Taking Jana (Paradise South #2)

by Rissa Brahm

  He could easily afford any debt she might have. His father had all but given him the keys to the empire. But Johnnie sensed her pride. It was painted on her face like a diehard rooting for the underdog at the Super Bowl. So, no, he couldn’t just offer her money straight out. He’d more than insult her that way. He could tell that she wouldn’t be under any man’s thumb, not consciously anyway. Even if he offered her a loan, she’d be skeptical.

  Yeah, she had become a nurse, and she must have done well in nursing school to have landed a spot at that Manhattan ER while working at his family’s city-based club full-time. No, she was a proud, strong, smart woman. Ambitious, too.

  And she was not meant to be stripping.

  She was meant to be on a throne, on a throne next to his, so help him.

  *

  He watched her eyes study the wall behind his desk, clad with his college degrees, his sports paraphernalia, and a few obligatory family photos.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Groomed for this business, I see.” She eyed the shot with him and his dad in front of the family’s club in Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Sold a couple years back, much to his disappointment. He loved Vallarta. Pure paradise. Gorgeous pool of women from all over the world. But the Demontes didn’t venture down there anymore, for safety reasons.

  “Yeah, I was six or seven in that shot. My father’s version of a family vacation for him and me. Three weeks every summer.” He smirked. “I’ve definitely known the club scene all my life, despite my mother’s best efforts. They divorced when I was five. My mom kept me pretty sheltered. She was hell-bent on my life being a hundred and eighty degrees from my father’s.”

  “And here you are.” She smiled and tilted her head in question, as if challenging him and flirting with him at the same time. Yum.

  “Well, Eddie left my dad in a lurch. My mother is raging pissed but, you know, he’s my dad. I’m not gonna leave him stranded.”

  She nodded like she genuinely understood. She searched his eyes for something, then said, “Eddie was a good manager, at least from the girls’ perspective. I tried calling him, but his number is disconnected. Was he okay when he left?”

  “Not really sure of the details,” he lied and aimed to veer away from the subject, “but you know what, Dad was always too busy with the clubs to spend much time with me during my summer visits, so joining the business now, it’s a second chance for us.” Another lie. They hated each other, but money was a type of bond, right?

  “I can imagine. And it’s a man’s dream come true, right? Strip club crown prince,” she said, teasing and obviously testing him.

  She had no idea that it was really when he saw her dance that he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. The others, they were old loose pussy that he had way too easy access to. But Winter was a refreshing kind of different. No, celestial-bodies different. And a lofty challenge to boot.

  “Stopping in at each of his clubs when I was a teenager, yeah, I’m not going to lie, that was pretty awesome for any hormonal little shit, but now it’s just the same old thing. For me, helping out now, Dad needing me and wanting me around, that’s the high. And I get to see my father in action, you know? I think he’s proud to have me with him, too.” Johnnie paused, thinking about the times Jake had introduced him to some of the high-end clientele, to managers, and to some of the girls as, “My son.” The feeling still sent chills up his spine. But he knew it was just surface bullshit. Most of the rest of the time Jake Demonte second-guessed him and berated the shit out of him. Bottom line, his father only cared about himself and, well, the club’s bottom line.

  So Johnnie had decided a while back to follow in his father’s footsteps. And his bottom line had been to rake in the cash to buy pussy—a whole lot of pussy. But now, his eye was on Winter, and only Winter. She was his bottom line reanalyzed.

  “And as for my mom, even though her worst fear was realized—dun, dun, dunnn—I’m still really close with her,” he added for Winter’s benefit. In truth, he hadn’t seen or spoken to her in months. “God, I’m sorry. I’m rambling on and on, boring you to death probably,” he ended, feeling his cheeks heat up. But he knew from the glint in her eyes that she was already becoming more relaxed, more comfortable. Per his plan, her mental checklist was being ticked off one item at a time: smart, educated, supportive of his family despite abandonment issues, and lastly, he cared about his mother.

  “I thought you looked too young to remember me at all,” she smiled, obviously fishing for his exact age.

