by Carina Adams
“Mental high fives?”
Jesus. I hoped he wasn’t going to repeat everything I said.
I answered like he was actually asking. “When I woke up and saw you, I knew I could never tell a soul. Not that anyone who knows you would believe me anyway, but it doesn’t matter. So, instead, I gave myself a few minutes to enjoy the memory of all that,” I waved two fingers in the direction of his torso, “and gave myself an atta-girl because it’s quite impressive. It’s all I needed. I knew the feelings would disappear as soon as you opened your mouth.”
“You really are odd.”
“Pfft.” I shrugged. He was right, but I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction or agreeing. “It’s not every day someone who looks like me gets to touch someone who looks like you. What do you do for training? Because those abs are rock hard. And good lord,” I waved a hand, “I swear you could lift an elephant.”
His body tensed and both fists squeezed the steering wheel. “Someone who looks like you?” His playful tone from moments before was gone. “Why do you say shit like that?”
I frowned trying to determine his angle. “Because it’s true.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah?” I challenged. “When was the last time you made out with a short, overweight, awkward tomboy?”
“Never.”
“Exactly.”
“Last night I was ready to fuck a short, annoying, pain-in-the-ass so hard she’d be sore for a week. I wanted to kiss every inch of her, mark her, so that every time she looked in the mirror she’d remember exactly how much I’d craved her. Despite whatever imaginary flaws she thinks she has.”
His voice, low and gravely, wiped the smug expression off my face. A cold wave swept over my body, from my face to my feet, leaving goose bumps in its wake. A shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t want his words to affect me like they did, yet I couldn’t stop the reaction.
“But, no. I’ve never made out with anyone I would classify as a short, overweight, awkward tomboy.”
Shit. “We were drunk. Anything that happened doesn’t count.”
“I’m not sure what goes on in that head of yours. Clearly, someone, somewhere, messed you up. I’d like to be left alone with the douche, to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget. You need to get rid of that shit. Stop hiding. There’s no place for it in this business. You owned every ounce of your sexuality in that room last night.”
“That was Ruffles, not me.”
“Bullshit. You may separate the two, but you’re the same person. You acted like you loved your body. You need to figure out how to make that a reality.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I didn’t know how to respond. All my usual arguments on this subject seemed pointless.
“Holy shit. Does the Cady Knowlton really have nothing to say?”
I lifted a middle finger and scratched my nose. “Okay. We’ve talked about it. I promise you, I’m not going to imagine there’s more to us than there is. Can we go back to hating each other now?”
He sighed. “I don’t hate you.”
I adjusted, facing the windshield. After a few moments of tense silence, I decided to be honest. “I don’t hate you, either.”
“Good.”
I thought he’d turn the radio back on, but he tipped his head, as if to crack his neck. “I’m surprised I don’t have a headache from hell.”
“And you made fun of my hangover kit.” I scoffed. He’d mocked me when I’d forced him to drink Alka-Seltzer and take caffeine pills.
“No, I picked on you for carrying it with you everywhere. Now that I know what a lightweight you are, I understand.”
“Lightweight?” I gasped. “I drank you under the table!”
“If that’s how you want to remember it,” he chuckled. “Sure you did, Sweetheart.”
“Maybe, and that’s a big maybe, you could tolerate it a little bit better than me. But I was drinking on an empty stomach.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice lately. I built a tolerance.”
“Why?” My voice was soft, genuine. I didn’t know much about Roman. I hadn’t wanted to. The things I had heard and retained all pointed to a sad existence. “We have some time, might as well get to know each other.”
I figured he’d argue. To tell me to mind my own business. Maybe turn the radio back on.
He nodded. “That’s a good idea, actually. If we’re going to be a team, we’ve got to start somewhere, right? We should know each other inside and out.” Oblivious to what he’d said, or the way I gripped my door handle at his double entendre, he continued.
“A few months ago, my fiancé called off our wedding. Over the course of a couple hours I went from having it all to having almost nothing. I became the loser who had to crash in his friend’s spare room. Everyone at Soiree will tell you I didn’t handle it well. Fuck, I’m still not. I miss her. I pretend she’s not really gone and when I remember I don’t cope well. I’ve gotten quite close with The three wise-men.”
I stared at his profile, noticing the unshaved whiskers that had grown along his strong jaw and cheeks overnight, the way his nose appeared to be incredibly straight and thin from my angle, and how his dark hair, even when not styled to perfection, looked fantastic. Remembering I wasn’t supposed to ogle him as if he was a total stranger, especially one who’d just admitted he’d gone crazy after his fiancé left, I blinked twice and tried to recall what he’d said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Roman shot me a bemused glance. “The three wise-men? Jack Daniels, Johnnie Walker, and Jim Beam.”
“Ahhh, yes.” Something Lucky had told me once came back. “Too chicken to go for the Four Horsemen, eh?”
It was his turn to appear confused.
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Jack, Jim, Johnnie Walker Black, and Jameson. It’s the best.”
Roman’s double take would have made me laugh if we hadn’t turned onto the freeway, and been driving speeds I didn’t want to think about. He needed to keep his eyes on the road. Yet, he stared me down.
