Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Ten seconds he waited, anxious for a simple touch. Pleasure surged through his body at her touch. She wasn’t dainty, not Jentry. She slapped her hand in his, her grip unwavering as she allowed him to draw her from the interior.

  Jentry emerged, arm first, followed by the rest of her body. Shoulders hunched, a noticeable shiver coursed through her. Her coat may be wool, but it was cheap, thin. Harden did not have to wonder if she’d accept a shopping spree from him. The answer was a hard no, if only to spite him. There were ways around her willfulness.

  He led the way into the club. A bouncer saw them coming through the glass door and opened it. “Good Afternoon, Mr. Gage, Mr. Neritti.”

  He acknowledged the man with a nod and moved into the center of the building to the dance floor. The air was musty, and the place was dusty from the renovations, nothing that couldn’t be cleaned up quickly. Jentry was next to him, surveying the building with him.

  “Have you been here before?”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have been allowed in if I’d tried.”

  That jerked him around. “Why?” He wanted to know who would’ve turned her away.

  She raked him with a scathing glare. “Wrong clothes, wrong shoes, wrong look, wrong crowd. I wouldn’t have fit in.”

  He stepped into her personal space, restrained himself from touching her, though he ached, physically hurt to stop himself from wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into his body. Though she’d deny it, it bothered her, not fitting in, being on the outside looking in. Shit, he got it because that had been him, on the other side of the window staring at his father showering his brother with attention and love while he, the bastard son of a hook-up, got crumbs until his father needed him.

  Fuck it. Harden reached for her.

  “Mr. Gage.” Lee Augustine rushed from the stock room. “Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”

  Saved by the bell. Harden wasn’t sure whether to give the man a raise or shoot him for interrupting.

  Short and a lightweight, every man in the building towered over Lee, which meant nothing. He ran the club with an iron hand, and now he also ran Catalyst after Ralph’s retirement. “No problem.” Harden turned to Jentry. “Here’s your new apprentice.”

  “What?” Jentry blurted, her gaze bouncing between Harden and Lee. “What?” She repeated.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Playne.” Lee held out his hand.

  Tentatively, Jentry shook it, her gaze still bouncing between the two men. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Augustine is my manager of Denizen, and temporarily Catalyst since Ralph Luce quit yesterday. Lee needs help and you’re it.” Harden turned to leave. The sound of her heels running behind him followed. He slowed for her to catch up, relishing the coming argument.

  Huffing, she cut him off. “What am I apprenticing?”

  “You’re training to be a manager.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  Suppressing a laugh at her obvious confusion, he said. “You’ve said that three times. Come up with another word. Try yes or thanks.”

  Worry filled her gaze. “Um. I-I don’t know how to do that.”

  “That’s why you’ll be an apprentice.”

  “B-But.”

  Enough of this self-doubt. She could do it. She would do this. “Did I tell you the salary starts at ninety thousand a year with bonuses tied to monthly profits and a corporate credit card for your personal use. Think you can do it now?”

  Her mouth opened and closed several times while her eyes blinked in rapid fashion as if her brain had to reboot more than once. Suddenly, her gaze narrowed. “Corporate credit card for personal use? That sounds illegal.”

  “Not when I give you permission and will replace it next week with a personal card.” If she would accept a credit card from him.

  Jentry nodded once and strutted away from him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Augustine.”

  “Call me Lee.”

  “Yes, sir”

  Harden exited to their voices echoing behind him.

  “We have four days to whip this place in shape for an All Hallows masked ball, and you’re helping me.”

  “What?”

  Lee clapped twice and huffed. “Come on, bitch, hop to!”

  Harden chuckled, certain he’d left her in good hands.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The past few days had been endless. First moving into the luxury apartment owned by Harden Gage, then losing one job, then two jobs due to Harden Gage, plus her crappy studio apartment in Queens, again because of Harden Gage. Threatened with child protective services and forced to move into his penthouse because Harden Gage was, is, and always would be an asshole. Then to be given a job, a well-paying J-O-B that allowed her to keep her clothes on, a job she actually liked, even though Lee yelled at her a lot, made Jentry feel pretty damned accomplished and exhausted.

