Hold on Tight

by J. Kenner

  "What?"

  "Ignore me." Brooke waved the words away. "I was just trying to be funny."

  They lingered a bit longer, then Jenna took Brooke to the owner, Tyree, a huge man with a kind smile who seemed genuinely grateful that The Business Plan was going to focus on his bar. "I've got my son, my friends, and this place. Losing any one of them would just about kill me. I'm doing whatever I can to make sure The Fix stays in business--and I think this show of yours is going to go a long way to making that happen."

  "I hope so," Brooke said, touched. "That's certainly my plan."

  She explained about the cameras that would be in place that night, and he told her that they could go anywhere and film anybody. "Jenna's a clever thing," he said. "For that matter, so is my lawyer, Easton. The contest is by ticketed entry only, and that ticket serves as consent to be filmed."

  "Excellent." They talked over a few more details, including the mechanics of having the network confirm that Easton had covered all the legalities. Then she told him that she needed to go dive into prep, but that she'd be back that evening to watch the contest. "I wouldn't miss it even if I didn't need to see how the guys utilize the stage in order to better plan the renovation. I mean, a stage full of hot men? As far as I'm concerned, it's a no-brainer."

  He chuckled, then walked her back into the main bar area. A few stragglers remained after lunch, but the place had mostly cleared out.

  She'd been intending to go home and work, but right now, this felt as safe a place as any. And, more practically, she wanted to soak up more of the vibe.

  The Fix had a comfortable local bar feel to it. Rough wood walls with neon signs advertising beers and a few Texas license plates nailed to the walls. A vibrant mural spelling out AUSTIN filled the main wall of a front alcove near the beginning of the long oak bar that ran the length of the main room.

  A stage near a corner of windows drew focus, but that performance space wasn't the heart of the establishment. On the contrary, The Fix was a bar with many hearts, which, Brooke decided, was one of the reasons it had such a varied clientele.

  Folks came to The Fix for the amazing food, the incredible drinks, and the camaraderie. And whether the customers consisted of lawyers or students or construction workers, they all fit in, gathering in the various areas that management had set up. High-and low-tops filled the open area surrounding the stage. Comfortable bar stools lined the bar, giving the patrons a view of an amazing collection of liquors. A few small tables filled the alcove with the mural, and a long wooden bench ran in front of the window, so that patrons could pay attention to what was going on both inside and outside the club.

  Further back, there was a second, smaller seating area. It boasted a full-service bar and tables as well. It even had a small stage that would accommodate a solo singer or musician. All in all, the place was about as perfect as a local bar could be, and the fact that it was in financial trouble only proved to Brooke that the locals were getting drawn to some of the corporate chain bars that had popped up like pimples lately for all the wrong reasons. Like dollar drinks that were watered down, flavorless, and utterly uninspired.

  If her show could help bump up The Fix's cache in town, then she'd feel like not only had she accomplished something for her own business, but she'd done her good deed for the year.

  "Hey, Brooke."

  She glanced up to see Cameron, one of the bartenders she'd been introduced to recently, grinning at her.

  "Huh?" She realized she'd been staring at the menu, completely zoning out. "Oh. Sorry. Thinking."

  His smile widened, and she couldn't help but smile back. He was ridiculously good-looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, and he had some of the nicest eyes she'd ever seen. Someone, probably Jenna, had told her that he was in graduate school, though she had no idea what he was studying. But she assumed he studied hard. In only the short time that she'd been coming to The Fix, she'd seen at least a dozen girls hit on him, and as far as she could tell, he'd never taken the bait. She considered that he might be gay, but she'd also seen him hit on by guys, and as far as she could tell, nothing had happened there, either.

  "I promise I'm not rushing you," Cam said. "We don't start charging rent for the stool until after you've sat for at least three days."

  She laughed. "Good to know. And I'm ready. Just iced tea. And maybe some Boom Boom Shrimp to snack on. Too early to drink. I'll be under the table by tonight if I start now."

  Then again, if Spence was going to make his demands on her tonight, maybe starting now would be a good idea. But no, sober was good. Sober was smart.

