over fifteen years ago, too. And, it was once again her ass that I’d spotted in the shop on my way out. Normally, I would have dumped the loaner jacket with the doorman, but like a magnet…Abigail.
A magnetic pull that had me walking directly up to her. I grabbed her arm. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Phillip…I mean, Mr. Conrad.” Her voice shook, but to her credit she didn’t cry. Abigail would never cry. Not for something like this. A pride I had absolutely no right to swelled inside me. She clamped her teeth together and swallowed hard. “I didn’t do—”
“Abigail,” I said. “I saw you.” But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to see more. Because I did. More than I should. “And you’re not going to get away with it.”
“No.” She squirmed in my grasp, but I held her arm tight. Her eyes flared and I saw the moment she locked in. “You didn’t see anything. Because there was nothing to see.”
So that was how she was going to play it.
“I may be a few years older, but I’m not blind, Abigail. I saw—”
“Nothing.” With a yank, she pulled her arm away and turned her back on me. “You didn’t see anything.”
Desire flared hard and fast inside me.
“I should report you.” I had no idea why I said that. I would never report her. Hell, I didn’t even like the management of this pretentious club. But I’d called her out. And I never backed down.
Just as surprised as I was by my declaration, Abigail turned around. “You’re going to report me?”
I crossed my arms over my chest in response.
“I need this job, Phillip.”
It wasn’t lost on me that she’d dropped the formalities.
“You should have thought of that.”
Fuck, I hated myself right now. I sounded like a grade-A douchebag. But I couldn’t make myself stop. Something inside me, deep down, wanted to hear her ask. After all these years, I wanted her to need me. And it fucking killed me.
Her breasts strained against her polo as her breath picked up, and I knew she was starting to panic. Or at least worry. Her skin flushed, and I followed the trail of pink down to the vee of her shirt, where it was unbuttoned just a little too low. Abigail knew damn well that was against dress code. As was the skirt that was a little too short, riding up those long, lean legs and the complete and total lack of panties.
If management knew about the money and the break in dress code, they’d probably have no choice but to fire her. Even if the decision to hire her had been more about punishing the wife of the man who’d swindled so many members.
God, I hated this club.
“So?” Abigail challenged after a few moments of charged silence passed between us. “What are you going to do?”
I opened my mouth to say—what? I wasn’t completely sure—when her lip darted out and licked her bottom lip.
Fuck.
She was turned on. Was it the danger of what she did? Was it me? Did she still have…it didn’t matter. My fingers yearned to slide up those smooth, bare legs to dip under that tiny skirt and see whether I still had the same effect on her. I didn’t really need to wonder. Because I knew this woman. I knew her fifteen years ago in so many ways. Even if it wasn’t all of the ways I would have liked. Or for as long as I would have liked. Still, I knew her.
The flash in her eyes and the flare in her nostrils confirmed it.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said before I could stop myself.
She crossed her arms over her now heaving bosom, which had the delicious effect of pushing her breasts up and together. No doubt, she knew exactly what she was doing.
“I won’t say a word about it and you can keep your job.”
“If?”
She wasn’t stupid. I liked that about her. There was always an if.
“If you agree to my conditions.”
My mind worked overtime to formulate those conditions in my head before I said them out loud. But I didn’t need to think long. I knew wha
t I wanted.
“Conditions?”
Her stubbornness was intoxicating.
“You’re mine for the weekend.”
Abigail took a step back, her mouth opening in an O as shock registered all over her face. I was certain that even from where I stood, I could smell her desire in the air between us.
“Yours?”
Was it my imagination, or did her voice tremble a little bit?
“There’s an event at the club this weekend and I need a date.”
“A date?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t say no, so I doubled down.
“I need a date, and it will be you. Plus dinner the night before, and breakfast Sunday morning.”
Her eyes widened.
“All weekend.”
Abigail opened her mouth to object, so I delivered my final blow. I was being an ass, but I couldn’t stop myself. She always had such an effect on me. “Or I’ll report you to management.”
Her lips pressed shut again and she squeezed her eyes together, but just for a moment before looking at me again, her eyes flaring with…anger? Desire? Both?
“I’m not a prostitute.” Her words were clipped. “I am not for sale.”
“Of course you’re not,” I said. “Think of it as old friends helping each other out.”
Her eyes narrowed, but still, she didn’t say no.
“Think about it,” I said. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll expect an answer. The weekend, or I report the theft to management.”
“I didn’t admit to taking anything.”
I grinned. “You didn’t have to. I know you took it, Abigail.”
“It’s Abby.”
“Tomorrow.” I looked her in the eyes so I knew she understood, turned, and walked out.
Chapter Two
“He said what?” Jessie, one of my best friends, leaned forward on her elbows across the table. Her mouth fell open as I recounted the story of what I’d done, and what Phillip had suggested, to my girlfriends. We were at Jessie’s aptly named Jessie’s Diner on the edge of town that she’d opened and operated alone as a single mom for the last ten years. We tried our best to meet up once a week to catch up on our lives, offer moral support, and more often than not these days, reminisce about the old days, when we were in our twenties. Young. Fun. With no responsibilities.
