Rough & Tumble (The Haven Brotherhood)

by Rhenna Morgan

  Her soft blue-gray walls and white wood trim surrounded her, the peaceful hues at war with the buzz still humming through her. For crying out loud, she’d given herself two orgasms last night thinking it would take the edge off, but all she’d gotten out of the deal was an amped-up imagination. God, what time was it anyway?

  She nudged Ruger far enough away so she could wiggle her arms out from under the covers and fumble for her phone.

  10:14 a.m.

  Great. A whopping six hours’ sleep to start off her new year. Between Callie’s puking and her sex-starved mind, she was lucky she’d gotten even that much.

  She wrestled her legs free and swung them over Ruger’s head, no small feat considering the hundred-pound baby slept curled up at her hip, leaving her pinned beneath the sheets. “Come on, big boy. Let’s see how our girl’s doing.”

  Ruger jumped off her raised bed with its soft taupe and white shabby chic comforter. Aside from it and the ostentatious Cadiz Shell chandelier dangling above her bed, the girly bedspread was the only departure from the clean, tasteful lines throughout the rest of the house.

  Well, unless you counted her safe room. She could remake the twenty by fifteen guest room in a weekend if she ever had to, but for now it was the one place she let her old self run free without anyone being the wiser. Just walking into the colorful, wild space lifted the weight of her tightly disciplined life.

  She padded down the hallway and knocked on the guest room door. “Callie? You up?” Viv opened the door a crack.

  Ruger nosed his way through. He nuzzled his wet nose against Callie’s neck, giving her cheek a vigorous lick.

  Her sister flipped on her side so her back was to the door and flailed her arm in Ruger’s general direction. “G’way, ya dumb dog.”

  “You should be nice to him. He’s the one who propped you up after round three with the porcelain god while I wiped dribble off your mouth.”

  Ruger groaned as if to say, Yeah, what she said.

  Callie wiggled deeper into the covers and waggled her fingers over her shoulder. “Just need a little more sleep, Vivie. My head’s killing me.”

  “Gee, I wonder what caused that? The tequila, the weed, or some other fun substance from the gritty boys in the corner booth?” She trudged closer and settled on the side of the bed, gently moving Callie’s hair aside to check the bump on her head. Like Zeke said, it didn’t look too bad this morning, but it wouldn’t hurt for her to take it easy today, not that she’d listen. “You want some more Tylenol?”

  “Hu-uh. Just let me get a little more sleep.”

  Viv sighed and fisted her hands in her lap, so many retorts and arguments piling up at the back of her throat, she thought she’d be the next one kneeling at the porcelain throne. She stood and headed for the door. “Fine.”

  She snapped her fingers, waited until Ruger trotted into the hallway, and shut the door behind her. His nails tapped on the bamboo floors as he trailed her to the kitchen. “One of these days she’ll figure it out.” At least Viv hoped her sister would. Every time Viv picked up Callie, she seemed to be in even worse shape than the last, so much so Viv worried about not getting a call more than getting one.

  A trip to the side yard for Ruger, a bagel, and a cup of coffee later, Viv jogged up to her office on the third floor. It was really more of a roughly finished-out attic with a fantastic picture window overlooking downtown Dallas, but it was quiet and gave her space to plan without needing to clean up her Post-its and marketing material.

  Her whiteboard calendar hung on the far wall—empty. She scooted around her particleboard computer desk with its faux mahogany finish and rolled her desk chair into place. So what if she’d taken the über cheap route up here? She’d fitted out the rest of her home in quality stuff the way everyone said she should, but savings only went so far. Besides, her office decor à la Target had all the necessary drawers and cubby holes.

  She snatched her bank statement off the desk and sipped her coffee, glaring at the balance like it might somehow make the numbers rearrange themselves. Yep, definitely a bad idea to go near any nonessential stores ever again.

