"For the life of me, I can't understand how it happened. A grease fire is one thing, but the cook swears the fire didn't originate from the fryers. He claims it started near the freezer. How the heck does a fire start in a freezer?" she explained.
"What did the fire chief say?"
"They'll need to finish their investigation before it's conclusive, but from what I gathered, they seemed inclined to believe that it began in the freezer as well, which just doesn't make sense to me."
"Faulty wiring maybe?" he chimed in.
"Maybe," she sighed. With a reflective expression, she studied an unknown spot in the distance as if the answers to the world's problems would magically appear there. "Something doesn't fit."
"How so?"
"I don't know. Call it intuition, but I don't think this was an accident."
He lowered the towel he had used to pat her hair and shifted her weight so that she was partially facing him. "If you suspect someone, you should tell the police."
"I don't suspect any one person," she said honestly. "I simply think the fire was set as opposed to being accidental. I can only hope the investigators discover the truth."
Questioning eyes searched hers as he tried to think of a way to pry more information from her without upsetting the delicate balance between acceptance and tears. "Do you have suspicions as to who would want to burn you out?"
"I know of one person who might be capable of such nastiness, but I can't fathom anyone doing something as callous as burning down someone else's business."
"Listen," he said, placing a hand on her leg, "you could drive yourself sick with worry trying to figure this out. Let the fire investigator do what he does and you do what you do."
"That's the thing, Dean. Bare Assets is what I do and right now, it's closed. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? During the two years that I've owned it, it's all I've known. I don't think I can just sit around and do nothing."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but perhaps this was a blessing in disguise."
"How could you say that," she cried, jumping up from his lap and nearly losing her towel.
"You said it yourself. You haven't had time off in two years. Maybe it's time to consider a vacation."
"No way," she barked. "I can't take a vacation. Not now. Not when the club is in complete disarray. Not when my employees are without jobs. Not while I'm without a source of income. That's the most absurd idea I've ever heard."
Standing up, he paced over to her and pulled her towel wrapped body against his own. Resting his head on top of hers, he inhaled her scent and asked, "How long did the fire chief say the investigation would take?"
"He said it could take up to a week."
"Use that time to do something for yourself. Go to the spa, go dancing, go to a movie, read a book, watch mindless television, or if you are really clever, you would just hang out with me."
"As wonderful as that sounds, I can't possibly hang out with you the entire time."
"Why not? It would be the perfect opportunity for us to get to know one another as well as giving you time to unwind and figure out the details of the renovation."
"This won't be a true renovation. It'll be water and smoke restoration. Those are two different types of projects."
"Turning tragedies into blessings is the best way to cope with disaster."
"What are you saying?" she asked, pulling back to look at him.
"Since the club is already closed, wouldn't it be a prime opportunity to revamp the interior design? Then when you reopen, you could use the new décor as a marketing gimmick. Think about it. 'Bare Assets, the newly remodeled gentlemen's club like you've never seen it before.' You could glam it up using a prohibition theme, a cabana theme or even just a modern industrial design. The options are limitless.
The women and staff in your club are professional and the clients are classy. Wouldn't it blow their minds to come back to an environment that embraces what Bare Assets is really about? You've already got the employees, dancers and attitude. Kick it up a notch and change the design to match."
Peering at him with hopeful eyes, she smiled. "That's actually a brilliant idea. My only concern beside the fact that my income has come to a screeching halt, is losing my staff. Do you happen to have any suggestions on how to keep them from finding new jobs while this restoration and renovation takes place?"
"I'm assuming that your full time employees are your most trusted and are the ones you are most concerned with?"
"I'm concerned about everyone, but yes. Bear, Candy, Tony, Jenna and the cook are my biggest concerns."
"Have you considered bringing in an investor? Unless, of course you already have one," he posed."
"Why would I need an investor?"
"An investor could lend you the money so that you could continue paying your more valued employees' salaries while you're closed for repairs. If the employees received income, they wouldn't need to search for other jobs. If the contract was worded correctly, an investor would simply spot you financially until the club is operational again."
"I've never considered taking on investors because I'm too much of a control freak. I don't want anyone else telling me what to do with my business."
He considered her concerns before cautiously making his next suggestion. "I know of an investor that you wouldn't necessarily need to answer to on a business level, other than giving updates on the renovation progress. Depending upon the financials, he might even be persuaded to make a long term investment."
"Are you suggesting that I borrow money from an individual rather than a bank?"
"It's just a thought," he stated. "Businesses take on investors all the time."
Untangling herself from his embrace, she took her robe from its hook, slipped it on and released the towel which had been wrapped around her, allowing it to fall to the floor. Stepping over it, she walked into the bedroom while contemplating the risks associated with borrowing from an individual as opposed to a bank.