  “I’m twenty-four,” he informed her. “I took a year off from school to do the obligatory Europe thing. I hated it, though. I was embarrassingly homesick,” he lied again. He’d actually fucked his way around Italy twice before even calling his mother to tell her that he had landed on the continent alive in the first place.

  “Europe, huh? Pretty lucky.”

  “I would have liked it better if I’d had someone to share the experience with, but that leads to another totally crappy topic. I’ve recently boycotted dating. My college girlfriend got really close with our econ professor behind my back. Again, too much information, sorry.” He shook his head at himself. That last part was true. His econ professor, Dr. Madeline Sands, was a fine and fit cougar with a taste for young freshmen girls. And Janey, the freshman he’d been fucking, apparently needed a better grade, so she went about licking their professor’s cunt good and clean. Then she introduced Johnnie for fun. He ended up taking them both together in her private office. Repeatedly.

  “You’re fine.” Winter giggled. She was melting. Melting from the top down. “I’m sorry about your ex.”

  “You live and learn. I guess more than anything, I’m in sore need of someone to talk to.” He smirked. Talking to the dancers at all was never high on his list of priorities. Talk was cheap. Action, well, he was addicted to action.

  “We all need to vent,” she said, then her eyes drifted down to her lap, confirmation to him that she kept her cards close to her chest. Her business was hers alone, and that suited him fine. For now.

  “But here you are, your father sick and all, and you’re sitting here sweetly listening to my dribble! You know, you always stood out to me as a real genuine sweetheart and too gorgeous to even hope to speak to. Even if my father had introduced me, I would’ve choked on my words.” He smiled. “And I don’t want to embarrass you, but”—he looked down at his hands then back up to her eyes—“the first time I saw you dance, you really took my breath away. You were in your own world; you danced for yourself. Untouchable.”

  He watched her eyes shift, unwilling to meet his, her cheeks redder now. And to keep from scaring her off, he added, “You know, not like the melodramatic aggression that most girls put out there on stage.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, thank you. I’m verifiably horrible with compliments and attention. Ironic, I know.” And she looked down at her purse again.

  “Well, listen, Winter…” He looked down at his calendar. “For dancers…I have a full schedule for the next few months. It’s because of the renovations happening at The Sweet Spot.” He paused, noting her solemn look, more than disappointed, bordering on distraught even.

  Now he would ride in on his horse. “But I have something else in mind for you. Not sure if you’d be interested, but I’ve been lacking something here, and I realize now what it is.”

  CHAPTER 12

  She was intrigued by the man in front of her and by his impending words before he even spoke them.

  This clean-cut, baby-faced prep was playing gatekeeper for her reentry into the sultry underground she deplored. It was a little, well, a lot, too weird. At least in her years in the clubs, sleazebags were sleazebags. But Johnnie Demonte seemed different.

  She watched his face, his innocent blue eyes searching hers. The subtle and sexy stubble above his soft red lips made her toes tingle. An immediate tinge of regret followed. Then those full lips of his parted as if ready for some idea, some pro
posal to fall out of them.

  “You can consult. Build my team of girls. Hire and fire. But most importantly, train. No one worked the pole the way you did, and you’re obviously as fit as you’ve ever been. You might be my secret weapon, Winter Snow. With you finding, filtering out, and working with the dancers, I bet we pull in numbers that blow the Manhattan club out of the water! And you’d get my Long Island girls prepped too.”

  Was he serious with this? Because he sounded serious. Passionate almost.

  He sat across from her, his eyes drilling into hers, waiting while looking very pleased with himself. What was his motivation here? Eager to prove something to his father? Maybe, from the ambitious tone in his delivery. And she knew that fruitless desire all too well.

  At the same time, she thought maybe he was just being kind. Could it be that he pulled this idea out of his ass to help her out? It was possible. Definitely possible, hearing his backstory. A fellow stranded soul.

  And, yes, during their talk up to that point, he had been pretty bad about hiding his infatuation for her from years back. His body language said what his words had not. His nervous eagerness and his sweet, yet intensely sensual and searing looks.