  Damn it, she couldn’t go back to a normal job. Well, she could, but she’d probably commit murder by staple remover within two weeks. Desk jobs and corporate America rubbed her all kinds of silly, and finding another event company would be even worse. Once you’d been the queen of the castle, being demoted to grunt stunk.

  No way was she giving up. She tossed the bank statement down and wiggled her mouse to wake up the screen.

  Whoops.

  She closed the internet session she’d had up and checked the doorway to make sure the coast was clear. Yeah, right. Like Callie would be up to see, let alone share, the naughty kink site she’d stumbled on last week. Besides, it was her house and she could do what she wanted.

  Opening up her email, she sipped her coffee. She couldn’t figure it out. All of her customers claimed they loved her work, but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t generate repeat business. Maybe she needed to pick a specific industry and cultivate customers there. Health care might not be a bad idea. Hospitals were always working with charities and expanding their not-for-profit facilities. Plus, mingling with doctors would open up doors with spouses and social clubs.

  Her email pinged and a slew of messages rippled onto the screen. Old Navy, The GAP, Groupon, Tribal Hollywood...ah damn, she’d have to bypass Victoria’s Secret’s end-of-the-year sale. That sucked.

  She clicked delete, moved on to the next, and froze.

  Customer Contact Request.

  Her heart jogged from first to third gear and she wiggled a mini happy dance. “Hazzah! Bring it, baby!” She opened the message and leaned in closer to the monitor.

  Ms. Moore,

  My name is Axel McKee, and I’m contacting you in regard to a sizable charity event being sponsored by my business, Crossroads. I received your name from a referral who insisted your work was high caliber and capable of handling intricate events with a wide range of clientele. My contact information is listed below. I’d like to talk with you and see if my event is something you’re able to accommodate.

  Sincerely,

  Axel McKee

  Well, hell. Talk about your double-edged opportunities. On one hand, Crossroads drew every imaginable crowd from rednecks to millionaires. Whoever it was that coined the phrase, “See and be seen,” had probably been a regular. On the other, the club had been all over the news the last few months with reports of violence and drug busts. Maybe the charity event was a PR thing to bounce back from all the negative press.

  She chewed her bottom lip and reread the message. She’d busted her ass to build a good reputation. To put the life she’d come from behind her and develop a clean, respectable image.

  Her finger hovered over the delete key.

  She glanced at the empty calendar and pulled her hand away. First quarter was going to be a bitch. No one threw parties until Valentine’s Day at the earliest, and those were hard to snag if they weren’t already booked. Budgets seldom got approved until late February or early March, which meant she’d have to make it until then before bookings picked up.

  The bank statement sat innocently off to one side of her desk, but it may as well have been a neon light. No way would she make it to a March or April payday without some income, and this one sounded big.

  Not all bars were bad. Jace and his friends might’ve been a little on the edgy side, but they’d handled things well. If she had a job to do, keeping her distance from all the partying should be a breeze. She hoped.

  She picked up her phone and typed in her password. Desperate times and all that, right? Besides, a simple phone call to learn more wouldn’t hurt.

  Chapter 4

  Eleven o’clock at night. What reasonable person did business at eleven o’clock at night, let alone on a Saturday? Th
e last time Viv remembered doing anything remotely business oriented this late was her group cram session before the Leadership Development final in junior college.

  She punched the lock on her car and triple-checked the deep V neckline on her wrap-around dress. The cut was a little more sultry than she’d normally wear to meet a client, but giving a sales pitch at one of Dallas’s most popular clubs wasn’t the norm either. The black color gave it a little more professional edge, but the trek across the stadium-sized parking lot made her rethink the wisdom in choosing black peekaboo pumps.

  Ahead, the wide gray two-story building with the platinum-colored Crossroads marquee in the center thrummed with energy. Black and silver vertical accents were mounted at ten-foot increments with spotlights that shot upward behind them, acting as beacons to partygoers for at least five miles out. The circular drive teamed with hustling valets and every high-end car imaginable, and a line of seriously decked out patrons stretched at least fifty feet from the main door.