  She wanted to sleep for a year. Maybe after the masked ball three days away. She checked the time on her phone and saw it was well after the time Allie went to bed. Jentry sighed. She wanted to spend some time with her.

  The driver parked in front of the building. She waited for the man assigned to guard her to exit the passenger side and help her out of the car. Every single time that happened, she felt like Meghan Markle and Kate Middleton wrapped in one. Silly, but still.

  Lee had her driving all over town, with and without him, to settle contracts and meet with suppliers. She loved it. The taste of power made her want to be her own boss. But that power was linked to Harden’s notoriety. It wasn’t hers.

  But it could be, she just had to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. This job was a handout, and while she was grateful, she wanted something that was hers alone.

  The guard, a nice guy named Quincy, led her to the elevator and joined her in the cab. “Thanks for driving me all over New York. “

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” He held out a business card. “When you’re ready to be picked up tomorrow, just give me a call.”

  “The name’s Jentry.” She was too young to be called ma’am.

  Quincy had a sexy grin. He wasn’t as tall as Harden, three inches shorter, she guessed. A pair of heels and they’d be the same height. His hair was brown instead of blond like Harden’s, and his eyes were dark blue instead of the artic blue Harden sported. Clean-shaven and slimmer build opposed to Harden’s permanent five-o’cl—

  Stop it. Stop it right now. You are not comparing this man to that asshole.

  “Alright, Jentry.”

  He drew her name out and held her gaze as she took the card. Their fingers brushed and…nothing. Not even a slight tingle. It had not been that way with Harden. When he touched her, she felt it all the way to her bones.

  The sudden image of Carl spinning her to the floor, his fist raised and the first strike connecting with her ribs, snatched her out of whatever place thoughts of her and Harden had taken her.

  Carefully, she took the card from Quincy. The elevator dinged and opened on the penthouse level. She stepped out, but Quincy remained inside.

  “Goodnight, Quincy.”

  “Goodnight, Jentry.”

  The guard stationed in the hallway nodded once and opened the penthouse door for her.

  She halted. Oh, yeah. She’d forgotten about her abrupt relocation. Entering the suite, prepared for anything, she found the great room with its panoramic view of the city empty. Good. To her bedroom she headed, hoping someone had brought over Allie’s crib or at least her playpen. Jentry would never get any sleep with Allie lying next to her.

  Halfway down the hall, she stopped at an open door to find the room transformed into the same nursery that was in the other apartment. They’d moved everything over, including the artwork on the walls. Ms. Vicki sat in the rocking chair, dozing. Jentry tiptoed into the room and went straight to the crib. Flat on her back and completely asleep, Allie rested peacefully, her mouth slightly parted, moving every few seconds as
if she were suckling. Jentry wanted to hold her, pick her up and nestle Allie in her arms, draw her Baby Magic scent into her lungs until she drowned in it. That was a bad idea. Allie was the grumpiest person on earth when she didn’t get her beauty rest.

  Jentry tucked the blanket in tighter around her and noticed the new sleeper on Allie’s little body. Who bought this? She turned to the open closet a few steps away from the crib. The nightlight didn’t reach the interior, but she found the switch and flicked it on. Row after row of clothing in various sizes—much of them too big—waited to be worn.

  “Good evening, Ms. Playne,” the nanny said from the rocking chair.

  “Um, good evening. Who bought all this?”

  “Mr. Gerard with the approval of Mr. Gage. I think he did a good job. Little Allie will look so adorable in them.”

  “Um, yeah. She will.” Jentry didn’t know how to deal with the display. Was it generosity or charity? Even with her new paycheck, until that first paycheck was deposited in her account, she was too poor to refuse either.