“There’s no way you can tolerate that much whiskey.”
I shrugged. “Next time, I’m proving you wrong.” Too late, I realized what I’d said. Roman and I weren’t drinking together ever again.
“Will there be a next time? Are you even old enough to drink? Legally, I mean.”
“Yes, you goof.” I laughed as I remembered his cousin’s questions from the night before. “As my boss, shouldn’t you know how old I am?”
“Nah. That’s Randy’s job. I just need to know you’re over eighteen.”
“We’re good then. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
I watched him closely. I would have guessed closer to thirty.
“Okay,” he glanced at me again, “I told you something about me. Your turn.”
“Ask anything. I’m an open book.”
“Why dance?”
“That’s easy.” I lifted my knee onto the seat and braced it on the center console between us. “Do you remember the scandal at Morris and Morris last year? It’s that big accounting firm in Portland.” I paused, letting him have time to make the connection. “That was my boss. After charges were filed, the entire department was fired. I’m a damn good accountant, but right now, everyone in the finance world looks at me like I’m a criminal. No one will hire me.”
“You can’t leave it off your resume?”
“No. That would make me look even more guilty. And take all my experience away. Once I get my degree and another job, I can prove myself. Until then…” I trailed off.
“You’re studying accounting?”
“Forensic accounting.” Not everyone understood what that meant so I explained what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
“You couldn’t take some time off and just focus on school, maybe double up your credits? Finish early?”
“No. I have a scholarship and it covers most of my tuition. Grants and loans fill th
e gap. Yet, none of those pay for my rent or expenses. I need to work. Unfortunately, I have zero useful skills.”
He gave me a long sideways glance I couldn’t read. “I doubt that.”
“I could tell you stories that would make you cringe,” I argued with a smile. “Just take my word for it.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Your parents can’t help? Co-sign a loan for you, maybe?”
It was such a simple question, yet the answer was loaded, so I deflected. “Are you trying to get me to quit already?”
“Just as we’re starting to bond?” He mocked. “Liv would kill me.”
“I love Livie. You guys are really great friends, huh?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
I turned toward my window and watched the pine trees fly by. “My mom passed away a few years ago. My little brother and I moved in with my Nana. She still has him at home, and even if she didn’t, I’d never ask her to do that. Things are tight enough for her already.” I sighed, thinking of the woman I loved with all my heart. “No. This is my responsibility.”
“What about your dad?”
We were getting deep apparently. “There is no dad, actually.” Before he could say anything about the part of my life I rarely talked about, I rushed on. “So, dancing it is for right now.” I held my breath, expecting him to offer pity, but thankfully it never came.
“Dancing is a good fit with a college schedule. It’s great money. And once you learn your routine, it’s mostly just keeping up on your exercises and the parties on the weekend. Plenty of time to study.”
I nodded my agreement. If this worked out, it would be perfect. “Livie does really well. Are most of students—your employees, I mean?”
“A few,” he cleared his throat. “I speak from personal experience, though. I actually danced my way through college.”
I gaped at him. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Reid, too.” He tipped his head a little, in a move I was starting to realize he did when he didn’t want to talk about something. “Well, Reid’s still in school. It paid for both our undergrad degrees and this company.”
The idea was scandalous to me. I had a hundred questions. “At private parties? Or clubs?”
“Burlesque private parties. Same thing you do.” He drummed his hands on the wheel. “Almost.”
“Almost?”
He smirked. “That’s a different story for a different day.”
“You can’t just leave me hanging. I need to know everything.”
“I told you the best parts,” he insisted with a dazzling smile in my direction. He was so handsome it practically hurt to gaze at him. In seconds, he grew somber. “I also told you I knew what I was talking about. Next time, listen when I give you advice.”
I was so distracted by the thought of him performing I couldn’t be upset by his annoyed tone. “Do you still dance?”
“I’ll always dance. It’s in my blood.”
“You still perform? Like, I could call Soiree and request you?”
He snorted. “Not a chance.”
I wanted to know more, everything, but he didn’t elaborate. “Another story for another day?” I asked flatly.
His head turned in my direction and winked.
I sighed when I realized it was the only answer I was going to get. “Speaking of work, do you know when my next party is?”
“Saturday.”
I couldn’t stop the smile. “Really?”
“Yeah. You and Violet. We’ll go over it all and make plans later this week.” He slowed and put on a blinker. “I need you to work on at least one more routine this week. Maybe two, if you’re up to it.”
“I can do that.”
I glanced out my window, surprised to see the familiar buildings of Water Street. We’d been so busy talking the ride had flown by. He pulled into a reserved spot in the lot and shut off the engine, but he didn’t get out. I shoved all my school stuff into my messenger bag before I realized he was sitting there, watching me.
“I think we could do well as a team.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I feel like there’s a but coming.”
He frowned. “Last night was—,”
“Never being spoken of again. We agreed.”
Annoyed, I pushed open my door and slid out. Roman beat me to the back and had my bag over his shoulder. We walked upstairs in silence. No one else was at the studio.