"This just happened a few hours ago. I haven't had the time to consider asking the bank for a loan. If it came down to it, I believe I would go to a bank for a loan as opposed to an investor though. The business account is decent enough to spot the full time employee wages, plus I have a decent savings I can dip into if needed. Since the club's insurance will most likely cover the majority of the restoration costs, I just might be able to pull this off. I won't be able to determine the cost of renovating until I meet with a designer and get an estimate, but yeah. I think your idea might work." With a glimmer of optimism sparkling in her eyes, she beamed.
Sitting down on the bed, he smiled with admiration at the practicality of her business know-how. "I hope so, but if it becomes too much of a financial strain, I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?" she said quizzically with a lifted brow as she sat down beside him.
"If you do decide to take on an investor, ask me before you talk to anyone else."
"I'm quite capable of making business decisions without a man's input," she sassed. It was an insult to her pride when a man, much less a man she didn't know all that well, thought she couldn't handle her business. "I didn't turn Bare Assets into a top notch gentlemen's club without being able to negotiate business."
"You took that the wrong way," he sighed. "Listen, we haven't exactly had time to get to know one another so understandably I haven't been completely forthcoming with you."
"What haven't you been forthcoming about? You're not about to tell me you're married are you?" Wouldn't that be the final nail in my coffin? she thought.
Now was not the time to discuss his marital status. Instead of answering her question, he adjusted his position on the side of the bed so that he was facing her.
"Just trust me when I say that I'm in a position to back your club and I've been searching for the perfect investment." Taking her hands in his, he locked eyes with her, needing her to see the seriousness behind his admission. "If you decide to borrow money,
I really want you to come to me before going to another individual. That way you know you have an investor you can trust."
"You have investments?" she asked. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know where he was employed or what he did for a living. She didn't know where he lived or what his relationship status was. She didn't even know if he wasn't married because he had side stepped the question. What in the world had she been thinking by getting involved with a man she hardly knew anything about? You weren't thinking about anything other than getting laid, she pondered.
"Yes, I have a few investments," he answered.
"Have you ever invested in a club?" she pressed. If she were to seriously consider taking him up on his offer, she wanted to know.
"That's enough about my financial status," he said light-heartedly in an effort to change the line of questioning. "I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, taking me on as an investor is an avenue which is available for us to explore."
"Thank you, but I don't borrow money from family or friends. I've been told that it's bad business."
"Are you suggesting we're more than acquaintances then?" he asked, holding his crossed fingers up to show he was hoping for the best.
Giggling, she planted a short kiss to his cheek and stood. "In a matter of an hour, I have cried on your shoulder, discussed business and now I'm laughing. If you keep this up, I might be forced to keep you around."
"Then I'd better fine tune my conversational skills, because I don't intend on going anywhere," he remarked coyly.
Changing the subject before it became too serious, Angie opened the bedroom door and glanced over her shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I haven't had a single thing to eat all day. If I don't get something soon, I'm going to eat the wood off this door."
Grinning from ear to ear, he had to say it, "I have something to appease your appetite, but I'm afraid the door doesn't play into my lust filled scenario."
Laughing, she tightened the rope on her robe and wittily responded, "I would love to take part in your version of a meal, but I'm afraid I need to rely on the basic food groups for now."
"And why is that?" he asked, joining her at the door.
"Something tells me that once I truly get a taste of you, I may never want to leave this room again.
Chapter 9
"Team us didn't fare so well." ~ Angela.
"Wow, that smells great," Angela exclaimed as she walked into the kitchen. The sight of a fully dressed Cutter standing over the stove opened a trove of memories, but she quickly stashed them away. She really needed to make a point of discussing his extended visit. The idea of spending an entire week with Dean was appealing, spending that same week with him while having Cutter around, not so much.
"Given the night you had, I thought you might appreciate a hearty breakfast."
Making her way to the coffee pot, she appreciatively poured two cups and thanked him for being so thoughtful.
"It's the least I can do for a friend who has graciously opened her home to me. It's almost like old times. Don't you think?" he prodded.
Shit fire. Cutter always had a way of pulling out the right words at the right time. The impending, 'you need to leave' conversation wasn't going to be easy on her conscience, but she would deal with that when the time came. Not wanting to embarrass him in front of Dean, she decided not to broach the subject until they were alone. Their relationship might be estranged, but she did still care about him. They had too much history for it to be otherwise.
"Speaking of breakfast," she said, graciously avoiding his remark concerning their past together, "thank you for breakfast. It looks great. It's been ages since I've sunk my teeth into a blueberry pancake." Placing a coffee cup in front of Dean, she parked her rear on a stool at the kitchen island and admired the plate of cakes.
"Remember the first time we made them?" he asked with glistening eyes.
Turning three shades of red, Angie lowered her head and cleared her throat, hoping he got the hint. She did not want to reminisce with Cutter in front of Dean.
"Can you pass the syrup?" Hoping the aversion to his question was enough to change the subject, she smeared butter onto her stack of pancakes and waited for him to hand over the container. Rather than place it down in front of her, he held it out, waiting for her to take it. Put out by his obvious need to make the breakfast awkward, she tilted her head and glared at him, daring him to push her buttons more than he already had.