  “Now that you’re home, I’m going to bed, that’s if you don’t need me for anything else.”

  Jentry would have to be deaf not to hear the plea in the nanny’s voice. She was tired and needed a break. Jentry more than understood. Plus, Allie was her child, not Ms. Vicki’s.

  “Have a good night, and thank you for taking care of Allie. I appreciate it.”

  “No thanks needed. She’s a wonderful little girl.” Ms. Vicki murmured a good night and left Jentry alone with her daughter.

  She watched Allie sleep for a few more seconds, then took the baby monitor from the dresser and closed the door to the room. A wave of exhaustion hit her. A shower and bed. That’s what she needed. Both items waited next door to Allie’s room.

  Not only had someone unpacked her clothes, but they’d done her laundry, and just like Allie, went shopping for her. Nothing too invasive, they’d bought functional underwear in basic black, white, and neutral colors. Yoga wear, oversized tops, and a few loungers that covered her from head to toe.

  Charity or generosity? At this late hour, she didn’t give a damn. She showered, brushed her teeth, and dressed in the new yoga pants and top. She exited the bathroom to the wonderful aroma of something delicious. Her stomach let out a growl demanding she investigate.

  Ignore it, she told herself and settled between the sheets of the king-size bed. When she left here, somehow, someway, she needed to fit the sheets and the mattress in her back pocket and take them with her because both were heavenly.

  Her stomach grumbled louder than before and cramped from hunger. When was the last time she’d eaten? The time eluded her.

  Fine!

  She whipped off the covers, stuffed her feet in a pair of slippers, and exited her bedroom. She hoped it was Gerard fixing a midnight snack as she crept down the hallway and crossed the aptly named great room. By the time she saw him it was too late. His sharp gaze was already on her.

  “Join me.” He ordered. Seated at the dining table with a plate of something edible in front of him, both the man and the food beckoned her forward. She could play coy and beg off, plead to be excused and return to her bedroom, her stomach eating itself. On cue it growled.

  Harden rose and went into the kitchen. With his back to her, she couldn’t see what he was doing other than opening and closing the refrigerator. He opened a cabinet next and retrieved a plate, then a drawer for silverware. By the time she reached the archway to the kitchen, he’d already started the microwave.

  “I hope you like stuffed chicken and rice pilaf,” Harden said and turned to lean against the counter. Ten feet away from each other, the silence was deafening. He still wore a dress shirt, no tie. Sleeves rolled up exposing thick forearms sprinkled with blond hair.

  “I’m not picky.”

  He nodded once, then placed a knife and fork on a folded napkin on the table. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. He retrieved another glass and the bottle of wine next to his plate. He filled a glass for her and topped his off. The microwave dinged.

  “Sit.” He ordered and returned to the kitchen.

  “You enjoy giving one-word orders.” She complained, but still planted her butt in the chair to his right.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, a cocky grin on his handsome face. “It worked, didn’t it.”

  She refused to validate his smug answer as her ass settled in the chair. He placed the plate in front of her. Her mouth watered at the sight and smell. She had enough self-control to wait until he joined her to dig in.

  “Thanks.” The first bite, wow. She moaned and shoveled more food into her mouth. “Who made this?”

  “Gerard.”

  “I have to get the recipe for this.”

  “You like to cook?” he said surprised.

  “I used to. I haven’t had the time in a while. I really like to bake. Cakes, pies, cookies.” She shoved more food into her mouth to stop the rambling.

  “Gerard’s territorial, but he likes you. I’m sure you could talk him into letting you inside his kitchen.”

  “We’ll see, the new job will take all my time.”

  “Is that a complaint?” One eyebrow arched over his icy eyes.

  “No. Not a complaint.” She sipped the wine he’d poured for her, watching him over the rim. “Did I thank you?”

  His fork paused halfway to his mouth and his gaze cut to her. “I didn’t do it for the thanks.”