  But what did he have planned?

  For that matter, could she really handle this?

  Determined, she clenched her hands at her sides, fighting a wave of nausea. This was Spencer, dammit. And she was making a choice. He wasn't taking; she was giving.

  Giving, giving, giving.

  No matter if the rat bastard believed otherwise.

  Fuck.

  Honestly, maybe she should get out of there. Go for a run. Do anything except think about tonight or tomorrow or whenever he intended to pounce.

  Except then he'd have won, wouldn't he? Because he'd have kept her from doing her job. And it wasn't just her business that was depending on her. It was Tyree and Jenna and Cameron and everyone in this bar.

  So fuck Spencer and his head games. Brooke Hamlin was getting to work.

  She pulled out her notebook, intending to jot down a few thoughts, but ended up watching the folks in the bar instead, many of whom she'd seen before, and all of them looked at home. Something to keep in mind as she was remodeling. This was their place. She had to keep it familiar or risk ruining their experience.

  At the end of the bar, a twenty-something man sat hunched over a notebook, his face hidden by the hood of an over-sized jacket. A woman with dark hair cut into a pixie style peered over his shoulder, talking and pointing at whatever was on those pages. After a moment, the guy nodded, and the girl hurried down the bar toward Brooke.

  Her hair wasn't the only thing pixie-ish about her. She had high cheekbones, delicate features, and the prettiest green eyes that Brooke had ever seen. She climbed gracefully onto the stool next to Brooke, then turned her attention to Cam. "Hey, stranger," she said, and Brooke noticed that his ears went pink.

  Brooke forced herself not to smile at that interesting development.

  "Have you talked to Dickbreathe lately?"

  Cam cocked his head, his usual self-possession returning. "You know, he's just going by Darryl these days. I figured you'd know that, what with being his sister and all."

  "He hasn't paid me back for his half of Mom's birthday present. Until he does, he's Dickbreathe to me." She started to turn to Brooke, then obviously remembered something. "Oh! I forgot. Loser or not, I'm still throwing him a surprise birthday party when he comes home at the end of the semester. You'll come, right? My apartment. I mean, you have to be there."

  "Oh, yeah, sure." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, then smiled at her, a little shyly. "If I have to."

  Her shoulder rose. "Well, yeah. You've been his best friend since forever. I mean, you're practically brothers. Which makes you my brother, too. Which means you really should chip in for the cake and alcohol." She waggled her brows. "I take checks and PayPal."

  "Oh." He swallowed. "Right. Okay."

  "Cam." She reached over the bar and closed her hand briefly over his. "I'm kidding."

  As Brooke watched, red bloomed up Cam's neck to his ears and all the way to his forehead. The girl, thank goodness, had already turned away, her effusive energy focused entirely on Brooke. Who, frankly, was already a little exhausted.

  "I'm Mina," the girl said as Cam moved down to the far end of the bar. "Mina Silver. I'm a grad student at UT and Griffin's intern."

  "And Cam's fake sister."

  Her laughter bubbled out. "Cam's the best. He and my brother have been attached at the hip since they were kids, and I've been a pain in bo
th their butts their whole lives. If I can't give my brother grief, Cam's the next best thing."

  Since Mina seemed so completely earnest, Brooke decided not to tell her that Cam's feelings weren't quite as innocent. Even now, he'd probably disappeared into the break room to cast his hand in bronze. Or, possibly, to do other things with it.

  Brooke shook her head--really not a mental picture she wanted at the moment.

  "At any rate," Brooke said, "it's nice to meet you. I assume that's Griffin?" she added, nodding to the man in the hoodie.

  "Yup," Mina said, then explained that Griffin was the writer, creator, and voice actor of a podcast that had skyrocketed in popularity. And the podcast had been turned into a similarly successful web series. "Thus, the needing of an intern. But he's between seasons now, and I'm looking for another gig. Rumor has it you're doing a reality show around The Fix."

  "Um."

  "And no pressure, but if you could use an intern, I'd love the gig. I'm pretty much willing to do anything. I need the experience--and I'd love to have something national to put on my resume."