  Guess that answered who did business at eleven o’clock at night.

  She strode toward the four men working the open doors, then hesitated about twenty feet out when a short-haired blonde at the front of the line aimed an, Oh, no you don’t, sneer her direction.

  “You Vivienne Moore?” one of the bouncers called out.

  Viv tightened her sweaty grip on her briefcase and angled toward him, albeit with a far more hesitant gait. If it were her waiting in line, the last thing she’d want to see is someone sailing right to the front, even if Axel had told her to do exactly that. “I’m Vivienne.”

  The man nodded and flagged down a hustling waitress in the main foyer. “Candy, this one’s for Axel.” Four seconds later she was through the heavy metal doors and hustling to keep up with a seriously energetic redhead with black boy-shorts and a tight, might-as-well-be-see-through white V-neck T-shirt.

  Music boomed and intoxicating color surrounded her. Blue neon rods shot up from long rectangle planter-type containers separating conversational areas made of red and gold leather couches. Crystal waterfall chandeliers dropped from the ceilings in between section after section of thick ebony pillars. Up ahead, laser lights spun in red, blue and green across a packed dance floor.

  “First time here?” Candy stood at the foot of a black-carpeted spiral staircase with a hand on one hip.

  Viv nodded and hurried to catch up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk.”

  Candy waved her off and started up the steps. “Happens to everyone. I had the same slap-happy look on my face that first time, too. Now all I see are flashing lights and people waving me down every three-point-two seconds.”

  Viv could never get tired of this place. It was sensation nirvana, a bold mix of class and party all rolled up into one. She’d heard about how luxurious and over the top it was, had even caught a few pictures when some of her clients had shown party pics over the last year, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the real deal. The weirdest part was the club’s neighborhood, clumped within the same square mile as a Chili’s, two gentlemen’s clubs and a church—sustenance, sin and redemption all conveniently located.

  Candy unhooked a velvet rope with a VIP tag hanging in the center and motioned her forward. “This is our stop.”

  No. Freakin’. Way.

  A black leather couch faced the dance floor below with matching chairs on either side, and a steel and glass—topped coffee table sat in the center. Talk about your bird’s-eye view. From here, the only action a person would miss were the women staggering into or out of the bathrooms on the first floor.

  Viv squared her shoulders and pasted on what she hoped was a businesslike smile. “Thank you very much. Will Axel be long?”

  “Depends on the crowd. Some nights go smooth, and some nights get crazy fast. You want something to drink while you wait?”

  “A Coke would be great.”

  Candy’s head snapped as if she’d been shocked. “A Coke?”

  Viv set her briefcase down on the floor and eased onto the sumptuous couch. “Trust me. Something stronger would be great, but on a business trip, that’s not the best idea.”

  The waitress grinned and lifted an aha finger. “Gotcha. One non-mind-futzing Coke coming up.”

  Reclining against the plush cushions, Viv soaked it all in. The people, the music, the colors—it all came together for a tidal wave of passion and excitement that reached somewhere deep inside her and fired a wild buzz. God, what she wouldn’t give to let go for a night or two and dance like the women below. To not care about the consequences and just be.

  That wasn’t what tonight was about though. She was here for business. Only business. Oddly, her instincts weren’t firing all that well on this trip. Usually, she could get a pretty decent feel for people, even over the phone, but Axel had come off kind of strange. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or choke her. The peculiar push and pull had almost made her decline the consultation, but then he’d mentioned their budget and she’d almost swallowed her tongue. The core event alone would float her well into second quarter, not to mention any side business the contacts generated. Assuming, of course, Crossroads’s bad press didn’t drag her down with it.

  A little of the environment’s shimmer faded, memories of her mom’s shrill shouts reverberating louder than the beat rumbling from the dance floor.

  “If you gave half as much focus to this family as you do for your next party, we wouldn’t be in his hellhole.”

