Текст книги "Reveal"
Автор книги: Elle Brooks
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
IF I WERE a smart man I’d be hiring a new dancer, because while Rae is undoubtedly talented and draws a decent crowd, there’s only so much longer she can work before customers start to notice she’s pregnant. I appreciate that a woman with child is a beautiful sight to behold, but a pregnant burlesque dancer will soon attract the wrong sort of clientele. Namely, the obscure fetish types, and although I hold nothing against them per se, I’d like to keep this place mainstream. I’m not a smart man, though, so I’m leaving it to my bar manager to deal with it because in all honesty, I don’t have the time. Besides, Zane loves to be involved in auditioning new girls.
We’re moving mixers from the cellar when I notice a graze covering the side of Zane’s face and frown. “Have you been in a fight?”
I wait as he places the crate he’s carrying onto the bar and looks back at me questioningly.
“What makes you ask that?”
I’m narrowing my eyes, trying to get a better look. “Your face, it’s scratched up.”
A shit-eating grin breaks out on his face as his hand brushes over his jaw and he laughs.
“Don’t tell me that was done having sex because holy shit, you must have been going at it rough.”
“Nah, it wasn’t. Although it did lead to some pretty fucking amazing sex.” He says, and winks.
I place my own crate beside the others and stand up straight. “Let’s hear it then.” I lean over the bar, grab two beers and hand him one.
“So, after my shift last night, I’m walking down West 89th minding my own business. The next thing I know some tiny brunette tackles me like she’s a fucking linebacker for the Giants. She took me out like I was a twelve-year-old girl!” I laugh, spitting my beer back into the bottle and sputtering. “It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react and I face-planted the sidewalk. She went down, too, and was out cold for a few seconds. She was completely wasted and thought she was grabbing onto a post or something!”
“Wait, you said you had sex last night, right?” I groan and wipe my hand down my face looking at him. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me it was consensual and this chick made a magical recovery to sobriety before you nailed her?” I’m promptly hit in the face with a dirty beer stained dishrag.
Nice.
“What the hell, Callum! I didn’t screw her, she was barely conscious—she couldn’t even walk. Call me old-fashioned but I’m not into narcoleptics,” he smirks. “I screwed her friend. I helped get the drunk chick back to her apartment and her friend didn’t want to leave her alone so she invited me in to stay for coffee,” he declares, doing air quotes over the word coffee.
“You should have seen this girl, Cal… she was a solid ten. Actually, they both were. So fucking hot. God bless America!”
I nod my approval and take a long pull of my beer. Zane’s a good friend; we’ve known each other a long time and he’s like family. We met in college when we were assigned the same dorm, and we’ve been friends ever since. His family moved from London for his father’s work. He’s a great manager; I can trust him with anything, which takes some of the pressure off me. In addition to being good at his job, it doesn’t hurt that he looks like a damn movie star. While it’s undoubtedly the girls that pull the guys into my club, it’s Zane that brings in the women, and he knows it. He hams it up, lays on the charm thick and fast with his Prince William voice, but he’s mostly all talk. He likes the Lothario image he projects, and so do the ladies. I wouldn’t say it to his face, but he’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I know that’s backwards, but in his case it’s the truth. Most guys play nice to cover up that fact that they’re asses, Zane acts the ass to cover up that he’s a good guy. I’m dammed if I know why, but I ain’t complaining. Each to their own, I guess.
His voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
“So you cool with that?”
“Cool with what?” I’m busy running a mental inventory of the places I need to be today, and what I need to collect from the store before I go visit my pops.
He shakes his head at me. “Setting up the auditions for Friday morning?”
“Yeah sure, whatever you think,” I agree, taking another pull on my beer. “Wait, Friday doesn’t work. I have appointments.”
“I can take care of it; you don’t have to be here unless you want to be. It’s not like you don’t get to see enough half-naked women every day anyway. I know what we need,” he says, tossing his empty bottle as he begins to unpack the crates. It’s quiet except for the clincking of bottles being unpacked. I scan the room, taking a second to enjoy the quiet; it’s a rarity in this place.
“You’re right, I don’t need to be here. Just don’t get excited and start hiring every piece of ass that walks in. We need a replacement for Rae, and an extra server, that’s it.”
“Yes, boss.” He mock salutes and I shake my head. There’s no fucking doubt in my mind that if a pretty face strolls in here with zero talent or credentials but has a nice rack, she’s getting a job.
Reveal has a high staff turnover rate. The girls are typically single when we hire them; it’s by no means a requirement, just how it is. As is life, they go on to start relationships, which generally means they won’t be here very much longer. As soon as any of them begin to get serious, their profession suddenly becomes an issue with their partners. I’ve seen it a million times over the years, always the same pattern.
I had one barman, Chris, who began dating one of the girls. They worked here, knew the score, knew that the dancers are here to dance, and that’s it. We’re a high-end establishment, not a titty bar. There’s no back room, no private dances, and no extras. Regrettably, it didn’t stop the green-eyed monster from rearing its ugly head in Chris. Some customer who’d had a few too many drinks heckled Chloe on stage. Chris snapped and punched him. It was a mess, and one that’ll never be repeated. I have a strict policy: staff members aren’t allowed to date each other, and it’s the number one rule.
“Hey gorgeous, sit down and take a load off!” Zane shouts at Annie as she walks into the club.