  Mina had completely charmed Brooke. "It's really not up to me. But I'll see what I can do."

  "Really? That's terrific. Thanks so much." She handed Brooke a card with her cell number on it, said she was available anytime, then bounced back down to Griffin.

  Considering Brooke had only been officially on the show for a few hours now, and she'd already lined up an intern, she was feeling pretty darned accomplished. She spent another couple of hours finishing her snack and adding to her notes, then she gathered up her things and headed home to change. For a moment, she considered not returning because Spencer might come to the contest tonight. More to the point, he might make demands tonight.

  But she doubted it. He didn't want to do this program at all. The last thing he'd want to do was show up to work when he didn't have to.

  Because officially on the clock or not, tonight was about working. Brooke intended to make sure the video crew got a good selection of footage--not just of the models, but also of the bar itself. She wanted to have plenty of clips to use in the episodes. Maybe even in the opening credits if Molly and Adam would entertain her suggestions.

  Even if she was only sitting at the bar like she'd done this afternoon, that was work. As far as she was concerned, understanding the place she was going to remodel was as crucial as hammering that first nail.

  So, yes, she was going back. And with any luck, Spencer was steering clear.

  Luck, however, was a finicky bitch, and Brooke realized the moment she was back in the bar that evening that the bitch had it in for her. Spencer was there.

  He hadn't seen her. Or, if he had, he hadn't acknowledged her. But he was there, larger than life. Just filling the room with that presence he had.

  She longed to go to him. To cross back over the bridge of time to a moment when he didn't despise her.

  But that was impossible. She could only go forward.

  So she stuck to dark corners and avoided the man, grateful when the parade of very hot men across the poorly positioned stage finally began. She frowned and made a mental note: Project One. Readjust the stage.

  She was considering angles--and wondering if some sort of rolling stage might be feasible--when Taylor, the woman Jenna had introduced as the stage manager she'd hired for the contest, came over to give Brooke a suggestion to pass onto the cameraman.

  Their conversation froze, however, when the tattooed man that Brooke now knew was Reece got up on stage and gave the kind of heartfelt speech that made Brooke's toes curl, and her belly turn to goo. A speech filled with words like love and honor and relationship.

  A speech he was making to Jenna.

  Taylor pretty much sprinted for the spotlight, then turned and shined it straight on Jenna, whose face glowed with so much love it made Brooke's heart hurt.

  "That was the most romantic thing ever," she said when Taylor came back.

  "I know, right?"

  "Listen, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I need to go."

  Taylor's forehead creased. "You okay?"

  "Just a headache." That, of course, was a lie. Reece's words of love and devotion had only underscored what Brooke had once shared with Spencer--and what she'd lost.

  And no matter what Spencer might be planning, Brooke didn't think she could handle it tonight. Not with those words in her head.

  "I'll be fine," she assured Taylor, who was offering to get her some Ibuprofen from the First Aid kit. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added, then took a step toward the door.

  But she didn't get that far. A perky blonde that Brooke didn't recognize told her that the man with the beard and the leather jacket wanted to see her.

  Spencer.

  "Tell him I'm not feeling well," she replied. "Tell him I'm going home."

  "Sure," the girl said, then slipped back into the crowd as Brooke hurried the other direction, pushing through the crowd and hating herself for being a coward. But she couldn't deal. She just couldn't.

  With relief, she reached the solid oak doors. She drew a breath, looked back over her shoulder to make sure Spencer wasn't there, then pushed the door open and stepped out onto Sixth Street.

  And there was Spencer.

  She had no idea how he'd managed to slip outside--he must have gone into the back bar and used the side entrance. But the moment she saw him with that determined expression, she felt her whole body go weak.

  He stood silently as she stayed frozen in place. His brown eyes skimmed over her, his expression hard and possessive, his mouth curved into a derisive smile.

  "Spencer, I--"

  "No," he said, two fingers going over her lips to hush her. And then, before she could even make sense of what was happening, his mouth closed over hers, his tongue demanding entrance as his beard teased her lips and her skin.

