She wrote back quickly. Can’t. I won’t be back till eleven.
She set the phone down on the sink counter, finished brushing her teeth, and rinsed with a glass of water. Her phone buzzed again. Perhaps you mistook that for a request. It was not. I will see you at nine.
Anger slithered through her, hot, black anger at Charlie, at Dillon, at all the ways she was indebted to those two. She clicked on the message and dialed Charlie’s number.
He answered on the second ring.
“I am not in town,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I can’t be there.”
“Red, I have seen the airline schedules. I even checked for you. And there will be a ticket waiting for you on the eleven a.m. flight back. It gets you into town at two-thirty, so you will have plenty of time to make yourself beautiful and show off those lovely breasts to help distract our high roller.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her free hand, feeling like his prostitute. Like his dirty little trick to lure them in, because that’s what she was. A woman used.
“Don’t you get it?” she said in a low voice, not wanting Clay to hear, though the bathroom door was closed. “I can’t.”
“But you can. And you will. And if you don’t, I will be happy to visit your bar more frequently. After all, it may very well be my bar someday soon. How do you think your pretty little friend with the baby in her belly would like working with me? Maybe we can even put her little one to work for me soon too,” he said, and her insides churned with the thought. Images of sweet Kim and her family becoming part of Charlie’s circle of indentured servitude made her want to vomit. Not to mention hang her head further in shame. “But I haven’t decided if I will keep Cubic Z open, or if I will take great pleasure in driving it into the ground, and all that money you needed for your bar will be for naught. But you will have the reminder in front of your face to never try to take my money again,” he said, and it was as if his foot were on her chest, digging in, keeping her pinned and prostrate under all his weight. “Unless you come back, and you play and you win.”
If there was one thing Julia had learned in this lifetime, and in these few months being on Charlie’s very short leash, it was that whoever had the leverage won. There was no bluffing when you owed money to someone who lived on his own side of the law, who operated by his rules. Call him a mobster, call him a gangster, she didn’t care about the semantics. A real Tony Soprano but without the Italian heritage, Charlie was like Tony in the sense that he was the man, he was in charge, and you didn’t fuck with him. There was no need for a poker face for Charlie because her cards were shit. He had a royal flush. He could take what he wanted from her. She knew of his ways, had heard of all the things he’d done, how he made sure money and debts were always paid to him, and for much more than the debtor bargained for.
The interest he charged damn near killed you.
When you owed him, he owned you and that meant everyone you cared about was in line if you couldn’t pay the vig. Soon, he’d encroach further, plucking at her family, her friends, all her loved ones. She couldn’t take the risk of pissing him off. He’d hurt someone to punish her for her impudence. She had no choice but to abide by his wishes.
“Fine. I will see you tonight.”
She stabbed the end button on her screen, but it was thoroughly unsatisfying. She pushed both hands roughly through her hair, grabbing hard against her scalp, something, anything to unleash her agitation. She wanted to shake a fist at the sky, to slam her phone onto the floor. But in the end, she’d have to do what Charlie told her to do. Come home, slide into a tight black dress, and too-high heels, and sit down at the table ready to be ogled and to win. She was his secret weapon, a one-two punch with boobs and talent.
She looked at the time. The flight he wanted her on left in two hours.
The back of her eyes burned, the start of a thick sob threatening her. She inhaled sharply, drawing her hurt back inside, sucking it down. She was a fool for thinking she could manage any sort of relationship while she was still clawing her way out of the mess her last relationship had left for her. But that’s what she was—a fool, a mark, a pawn. She’d been taken, Dillon had scammed her, and she had no clue it was happening until it was done. Damn him, leaving her saddled with this while he got off scot-free. Leaving her no choice but to walk away from a man she was starting to feel real things for.
But feeling more for Clay would only put him in the line of fire. She had to extricate herself before she made her problems his problems. No one wanted that kind of shit in their lives.
