by Brenna Zinn
The man looked up and made eye contact with Tatum. Out of nowhere, fire popped and sizzled through her, scorching senses that had been dulled by the oppressiveness of the club. For a mesmerizing moment, she stared at the stranger, unable to look anywhere else.
Black hair groomed to perfection, a handsome face with an honest-to-God square jaw and wearing the kind of slick suit and tie she’d only seen in magazine ads, he looked like a modern-day aristocrat. Some big shot who was completely out of place in a dive like Iron Rods.
Why such a good-looking man was here to do anything beyond strip she didn’t know and didn’t give a flip, she reminded herself. Tonight she was on a mission to forget her troubles and find some kind of satisfaction. If the stranger couldn’t help her in either regard, then he was little more than eye candy.
She plunked down the cocktail glasses. A harsh thud sounded as they hit the wood counter. The bartender glanced over his shoulder. His face still appeared impassive, though his eyebrows now arched a bit higher on his forehead.
“Yes?” he asked.
Tatum steeled her resolve and straightened her spine, hoping all six feet of her looked formidable to a man who probably crushed boulders with his bare hands. “If these drinks have a shot of pure vodka in them, then I’m the governor of Texas.”
The bartender said something to the stranger then turned around and made his way to where Tatum stood. Her skin grew cold as she noticed the hint of a grin pull at the corners of his lips. How could a person look more intimidating with a smile on his face?
“You saying I watered down your drinks?”
Though the music in the club was loud enough to vibrate through the floor and up her calves, she easily heard his deep bass voice. A tremor of fright added to the quaking in her legs. Scared or not, she’d started this and she wouldn’t stop until she had two cocktails to her liking.
“I’m saying there’s no more alcohol in these glasses than there is in the Colorado River down the street.” Allowing the full impact of her feelings to give her strength, she took a step closer and pressed her stomach onto the padded vinyl that trimmed the bar. “My friend spent a lot of money for these drinks and I aim to make sure we get what we paid for. So how about you taking that unopened bottle of vodka there on the back shelf and trying one more time?”
The large bartender’s nose flared and the muscles in his thick neck and arms flexed. Before he had a chance to say a word, the man at the end of the bar spoke.
“It’s okay, T. Do as the lady asks.”
The big man shot her a look that could have frozen hell. “Fine. As the lady likes.” Without breaking his glare, he roughly grabbed two glasses and dropped them on the counter before reaching for the vodka.
And just like that, the polished stranger in the fancy suit single-handedly shut down her attempt at blowing the steam she’d built up.
In a perverse way, Tatum didn’t feel appeased. She might have gotten her way, but pumped-up energy still surged in her system. If only she could punch a wall or kick over a chair. She needed to do something, anything, to relieve her bottled-up tension and lock down the pheromones that unexpectedly decided to show up to the party.
The good-looking man wasn’t making her struggle to calm down any easier. Over the stacks of papers littering the end of the bar, he stared at her, and not in a pleasing way. He appeared amused, almost smug, as though she had just provided his evening’s entertainment.
She pushed her attraction aside and allowed her irritation to hitch a half notch.
“Are you the manager here?” she asked, making her way down to the end of the bar.
He punched the end of the pen he held and tossed it onto an open file. “I guess you can say I am. Is there a problem?”
His tone sounded a little too bored for her liking. He might not be hard to look at, but he had pompous ass written all over him. “As a matter of fact there is. Have you taken a good look at this place lately? It’s a dump. The lighting sucks, the dancers aren’t good-looking and couldn’t dance to save their souls, and the bartender is serving lousy drinks.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t say.”
His prissy, holier-than-thou attitude provided just the spark she needed to stay ignited. “Yes, I do say. You should be ashamed of yourself and this place. It’s the worst club in Austin.”
“And yet you’re here.”
“I—” Tatum started, but faltered in the wake of his unexpected retort. She blinked several times, too flustered to speak. Weren’t managers supposed to be nice to their customers? Even rich, snobby managers?
The stranger stood and Tatum’s gaze continued up until her head tilted back. Powerfully built, he not only stood several inches taller than her, he dominated the space around her. Though he might not be as humongous as the bartender, he radiated a fierce but intelligent intensity that commanded her attention. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted.
“You think someone else can do better?” he asked.
Her mouth watered as she watched the play of muscles behind his snug shirtsleeves and listened to the deep voice that poured over her like warm molasses. Good Lord, the man was virile.
Not permitting herself to be influenced by intimidation or lust, she raised her chin and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I think a drunk monkey could do better.”
“You looking for a job?”
Her mouth fell open at his audacity. She might be fast on the uptake, but he was faster and better.
Perturbed, Tatum planted her fists on her hips. “You calling me a drunk monkey?”
“No,” he said on a weary sigh. “You’ve made it all too clear our drinks aren’t capable of making anyone drunk.”
Up close, she could see lines of weariness around his eyes and on his forehead. The man looked as though he hadn’t slept well in days. Any other night when she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders, she might feel sorry for him. Unfortunately for both of them, tonight wasn’t any other night.
“What’s your name?” he asked, again taking her by surprise.