He returned her piercing glower with a coy smile, silently daring her to take the syrup from him. Reaching out, she tried to snatch it out of his hand but he held it firmly, only releasing it after she tugged twice.
She felt the uncanny need to stick her tongue out at him, but didn't. Instead she coated her hotcakes and handed the bottle to Dean, who was pretending not to notice the interaction taking place between the two.
"Thanks," he said cheerfully as if she had just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
"You're welcome, my love," she thickly cooed to her new lover. The need to shut down what she knew to be flirtatious advances by Cutter was overpowering her sensibilities.
The unexpected audacious comment nearly caused Dean to choke on his breakfast, but he said nothing. Her unpredictability was amusing. The power struggle taking place between Angela and Cutter was long overdue from what he could tell. Far be it from him to stand in the way as past and present collided. He personally didn't want the man around, but it wasn't his call. They were after all, in her house and she wasn't exactly his girlfriend…yet.
Cutter smirked at her overzealous attempt to convince him that her words matched her heart's song. With a chuckle, he loaded his plate with cakes, lathered on the butter and syrup, then casually strolled behind the island and sat down beside her.
Sandwiched between the two, Angela felt her world close in. It was bad enough that Cutter had overstayed his welcome, but this blatant disregard for her supposed relationship with Dean was causing her blood to boil. "When are you leaving?" There, she'd asked. Forget her plan to save him from embarrassment. He had lost the opportunity for her planed decorum when he decided to be an ass. So be it. Two could play that game.
"I'm not," he said in a matter of fact tone without looking up. Her head twisted to the side. Glaring at him, she watched as he shoveled a heaping mound of food into his mouth as if it were perfectly normal for him to assume that he could remain in her home.
"Excuse me?" she sputtered.
"I'm not leaving you until I know you'll be okay." Still not looking up, he continued to slump over his plate while filling his mouth with more chunks of blueberry heaven.
"I've lived by myself for six years without any trouble. I think that proves I don't require babysitting. You can tell my brother I said so." Turning back to her own food, she shoved a bite into her mouth and furiously chewed.
"Someone's out to get you and I'm not leaving until we find out who." Refusing to cast a look her direction, he swallowed before taking a long pull from his orange juice.
"That's absurd. No one is out to get me. It was an accidental fire, plain and simple. Shit like this happens every day. Accidents happen every day."
"I disagree. I know you better than anyone, Ang," he said, finally turning to look at her. "There is no way on earth that your club had faulty wiring. I talked to your brother this morning. You had the place completely rewired, re-plumbed, a new roof, and partially renovated after you purchased it. Freezers do not catch on fire unless there is faulty wiring. Your brother said he remembers you saying that you replaced the kitchen equipment as well."
"What else did my brother say?" she fumed.
"He thinks that you rent the ice machines. He said you offer a taxi service to customers who've had too much to drink and that you would never have overlooked a major problem with the freezer because your kitchen is too profitable. If the freezer had faulty wiring, you would have had trouble with the temperatures. My guess is you didn't. With that said, your brother
and I feel that it's in your best interest to have someone you can completely trust with you until this is resolved. We took a vote on who that should be and the most logical winner was me."
The combined assumption Cutter and her brother had reached in the short time it had taken her to spill a barrel of tears inside of her shower, left her slack jawed and dumbfounded. "I can't believe my brother remembers all of that," was all she could manage to say.
"Regardless of what you may think, your brother pays close attention to everything you tell him. Owning a strip club might not be the most politically correct business to run, but you're doing a hell of a job and have made it a successful source of income. For that reason, he's extremely proud of you."
"I had no idea he felt that way." Giving herself a few seconds to enjoy the idea that her brother was proud, she sipped her coffee.
"He might not smear his brotherly pride all over the backwoods town we live in, but he has always shared it with me, Ang. Always."
"I'm happy to know he's proud of me, but I'm not a child and I do not need supervision. I don't want you staying here."
"Then come home. Your brother needs you."
"Is this a ploy to get the imaginary bull's-eye off my back? If it is, I can assure you that I don't need protecting because no one is out to get me."
"No, it's not a ploy. All though bringing you home would serve a dual purpose."
"Which is?"
"Getting you home to a brother who needs you and making sure you are safe."
"Why the hell does he want me home so badly? Does this involve more than getting me out of the big evil city?"
"You'll have to talk to him about that. Suffice it to say that he has his reasons." Without another word, Cutter shoved the last bite of pancakes into his mouth, rinsed his dish in the sink, shoved it in the dishwasher and left the kitchen.
Angie was left to gawk at his retreating form. It took a few long minutes for her to compose herself, but she finally cleared her throat, excused herself from Dean's company and followed the same path Cutter had taken. If he thought for one minute that the conversation was over, he was sadly mistaken.
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