She was stuffing her clothes in her suitcase. Clay rubbed his eyes, and covered his mouth as he yawned. Maybe he was seeing things, but it sure looked like Julia was fixing to get the hell out of Dodge. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, she was tugging the zipper closed on her suitcase.
“I thought your flight wasn’t till five,” he said, scrubbing his hand across his jaw.
She shook her head. “I got it wrong. I transposed the times. It’s 11:05, not 5:11.”
“Let’s just change it then.”
“I tried. The later flight is booked,” she said, and her voice was strained, as if she were speaking through a sieve.
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, really,” she said, but she didn’t look at him. She kept tugging and yanking at her suitcase. He got out of bed to help, kneeling down on the floor next to her. His shoulder bumped hers, and she cringed as if he’d burned her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she said, crisply as he closed the suitcase for her.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I just need to go, that’s all. I hate being late and missing flights. It totally stresses me out,” she said, and there was a hitch in her voice, as if she were about to cry. Did she have some kind of bad childhood memory about missing a flight? Because she sure as hell seemed sadder than the moment warranted.
“Let me go with you then to the airport. We can at least spend more time together in the car.”
She shook her head. “That’s sweet. But I just have to go. The cab is already here.” She stood up. “I need to get going. I’m going to have to work tonight, too.”
He cocked his head to the side, saying nothing, just studying her. He was used to negotiations, to deal-making, to knowing when someone was lying, and his hackles were raised.
She didn’t seem so stressed or sad anymore. She seemed full of shit.
“Which one is it, Julia?” His words came out more harshly than he’d thought. Or maybe they were exactly as harsh as he felt. “Are you working tonight or did you mix up your flights? Because I’d buy one, or maybe I’d buy the other, but two seems like you’re piling on the excuses.”
She huffed out through her nostrils, narrowed her eyes. “Do not even think about accusing me of lying.”
“I did not accuse. I asked,” he said. “But it’s interesting to see where your brain went.”
Her eyes widened, and they were filled with anger. “I have to go,” she said, biting out the words. “I need to get out of here. I have shit to take care of at home, and that is that. I will call you later.”
“I’m so sorry to hear Jordan’s arm is broken,” he said, not bothering to strip the anger from his voice.
She shot him a furious look, but kept her mouth shut as she grabbed her bag, headed down the steps to the front door and out of his building.
The door clanged shut, the sound of it echoing throughout his home, leaving him with cold, empty silence.
He could have gone after her. Followed her, gently grabbed her arm, and asked if she was okay, if he’d done something wrong. But there was no point. She didn’t want to be stopped. She didn’t need to be stopped. She was a woman who’d made up her mind, and he had enough self-pride and smarts to know he’d been played. Especially when he grabbed his computer and sank down on the couch in his living room to look up the email from Virgin Atlantic, since he’d been the one to bu
y the ticket for her.
His heart dropped. Hot shame spread in his chest. He had no clue what had gone wrong, but the time on the ticket told him that all this falling had been a one-way street.
She was still on the 5:11 flight.
He cursed more times than he could count as he slammed his laptop closed. He ran a hand through his hair, anger and frustration coursing through his bloodstream. The last thing he wanted to do was sit with this feeling. He pulled on workout clothes and went to the boxing gym to spend the morning punching the bag alone, letting all his anger pour out of him, and his hurt too. The stupid hurt he felt for having been left.
He’d only known her for a short time. Had only spent a few days with her. They had been perfect, fabulous wonderful days, but even so his heart shouldn’t ache without her. Like a gaping hole in his chest.
It should feel like nothing.
Like nothing. He let those words echo in his head with each punishing jab until eventually his mind was blank, and his body was tired, and he hoped against hope he’d forget her fast.
Chapter Thirteen
Even-steven.
For a card player there were worse words. Like lost it all, or lost big.
But for now, the words even-steven stung.
That’s where she’d netted out. With nothing to show for her race home to play Charlie’s whale.
“You disappointed me tonight, Red. I expected more from you,” he said, as he bent over a steaming bowl of noodles. He slurped up a spoonful, the noodles trailing wetly down his chin, the last one snaking into his mouth.