  But he’d also shown an unmistakable and honest concern for her, a sensitivity to her state of mind. Not that she hid her despair from being back in the sewer very well at all, but he seemed to give a shit. And hell, most owners or managers would have groped a tit to “make it all better” and moved on with their day.

  And anyway, if nothing else, she had always been good at reading people. And she hadn’t read this type of guy. Not in the clubs, for sure.

  Then he comes up with this plan, this alternative for her? A potentially soul-freeing way to dig herself and her folks out of the new hole they had tossed her in, for dead, buck naked.

  Johnnie had offered her a way, clothed and with her pride somewhat intact.

  She wasn’t blind. Again, she saw the raw desire in his eyes, still peering into hers. Even as she sat and thought. But it was different than the degrading, lust-filled hunger of the stage-side gawkers. It was more of an intimate fascination that filled Johnnie’s gaze. And this pretty boy had access to the absolute hottest women in the Tri-state area because of his father, so she discerned that for Johnnie, getting into her pants wasn’t the goal, at least not the main one.

  If he wanted anything from her, it was obviously an ear to listen. And she didn’t mind that. Actually, she had turned into such a bottled-up introvert, she kind of liked his outpouring about some pretty personal things she didn’t ask to know about. She hadn’t realized that she’d ever missed that aspect of a man’s company. And really, she’d never had it before, never knew it was possible. And that she craved it was an even bigger surprise.

  Johnnie was a few years younger than her and maybe worlds more innocent, but maybe not. She couldn’t quite tell. But his sweet look and demeanor and his youth made her feel a rush of heat from deep within her core. Unwarranted. Completely against her code. God, was she craving…him?

  No. It was hormones and emotions and stress and loneliness. That was all.

  Because she had always been turned off by club guys, whether they were gawkers or staff, or management, especially Eddie. But, Jesus, the strip club king’s own son? Him and his deep blue eyes, framed by thick, mile-long lashes that any dancer would die for. There, just staring at her.

  Again, no! If it ever went there, she’d be stooping as low as Ilana in her ER for Christ’s sake. Lower, in fact. Messing around with her employer in the industry she absolutely detested!

  But now he was giving her an out, a real chance. Beyond the heat in her core, it was warming her goddamn heart. Remember, Jana, this is not why you came here. Far fucking from it.

  Johnnie lightly cleared his throat, gently bringing her back. God, how long had she been in her own world? She blushed as he leaned forward in his desk chair. “I would compensate you well. If this idea works to reinvigorate this club’s revenue stream and jumpstarts the new club in Merrick, well, hell…you’d more than deserve a healthy compensation package, but what do you feel is fair?”

  Really? He was asking her? This really was too good to be true. Or was it?

  “You look shocked,” he said.

  “I’m…yeah, a little taken aback. And…you know, my dad taught me that the one who names their price first always loses.” She smirked.

  But he kept his steady stare, silent and patient. And the corners of her mouth turned down because he was obviously going to make her name her price, no doubt.

  So think, and do it fast.

  *

  She needed forty grand in combination with her credit cards and all, but really, at the end of the day, upward of two hundred thousand, if she were zooming out at the horrid nightmare. But she couldn’t ask him for that much, for what she really needed.

  I need time.

  “I, uh, should probably think about it—the salary that is. But the position sounds…like something I could take on,” she said, hiding her enthusiasm as best she could.

  Because training, mentoring lost girls, lost like she’d been at eighteen, actually sounded okay, manageable. No, better than that. She could pay it forward…for Charlene.

  Charlene’s voice flooded her mind, her dear friend’s firm words on her first night out on stage so many years ago.

  Most veterans don’t teach the newbies; they sabotage them. Jana knew she had been damn lucky. Char had saved her life a few times over, well beyond saving her ass on stage her first week. Char had been mother, sister, protector and true friend through to the end of their time at the Newark club before they’d parted ways—Jana to school and the club in the City, and Char to Vegas.

  Johnnie’s idea was much more than saving her from peeling down for the money she needed. Much, much more.