Before she could censor her response she blurted, “Tatum Reynolds.”
He smiled slightly, lightening the fatigued look of his features. “Listen, Tatum, here’s the deal. I am looking for a new manager here. It’s a good-paying job with benefits. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in applying.”
“Seriously?” After doing her damndest to pick a fight with Mr. Perfect, not to mention put a lid on her own out-of-control hormones, he was offering her a chance at a job? He had to be either nuts or desperate.
“Seriously,” he answered back.
Tatum glanced around the club, taking in its wretched condition and the pitiful dancers. Who in their right mind would want to manage a hellhole like this? Plus this gorgeous man who pulled her strings while teasing her wanton senses had made the proposal. Working in a place where she would have to make an effort to control unexpected sensations from rising in her body couldn’t be smart.
On the other hand, here was a bright spot to an amazingly lousy day. Possibly the open window her parents had always talked about. Maybe fate was ready to start playing nice. If so, it was about time.
She pursed her lips, wondering who in this situation was the one nuts or desperate.
Her options were limited though. Extremely limited. Other than asking for overtime hours at Java Buena, how else could she pay her bills?
Aside from some dignity and a little self-respect, what did she have to lose by finding out more about his offer?
“Exactly how well does the job pay?”
The manager reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “Come see me Monday at ten. We’ll talk more then.”
She took the card and did a double take as she read his name and the company he worked for. A lump formed in her throat and she fought to force it down. This hunk of man meat wasn’t just the manager.
“You’re one of the Truitts?”
>
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Do you know me?”
“No,” she confessed, trying to find her breath. “But I’ve heard of Lyle Truitt. He’s about the most famous man in Austin, next to Leslie Cochran.”
“The weird homeless guy who ran around town in skimpy women’s clothes?”
She nodded. “That’s the one. God rest his soul.”
Bennett let out another tired sigh. “Wonderful. My father is as popular as a man in drag who lived on the streets. I can’t tell you how incredibly proud that makes me.” He tapped the card with a finger. “Be there at ten.”
He started to leave but stopped. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed the air. “Do you smell smoke?”
Chapter Three
Views of downtown Austin and the Texas State Capitol building beckoned outside the wall of windows in Bennett’s corner office, but he barely noticed the scenery. Instead, he gazed at a single cloud floating by in the bright-blue sky while visions of a feisty girl with hair so pale it was almost white filled his mind’s eye.
Tatum Reynolds.
To his surprise, he actually remembered her name, not just her curvy body. She’d worn red, pointed-toe Western boots with her simple yellow sundress. If her attire hadn’t given her Southern roots away, her twangy accent would have. No doubt she was one of them—a Texan—through and through.
If he used his usual standards for judging a woman’s desirability, Ms. Reynolds failed muster, but for more reasons than being a Texan. He preferred brunettes over blondes, petite women over tall, and the quiet sophistication of a well-bred lady rather than a loud and boisterous female. Yet for all his attempts to focus on the financial reports for Iron Rods yesterday, images of the lively woman in the red boots continued to draw his attention. He’d met and slept with some of the most beautiful socialites of New York. Never had any of those ladies plagued his thoughts or distracted him as badly as the bold and brassy Ms. Reynolds.
Most likely his preoccupation with the brash blonde could be chalked up to second-guessing his impulsive scheme to interview her as the manager for Iron Rods. She couldn’t be qualified for the position. But wasn’t that what he wanted? Hiring someone incompetent would result in the eventual demise of the club. As soon as the place went out of business, he’d be ready with the bulldozers to tear the building down.
Yes, the plan was manipulative and dirty, but the end would justify the means. Tatum Reynolds would give him the reason he needed to close down Iron Rods and he’d ensure she had an extremely generous severance package when he let her go. The rest of the staff at the club would also receive compensation. He might be single-minded, but no one could ever accuse him of being cruel.
When everything was said and done, the people involved would come out ahead. His father wouldn’t be happy, but the old man would get over his anger and disappointment just as Bennett had done his entire life. As the new building climbed toward the sky, so would the prestige and cash flow of Truitt Holdings Company. Lyle would finally recognize Bennett’s worth and the club that had stood between them would at last be gone for good.
Try as he might to believe this rationale, he recognized his recurring thoughts about Tatum had nothing to do with business. Not unless the fantasy of shutting her sassy yet thoroughly kissable mouth by covering it with his had something to do with running a strip club.
Her long, shapely legs also starred in his daydreams. As Lyle liked to say time and time again, gams like hers ran all the way up to her ass. If her tiny little sundress had been much shorter, Bennett might have had the pleasure of seeing that too.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he shook his head. Just how many hours had he spent yesterday and this morning debating the type of underwear she wore or whether she wore any at all?
She hadn’t worn a bra, that was certain. Her nipples, hard and fully erect, had poked through the thin fabric of her dress as though demanding his attention. What he wouldn’t have given to slip a flimsy strap over her shoulder and down her arm until he could see a perky breast. Then cup her round flesh and test its weight and firmness while he tasted her neck.
Had the club been empty, he would have done just that, not to mention lifting her onto the bar, running a hand up her thigh and checking on the exact nature of her panties.