He pushed his index finger down hard on the ledger next to him. “This? This blank line for you tonight? This tells me you have something else on your mind. Do you?”
She shook her head, pressed her lips together as if she could hold in all the nasty things she wanted to say to him. Her fists were clenched at her sides. “No,” she muttered.
He pushed back his chair, the sound of the legs scraping across the floor of the Chinese restaurant. He rose and reached for her chin, grabbing her roughly. His calloused fingers dug into her jaw so hard that he was practically pushing the inside of her cheek into her teeth. All her instincts told her to cry out, to yelp from the sharp, cruel pain. But he’d see that as a sign of weakness, and weakness had no place in his poker circuit. If she let on, he’d throw her out and find some other way to extort her. A worse way, surely.
He angled her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You lie to me, Red. You lie like you lie at the table with your poker face. You went away for the weekend to see a man, didn’t you? And you can’t stop thinking about him.”
She rolled her eyes as if that notion were ludicrous. “I only wish I had done something so interesting. Told you I was seeing friends in New York. That’s all.”
“Your friends have distracted you then,” he said, enunciating each word so crisply that a bead of spit flew out of his lips and landed on her skin. “Do I need to pay them a visit? Enlist them in my employ?”
“No,” she shouted, as he poked at her deepest fears. “But maybe you shouldn’t have called me back then. I barely got off my flight before I had to show up.”
He sneered at her, his fingers drilling her face. “You had three hours in between. That is enough.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough tonight.”
He yanked her closer to him, so close her eyes could no longer focus on his face. She stood her ground though, her high-heeled feet digging into the floor as his brutal fingers jammed her jaw. “I can’t have my ringer bringing me nothing.”
“Sometime you win, sometime you lose, sometimes it rains. That’s the way it goes,” she said in as flat a voice as she could muster.
He dropped his hold on her chin, then stared at her curiously, as if she were a science project. “I do not like baseball. Do not give me baseball analogies. Give me your best poker face and beat my whales. That is all I want from you.”
“That’s what you’ll keep getting.”
“But Red, I did not like your performance tonight. If it happens again, I will be adding on to your totals.”
Her heart plunged and she wanted to shriek no. A loud, echoing cry that would carry through the night. “It’s not even my fault. It’s not even my money,” she said, insistently, as if that might change his mind.
“It is your fault. It is your money. And you are mine until I say you’re not,” he said, rooting around in his pocket. He took out his knife, opened it, and stabbed it into the table. She cringed, and there was no hiding her emotions this time as the sound of metal parking itself into wood rattled in her ears. He didn’t remove the blade; he left it standing there like some strange trophy. “Or do you want me to visit your pretty bartender friend?” he asked, making a circle over his stomach as a reminder that he knew Kim was pregnant.
Her heart twisted. “No.”
“How about your sister? She’s a lovely lady, and quite perky on that little fashion blog of hers,” Charlie said in his cool even voice.
It was as if he’d sliced her open with his knife, her bleeding organs on display for all to see. Julia bit her lip hard, trying to stop her insides from quivering. Charlie had never gone near her family, or her friends. He’d never mentioned McKenna until now, and her heart raced at the pace of fear. She’d do anything to keep her sister away from him. “Please leave them out of this. This has nothing to do with them.”
“That’s right,” he said with a firm nod, pointing from her to him. “It is our business, and we will continue to do business until it is all resolved, or else I might need to collect from them too. Is that clear?”
With his words, the floor fell out from under her. He’d done it. He’d done the thing she feared. Threatened her family. Fear coursed through her body, rooting itself in her belly in a twisted knot where it planned to set up camp for a long, long time. “Yes,” she choked out.
“Now get out of here, and I will call you when I have a game you won’t mess up.”
She turned on her heels and left the restaurant, Skunk holding open the door. He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if he didn’t want Charlie to hear him. “Want me to call you a cab?” he asked, and he sounded like a sweet, sympathetic bear. Like he legitimately wanted to do something nice after the way Charlie had spoken. He had some kind of soft spot for her. But she wasn’t going to be fooled. She knew where his loyalties lay and it wasn’t with the woman he wanted to help. It was with the man who owned him, just as Charlie owned nearly everyone he worked with.