  “I’m glad you like the idea. I might’ve suggested bartending, or even managing the place for me so I could expedite the new club’s opening on the Island, but the same money wouldn’t be there for you. And, selfishly”—he smirked—“I like the idea of working with you. Near you.” He blushed and looked down at his hands.

  She felt flushed herself and somewhat flattered. She changed the subject for both their sakes. “God, I don’t think I could manage this place, anyway. In this business, a man is better at the helm,” she said. She was smart. She knew the double standard all too well. And knowing was half the battle.

  He nodded. “In most cases, but if there was a woman who could run this place, it’d be you,” he said in a serious tone.

  She appreciated the vote of confidence, but seriously?

  “You’ve seen me dance, conquer a pole, sure. But I’ve never had to deal with the crap I know Eddie had to handle, and now you probably get to deal with on a daily.”

  Plus, at just over five feet tall, her stature didn’t physically or psychologically lend itself to managing a venue like this. And another negative, she had a temper that could ignite a small propane plant. The club clientele alone could set her off if she had to deal with drunk, horny pricks 24/7, guys trying to push the limits with the girls. She’d get the place sued a few times over. As a nurse in Manhattan, she’d stood her ground during some pretty heavy ER clashes, but that was nothing in comparison to the shit she knew went down in a strip club.

  “I saw you push your seven-inch spiked heel into the chest of a brute football player when he wouldn’t let go of another girl on stage. You have balls. I’ve seen it firsthand.” His eyebrows lifted as if to punctuate his point.

  But his gaze didn’t falter after that.

  God, she swore he’d leap across the desk at her there and then, just by the look in his eyes. She grinned through the awkwardness, then he shook his head as if breaking a spell he was under. Her cheeks got hot. She should cut this off. Like, now.

  *

  Why could nothing be simple?

  It is Jana. So simple. She just had to iron out the details and leave. Get in and get out.
She could not, absolutely could not, let a male distraction enter her world right now.

  “I really should get back to my father.” And catch up on sleep…in the hospital room armchair again. Oh, that armchair. God, the thought of it made her back ache. No, she needed a bed. She’d try the house again, maybe her mother had aired out the place? God, she hoped so, since she’d apparently opened for business.

  “Do you want to finish discussing salary another time then?”

  Oh shit, right. “No, now is probably best, I don’t have any time to waste.” She pursed her lips, then sighed. “Do you really need me to name my figure? I just—”

  “Fifty grand for a three-month contract plus a percentage of the increase in gross revenue. How does that sound?”

  Fifty grand, clothes on…three months? That was more than the thirty to forty she’d pull stripping in one month. But three months away from her ER? Damn it, three months away from her Trauma Team? Forget about making lead, they wouldn’t hold her current position that long, not a chance. She abhorred the mental picture of Ilana Simon in her place.

  But fifty grand, without stripping?

  Still no. That wouldn’t cut it. She’d have to sink all her savings into the medical bills along with loading herself up with credit card debt. But with no job to go back to, and who knew how long to land a new ER spot? Shit! And she didn’t want a new ER. Hers was the epitome, the premiere! A 4.0 GPA was only a quarter of the crazy she went through to land that ER!

  Calm. Be calm. Her brain crunched quickly, but her nerves, the pressure, his stare, none of it helped. Okay, with nursing she got base eighty-five grand, a bump from her recent year anniversary. It would be another year before her next raise. But what did that matter? Because she’d…she’d…damn, now she’d lost her place in her head.

  Shhhh. Start over. From a different stance this time.

  Okay, so Johnnie had calculated before he’d said his number. She knew he had. He was smart, had business savvy, an Ivy League degree, and he was well traveled. Also, he wasn’t the beggar here—she was. So if she stripped elsewhere for the three-month timeframe that he proposed, she’d earn a hundred and forty grand total, give or take. One-forty, three months, naked lap dances, lose ER job. Fuck shit. Versus thirty to forty in one month, naked, then eighty-five for the year from her ER position that she’d keep, but really, how would she live, eat? Even if she moved from Tribeca to, say, the Bronx, it wouldn’t matter. Plus she’d be drowning in credit card debt while her savings would be sapped.