“Everyone takes Sunday to recover. If they come in, it’ll be later tonight,” he explained, reading the questions on my face. Without asking, he carried my stuff to the costume room and left the duffle on a chair so I could empty it out. When everything had been put away, I stuck my head in his office to say goodbye.
“I’m heading out, unless you need me.”
Rome grabbed an envelope from the desk and held it in my direction. “Here.”
Curious, I crossed to him and plucked it out of his fingers. “What’s this?”
“Your paycheck.”
I tried to hand it back. “Oh, I got my check on Friday. Paid my rent and bought all my text books that afternoon,” I boasted, proud of myself.
He didn’t take it from me. “That was your pay. This is your tip from last night.”
I started to protest, but stopped when I thought of all the bills I had piling up. “Thank you.”
He lifted his chin toward the door. “Go. Enjoy some time off.” I’d stepped into the hall when he spoke again. “Good luck with classes on Tuesday.”
I waved over my shoulder and hurried out. I didn’t open the envelope until I was home, tucked away in my bedroom, avoiding my friends and their questions. I counted the bills three times before I sank onto the floor next to my bed.
The jackass had given me twelve-hundred dollars. It was too much, but I knew he’d never let me return it. I didn’t even have his phone number to call and demand answers, to find out if he’d slipped me extra because he felt guilty about the other things that happened, the things we were never supposed to discuss again. I hated the dread that pooled in my gut, the nagging feeling that I was missing something, instead of being excited about holding enough money in my hands to pay my bills for the next month.
Worse was that I didn’t know if I should be angry or thankful. I hadn’t gotten to work the crowd; I shouldn’t have gotten a tip at all. I didn’t need him to take care of me. Or give me money because he felt sorry for me.
I dropped my head back onto the mattress, and stared at my ceiling, questioning everything.
My mind immediately wandered to another bedroom, a few hours before. I’d wanted him to keep kissing me. If I’d had more alcohol in my system, or if things had been different, we would have done a hell of a lot more than kiss. The idea should have disgusted and embarrassed me, yet surprisingly, it was disappointment that washed over me.
One thing was crystal clear. Roman knew how to get under my skin and drive me nuts. I needed to find a way to prevent it.
Twelve
Reid
“What are you doing here?”
I paused mid step, thrown by the way the words had been snarled at me. I backed up and pointedly checked the sign on the wall next to the office. Reaching out, I tapped a knuckle against it.
“Yep. Still Soiree.” My lips spread in a snide grin, not masking my irritation. “Unless you bought me out in the last twenty-four hours, it’s still half my company. That means I can show up whenever I want.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. “What are you doing here?”
He motioned to the paperwork on the desk in front of him. “Working.”
“Bullshit. You never work from the office anymore.”
“Reid.”
“Rome.”
Roman closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long slow breath, channeling his dad. I’d seen the exact move done by the elder MacGregor enough times to know it meant he was reaching his breaking point. I should have cared that I was pushing him.
I didn’t.
“Let’s try this again,” Rome opened angry eyes and leveled me with a stare. “What are you doing here?” At least his tone wasn’t vicious this time.
“I need a reason to visit my company now?”
His teeth ground. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I headed straight to the chair opposite him and sunk down.
“It’s Wednesday.”
“It is.”
“It’s the afternoon.”
I nodded, hoping he’d get to the damn point and stop pointing out the obvious. I had no idea why his attitude bothered me as much as it did, but it pissed me off. Clearly, he was as agitated as I was. For a brief moment I wondered if he had a reason to be angry with me or if he was as confused as I was.
His eyes narrowed. After what felt like forever, he leaned back into the chair and threaded his fingers over his stomach. Watching. Waiting. Expecting me to yield to him, like always.
I propped an elbow on the arm of the chair, leaned my chin onto my fist, and stared back. Something was off. I could play his silly little game until I figured out what it was. He was the bastard who had been avoiding me, not the other way around.
After a pause of contemplative silence, he caved. His lips curled as his eyes rolled. “I thought you had classes all day on Wednesday.”
I lifted one shoulder in a hapless shrug. “Vi doesn’t have class this afternoon. Thought I’d catch her here.”
“She’s avoiding you?”
“Since we got home after the show. I’ve left her messages, stopped by her apartment. The only thing I haven’t done is corner her here. Conveniently, she calls when I’m in class yet doesn’t answer when I respond. She still hasn’t given me an explanation.” I wanted to know what in the hell had happened Saturday night and why she’d left the cottage on her own. If she was going through something, I needed to know what it was. I wasn’t going to stop hounding her until I had answers. She wasn’t the only one avoiding my questions, though. “Speaking of, I haven’t seen you much this week.”
He dropped his gaze to the file on his desk. “Trying to catch up on paperwork.”
It was a bullshit excuse and we both knew it. Randy did most of the office work, and even as messed up as he’d been over the last few months, Rome was far too much of a control freak to let himself fall behind on the things he still handled. Part of me was glad he was out of sweats and out of my house, because it meant that things might finally be returning to normal, that he was going to be okay. The other part knew he was hiding something from me.