  She gasped, her body reacting immediately to this man whose touch she knew so well. He heard it and took advantage, his hand cupping her ass to pull her close so that she could feel the press of his erection against her lower belly. His other hand tight at the nape of her neck, holding her still as his tongue tasted and took, making her melt even as she wanted to cry out that it wasn't fair. She'd had no time to put up any defenses at all.

  Then it was over.

  He pushed away, his expression cocky, as onlookers on the street clapped and whistled. She stood perfectly still, breathing hard, not sure if she should run or slap his face.

  "Come on, baby," he said, reaching for her hand. "It's time."

  Chapter Ten

  Spencer led her across the street to The Driskill Hotel, then up to a suite just two floors above where they'd met that afternoon.

  He opened the door to reveal a dark sitting room illuminated by the glow of a single desk lamp. A champagne bucket stood next to the sofa, a bottle chilling inside. And two champagne flutes sat on the coffee table on either side of a serving tray of artfully placed cheeses.

  He held the door open, ushering her inside. "Pretty, isn't it? I thought it was appropriate."

  Brooke's breath caught in her throat and she forced herself to keep her voice steady. "Appropriate?"

  "Don't you remember? We came to The Driskill on our third date. We had a drink at the bar, and then we got a room. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, and I had you naked mere seconds after the door closed behind us."

  "Of course I remember," she snapped, her eyes cutting to him. "Do you really hate me that much?"

  She thought she saw something flicker across his face. Regret or some other indefinable emotion. Then his expression hardened, and she wondered if it had been only shadows from the candlelight.

  "Hate?" He crossed to the sofa and sat, then patted the seat next to him so that she could sit beside him.

  She hesitated, then complied. That was the point, right? The reason she'd come. To give in to him. To do what he said so that he would do the show.

  "Hate?" he repeated, this time sounding thoughtf
ul. "What is hate but the other side of love?" He put his hand on her leg, just above the hem of her skirt, and she felt her body respond. Threads of electricity that shot through her, making her ache with long-remembered desire. Making her crave the touch of the Spencer she'd once loved with all of her heart and soul.

  She was wearing a simple cotton skirt and a button-down blouse that she'd picked to wear to The Fix. She wanted to look both like she belonged at a bar and professional. If she'd realized Spence was going to lay his claim tonight, she'd have considered pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Boots, too.

  Gently, he eased up the skirt's hem, his thumb dancing along her skin in a sensual pattern that was making her body respond even while her mind tried to clamp down. Tendrils of desire twirled through her, and she felt a keen ache of longing building in her breasts and between her thighs.

  Damn him--and damn her body for remembering the touch of a very different Spencer.

  She fought a whimper as his hand eased higher up her thigh, his fingertip teasing close to the edge of her panties.

  "And trust me, baby. I don't love you anymore." Slowly, he drew his hand higher, his finger moving along the elastic band as she sat stiff as a board, trying not to react. "So how could I possibly hate you?"

  The words seemed to reach out to her, squeezing her heart painfully.

  She closed her eyes, wishing she weren't in this room with him. Wishing everything was different.

  "Look at me."

  There was a softness in his voice that unnerved her, and she turned her head to comply. His mouth made a dangerous slash beneath his beard. His brown eyes burned as hard as stone. Whatever tenderness she'd imagined wasn't apparent in his face. On the contrary, he was looking at her with such a fierce intensity she had to fight the urge to get up and leave.

  That's what he wanted, of course. He wanted out. Out of the show. Away from her.

  A heartbeat passed with their eyes locked on each other. Then he slowly looked down, not in defeat, but as if that part of the game was up and he was moving on to the next challenge. She exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. She felt all twisted up. This man beside her was Spencer, dammit. A man who once would have laid down his life for her.

  Now, he wanted to destroy her.

  She'd done that.

  For a moment, she considered telling him the truth. She could explain what had happened. The bargain she'd made with the devil on Richie's behalf. Maybe now, her father wouldn't leak his record. Or, maybe now Spencer wouldn't care if he did.