  The accusation had earned her mom a backhand from Viv’s dad and a bruise that had lasted nearly a week.

  The waitress sashayed through the section opening and set the drink on the table. “One innocent Coke. I let Axel know you’re here. He said he’d be up as soon as he handled a small meeting of the minds.”

  “A what?”

  “A meeting of the minds. You know, two testosterone-overdosed idiots beating on their puffed-up chests for absolutely no good reason whatsoever?”

  A shiver snaked down Viv’s spine, past and present sparking a little too close for comfort. Just because two men got in each other’s face didn’t always mean someone ended up in jail or dead. Viv grabbed her purse and dug for her wallet. “How much for the Coke?”

  Candy grinned and shook her head. “You’re in VIP. Drinks are covered here.”

  A shame she couldn’t make better use of the privilege. A shot of tequila might make her nerves settle down. She handed a ten to Candy. “Well, then at least take this for getting me here in one piece.”

  The waitress took the ten and tucked it in her pocket. “Thanks. Axel shouldn’t be too long, but I’ll check on you in a few.”

  Crossing her legs, Viv white-knuckled her clutch in her lap and paced her breathing. The low, all-consuming beat from the dance floor vibrated through her in an almost hypnotic pulse. The one-eighty span of nightlife shimmered with passion and excitement, hands down one of the classiest places she’d ever been to.

  But it was still dangerous. The air practically snapped with it. One wrong move from a too messed-up patron and everything could go to hell in a blink.

  It was just a job. One she needed really bad if she didn’t want to go back to surfing a desk all day. All she needed was detachment. To focus on the work and not get sucked in by all the glorious lights and beautiful scenery.

  “Ah, the lovely Vivienne Moore.” The gravelly voice slashed through Viv’s inner pep talk monologue and punched her heart back up to the stratosphere. A giant of a man stood just inside the velvet rope. His hair hung loose to his shoulders with enough waves to rival her own, and a beard that made her think of Scottish warlords. He’d pulled the top of his hair into a partial ponytail, but it didn’t ease his rugged edge. In fact, the only things that made him look civilized were his tailored pants and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater.

  “Heard a lot about you, but now that I’m getting an eyef
ul, I’m beginning to see why.” He ambled closer and held out his hand. “I’m Axel McKee. Good to meet you.”

  The barely there brogue she’d picked up on the phone was harder to detect tonight, but the whole sophisticated Braveheart image was more than sufficient to jack with her head. “I’m...” Shit, Viv. Think already. She stood and shook his hand. “I’m Vivienne Moore.”

  His grin lifted to a full-bore smile, showcasing perfect white teeth. “Aye, that much I knew.”

  Well, duh. Great way to show off her razor-sharp mind. She smoothed her skirt and snatched her briefcase off the floor. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. This place is pretty spectacular.”

  “A place to let go and forget what waits outside, yeah?” He motioned her toward the ropes. “What’s say we hunker down and see what you might do to help the bottom line.”

  Viv started forward, but Axel held up his hand. “Don’t you want your drink?”

  She glanced back at the table. “It’s just a Coke. I don’t like to drink while I’m working.”

  “Makes sense.” He eyeballed the Coke then glanced at the long row of blackout windows opposite them. “Though I’ve got a funny feeling you’ll be rethinkin’ your order before the night’s through.”

  * * *

  Son of a bitch—Jace was gonna kick Axel’s ass. Beyond the one-way glass lining the side of his office, over four hundred women gyrated and strutted, dressed for all manner of attention, but the one with Axel’s hand on the small of her back was Viv. His fist hadn’t come unwound since his best friend had clasped her hand in his a little too long then smirked at Jace over one shoulder.

  Payback. An underhanded kick in the nuts for Jace pulling Axel into his schemes without talking to him first. The logical part of his brain acknowledged the action for what it was. Unfortunately, logic only seemed to take up five percent of his brain when Viv was the topic. Otherwise, he’d have never sent that email.