Given the chance to continue, would he have stopped there with the unrefined beauty?
No. Not the way she’d gotten under his skin.
There were too many mysteries about the vivacious Ms. Reynolds to be solved. He needed to know how the curls between her legs would feel against his face as he explored her pussy. How sweet the juices flowing between her soft folds tasted. How quickly she would come as he teased her clit with his experienced tongue.
All Sunday long the answers to these questions and more tempted his resolve until he could no longer resist the urge to jack himself off. Masturbation to the point his dick was sore had helped him find release, but not satisfaction. His carnal cravings for the Texan were far from sated.
That he’d given second thought to someone as unsophisticated and unworldly as Tatum Reynolds was cause for alarm. She might be beautiful and have a smoking-hot figure, but she embodied everything he’d distanced himself from. He was no longer a boy with one foot in the highbrow class of the New York elite with his mother and the other with his father in the town whose slogan was “Keep Austin Weird”. If the bullying and fights he’d been involved in at boarding school hadn’t cured him of that, being relentlessly ridiculed and shunned by his grandfather certainly had. Though he might be in Austin among the hippies and crazies, he didn’t have to live like them.
“How’s the search for the new manager coming?”
Bennett turned from the windows to see Lyle breeze into his office. The old man, decked out in his typical office attire of a dress jacket and dark jeans so starched they could stand on their own, removed his Western hat and tossed it expertly onto a coat rack in the corner. His mustache stretched then curled over the lower part of his cheeks, a testament to the effectiveness of his grooming wax.
“Funny you should ask about the manager position,” Bennett answered. “I was just thinking about it.”
Lyle closed the door and sauntered to the side of Bennett’s desk. A smear of something clear and slightly shiny soiled his father’s pants just below the crotch. Seeing the smudge unsettled the bacon and eggs Bennett had eaten for breakfast. “If you’re going to fool around with Anne, think about changing your clothes next time.”
“What?” The old man’s eyes grew round. “What are you blubbering about?”
“That.” Bennett nodded at the streak of dried film on Lyle’s jeans. “Don’t mind telling you how disturbing that looks.”
“Huh?” Lyle looked down then smacked his palm against his thigh. “Son of a biscuit eater. That bitch got slobber on my pants.” He pulled a handkerchief out from inside his jacket, wet the tip in his mouth, then proceeded to dab at the smear.
“Wait a minute, Lyle. I like Anne way too much to hear you call her names.”
“I’m not talking about Anne, you fool. I’m talking about that horse of a dog we got Saturday. Damned animal gets slobber on everything, including the furniture, the walls and now my good pants. I never should have agreed to let Anne bring that mutt into our house.”
“So Anne got her dog,” Bennett mused aloud. Good for her. Too damn bad she felt the need to get one in the first place. He reclined his chair, enjoying his father’s aggravation. “I truly thought you’d say no and put your foot down.”
“Son, let me impart some advice you may one day find very helpful.” Lyle finished wiping off his jeans and tossed the hanky in the trash. “After two decades of marriage, I have learned that a man sometimes will lose battles to ultimately win the war. Anne wanting to adopt a mastiff was a battle I chose to not even bother fighting.” Lyle smiled and twisted the ends of his mustache between two fingers. “Plus, a fella looks pretty damned magnanimous when he tells his wife she’s t
he love of his life and he wants her to have anything that will make her happy. Had the best Saturday night I’ve had in a long stretch.”
“That’s a little too much information, Lyle. I’m trying to keep down my breakfast.”
“Just be glad your ol’ dad still has plenty of giddyup left in him. If you’re lucky, those genes passed on to you,” the old man bragged while taking a seat. “But enough about me. Let’s get down to business. We got to hire someone for Iron Rods who knows what they’re doing and get it done soon. I want that place turned around before the end of summer. I also need your attention on the deal we have for that property on the East Side of town. We’re supposed to close on it this week, and I caught wind some developers from Dallas are looking at it. We need to make sure we get the building bought up before those son-bitches have a chance to stir the pot. I’ve got big plans for that place.”
“I have an interview already scheduled for today.” Bennett checked his watch. “She should be here in a few minutes. If she doesn’t work out, I’ll have my secretary place an ad in the Austin Statesman. I’ll have a new manager in place before the end of the week.”
Lyle’s bushy eyebrows rose high over his blue eyes. “She?”
Shit. Me and my big mouth.
“Yes. Her name is Tatum Reynolds.” Bennett straightened in his chair and rolled closer to his desk. Hoping he looked busy and pressed for time, he grabbed a stack of papers and shuffled them into a pile. “I really need to get ready for this interview. How about we talk at lunch? I’ll buy.”
Lyle evidently didn’t understand the message or chose to ignore it. The old man relaxed into his seat, placing an arm casually over the cushioned chairback. “Where did you meet this woman?”
Coming up with a story that would mollify his father’s curiosity tempted Bennett, but he thought better of it. Once Lyle had a notion in his head, he held on to it like a hungry dog with a meaty bone. “At Iron Rods. She’s looking for a job. I have a job to fill. She’s coming by this morning with her resume to interview.”