Except her. She told herself Charlie only rented her, and eventually the lease would be up.
“No thank you. I don’t need a cab,” she said, and walked home, the fog crawling into the city, threatening to ensnare the night. She brushed her hand roughly against her cheek, wiping away a tear.
But another one fell, and then another, and that’s how she walked home, wishing there were a way to unravel herself faster from Charlie’s clutches. Wishing she’d never met Dillon, that he’d never made off with $100,000 from the mobster he worked for, and that he’d never claimed the money was for her.
When she reached her home and poured herself a glass of whiskey, her fingers itched to pick up the phone and call Clay. To tell him why she ran, that she missed him, and that this weekend was the best she’d ever had.
But she could still feel Charlie’s hand on her chin, and she knew, she fucking knew she shouldn’t be involved with anyone. Because when you get close to people, your debt becomes their debt, and theirs becomes yours, and you are left with nothing but an aching well of shame inside you as you try to claw your way out.
Clay could be just like Dillon—disappearing, and leaving her holding all his problems.
She put the phone in a kitchen drawer and shut it hard.
“Uncross your legs,” Gayle said, pointing her sharp scissors at Julia.
“You have the weapon. I do as you say,” Julia said, following orders. “But why is it that I see you every six weeks and
I still can’t remember to uncross my legs when you start trimming?”
“Maybe because you have too much else on your mind,” Gayle said, patting Julia’s shoulder then widening her stance so she could trim the ends of her hair.
The stylist dressed in black as she always did, and today’s homage to the shade of midnight was a black tunic top and tight leggings, with black cowboy boots on her feet. Down her arm was her permanent mark—a tattoo in a swirling script that said I want to be adored. Julia loved the boldness in branding her own body with a wish for love. She longed for that sort of daring. The wish had come true; Gayle had worked in New York a few times a year, cutting celebrities’ hair, and on a recent trip she’d met someone who she’d fallen hard and fast for, and he for her. There were no issues, no problems, no pasts in the way. He’d moved here to be with her.
Of course, you never knew what was coming. When someone would turn on you. She would never have predicted Dillon would be a world-class douche. A knot of anger was set loose in her body at the thought of her ex; like a marble in a Rube Goldberg machine, it rolled down the tracks, picking up speed. Her insides were twisted, and Dillon wasn’t the sole cause. She’d been wracked with tension since she left Clay behind in a swirl of dust in New York. Every night she’d been tempted to text, to call, to chat. Every night she’d resisted.
Her chest felt like a pressure valve inside her. The valve was stuck, so the pressure kept building. She tapped her toe on the hardwood floor of the salon as Gayle cut.
“What’s the story, Jules? You’re jumpy today.”
She sighed heavily, as if the weight of the last week were pouring out in that one breath. “Oh Gayle, it’s getting harder,” she said, because she couldn’t take it anymore. Her stylist was the only person who had a clue about the troubles Dillon had dumped on her doorstep when he’d skipped town with Charlie’s money, claiming Julia would be paying it off. Julia reckoned a stylist was akin to a shrink. Maybe even a priest. A stylist was the one person you could pour out all your secrets to. Gayle wasn’t a part of her regular life—she was someone she saw every six weeks. Neat and cordoned off, safe from the harm that was circling her on the other side. “I still owe a crap ton of money, and the people I owe it to aren’t making it any easier for me, and on top of that, I met someone I really like, but I can’t let myself get close to him because of all this stuff going on. I want to trust him, but he might screw me over too, but I miss him like crazy, which makes no sense because it was only one weekend. Okay, it was two weekends, but still, they were both spectacular,” she said, the words spilling out of her. Julia stopped talking for a second, stared in the mirror at her friend’s reflection. “Wow. That was like a confessional or something.”
Girl Meets Billionaire Page 133