  Well, that was interesting. She chewed and swallowed. “Why did you did it?” She had to ask. He said nothing. Not a single word in response to her question.

  Together, they ate, they drank. The clink of their silverware scraping the plates and the muffled sounds of mastication filled the silence. You’d think it would be awkward. Nope. The silence soothed her. Some people just had to fill the void with noise, any noise, not her. She understood the value of keeping your mouth shut, keeping still, being comfortable in one’s own skin. Only twenty and Jentry got it. It was a lesson drilled into her first as the second daughter and black sheep of the family, then by Carl. He’d made her skin his real estate.

  Just thinking about it made the flesh on her back itch and her hackles rise. Comfortable in her own skin, right. Such bullshit. That patch of skin wasn’t hers. It belonged to him.

  Plate clean, wine glass drained, she took her dishes to the dishwasher. She turned and he was there, his dishes in his hand, his body too close for comfort. She took the dishes, swallowed down the lump in her throat, and turned back to the dishwasher. He was still there, behind her, his body heat seeping into her. His scent, slightly smoky from a cigar and his cologne, filtering into her lungs. Afraid for so many reasons, she turned again and faced the man who housed her, clothed her, fed her, and paid her.

  He was too handsome, too wide, too muscled, just too damn much, and her senses, senses that went dormant a few short months after she willingly left her parents’ home, senses she swore had withered, flared to life.

  “Go to bed, Jentry.” He dismissed her, yet he blocked her way.

  “Move,” she whispered, only to have him lean closer, cage her between his body and the counter at her back. All she could see was him. First, his face, each whisker, particularly those around his firm lips, until he leaned closer. Now, his eyes filled her vision. The chill racing down her spine had nothing to do with being cold.

  His mouth so close, the slightest movement and they’d touch. She didn’t want his kiss. Didn’t want his lips anywhere near her. That’s why her nipples were diamonds and her pussy was a flood zone. His head dropped to the crux of her neck. Jentry froze. She didn’t know what to do. Should she bring him closer or shove him away? Her body said one thing, her brain the other.

  She waited too long. The decision was snatched out of her hands.

  “Good night, Jentry.” Harden shoved away from her. He left her braced against the counter while he headed in the opposite direction, away from her and the bedrooms. Knee
s weak, she stumbled, but quickly gained her footing. She crossed the penthouse, seeing none of the expensive furniture and art, seeing none of the staggering NYC vistas displayed on the other side of the floor to ceiling windows. With single-minded focus, she returned to her bedroom and made sure to lock Harden Gage out and herself in.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jentry hadn’t seen Harden in three days, not that she was concerned. His presence in the house couldn’t be denied. His scent, male mixed with a hint of cologne, lingered in every room. It made her weak, achy between her thighs, needy. It made her angry because she wanted to taste him, touch him. She wanted his scent in her nostrils, in her lungs, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

  She blamed it on the kiss that didn’t happen. That almost kiss fucked with her head. Kept her up at night. Made her toss and turn. Made her wet. So wet, she couldn’t ignore it. A switch had been flipped. What was off was now on and wouldn’t return to its dormant state. She woke with thoughts of him. She slept with thoughts of him. During the day thoughts of him plagued her. The only reprieve was working with Lee.

  Lee sauntered up to her. His suit bright red matched with a stark white shirt, red tartan ascot tie, and red patent leather six-inch heels. His mask, red peacock feathers. “You ready, bitch?”

  “Not as ready as you.” She looked him up and down. Damn, the man was pretty. He’ll put most, if not all, the women to shame tonight.

  Playfully, he nudged her shoulder. “I refuse to dress as staff, and I told you not to either.”

  Yeah, but black was her default and the aqua shirt wasn’t horrible. The color complimented her. “I like to blend.” Plus, she didn’t feel comfortable using the company credit card. She didn’t feel comfortable using the personal one Harden promised her whenever that arrived either. It just didn’t feel right.