“Fuck off, Zane.” She flips him the bird, smiles at me, and then heads into the back to change. He clutches his chest like he’s wounded and pouts. Annie and Zane have a love-hate relationship: he loves her, and she hates him. There’s so much pent-up sexual tension between them, I almost want to tell them to forget the rules for one night, fuck, get it out of their systems and then we can all carry on with our lives without the constant bickering. It’s entertaining at times, but it’s damn distracting, too.
Annie walks back into the room. “I gave a mutual friend the number here; she’s looking for work, is willing to do anything and from what Lu tells me, she’s a professional dancer and a damn good one. Has she called?”
I look at Zane for confirmation, and he shrugs. “I haven’t taken a call.”
“Me either,” I add.
“Oh, okay,” she says looking confused. As if on cue the phone rings and I lean over and answer it. I need to pause mid conversation and shoo the two squabbling idiots away so I can hear the caller. Annie at least has the decency to look sorry…Zane just looks amused.
“Okay, you’ve got your first lamb to the slaughter coming by Friday morning at 10:00 am to audition. She seems keen. Oh and Annie, she mentioned your name, so I guess she’s the friend.” I round the bar.
“Cal, you’ve got to be kidding me, right? I have eight girls lined up already,” Zane answers.
I look up in surprise. “Okay, well, maybe you should have one of our girls—Rae or Lauren—come in and show them a routine, and you can audition them together?”
“That’s a good idea, saves on time. I’ll get it organized.”
“Good, I’m out, I have stuff to do. And Annie?”
“Yeah?”
“Do me a favor and try not to kill him while I’m gone!”
She rolls her eyes so far back into her head she looks like she’s about to pass out. “I don’t make promises I know I can’t keep.”
“You know, this would be so much easier if you would only admit your affections for me, sweetheart,” Zane croons.
Her scowl is instant. “Don’t let my cool demeanor fool you, asshole. I’d slap you to sleep if I knew I wouldn’t lose my job!”
“You know you want me, Annie, just admit it.”
I look at Annie then back to Zane. “I’m kind of impressed you’re still standing. Be good, kids.” I make my way up to my apartment to the sound of a dishrag being whipped and Zane screaming sorry.
I’VE REVERTED TO adolescence in my attempts to forge another meeting with the elusive coffee-spilling beauty that is Robyn. I haven’t been able to dislodge her image from my mind since she branded it there the second I witnessed her pouty rose lips sucking the burn on her wrist. I barely exchanged more than a couple of fumbled sentences with the girl and yet she’s starred in no fewer than three of my dreams, each one more vivid than its predecessor.
Considering that today is only the fourth day since our encounter, you might say she’s left an impression, and one that’s a welcomed distraction. I’ve walked across the street every day at the same time on my pseudo-coffee run, hoping to accidently cross paths with her—to no avail. I’ve also pre-paid for her next five coffees and left my number with, Andrew the barista. The same gangly aspiring lothario that flirted with her. It cost me twenty bucks to have him write a message to call me on her take-out cup. There’s been no call¸ and I’m starting to think that the staff in the coffee shop have all begun to regard me as desperate, which in itself is bad enough, or a complete fucking psycho. Either way it’s cut, I’m not exactly painting myself in a favorable light.
“The usual, Cole?” Andrew, who I’m now on first-name terms with, asks as I near the counter.
“Yeah, thanks.” I want to ask if she’s been in, but if she has that means she hasn’t called, and that would mean admitting I’ve been knocked back in front of Andrew, which shouldn’t bother me but it does. He notices my hesitation and senses the unasked question.
“She’s not been in this week on any of my shifts, like usual.”
I nod, handing him the cash for my coffee. I steel my resolve in an attempt to appear indifferent in light of his news, but it would be a lie to say that I didn’t feel a little lighter knowing she hasn’t flat-out rejected me.
I collect my coffee at the end of the counter and make my way back over to my office. I take a sip and let the strong, rich aroma work its magic as I board the elevator to the nineteenth floor, hoping against hope that the caffeine kicks in quickly. It’s been a long week and I’m silently thanking God that it’s Friday, I have a date with my bed this weekend, and it’s one I intend to stretch out for as long as possible. If tired were a country, I’d be the president. My workload, despite my best efforts, is growing rather than decreasing and this case is turning out to be the bane of my now meager, lonely existence. My closest relationship, and the only person I’ve had any real contact with for the past week outside of work, is Andrew. That realization is the most depressing thought on the goddamn planet.
The elevator pings and I exit and stride purposefully to my office, avoiding Janet. The woman is a shark, a fearless predator that stalks her prey without trepidation. I deflect her advances on a regular basis and still she’s unwavering in her pursuit. Her persistence is admirable, if somewhat annoying. Steven from litigation, who is possibly the only person in the building I would refer to as a friend rather than a colleague, is running a wager with half the office. They’re betting on how long it’s going to take for me to crack and sleep with Janet to get her off my back. She’s good looking, has a great body, is intelligent, articulate and everything that I should want in a woman. I don’t want her, though; she’s too brash and lacks the softness most women seem to exude naturally. It sounds ridiculous, but she’s basically me with an extra X chromosome. Unless I’m chemically impaired by a truckload of whiskey, that ship’s never setting sail.
I shrug out of my black suit jacket and hang it in the closet next to the shirt that my assistant, Sophie had laundered. It was delivered yesterday with the coffee stain permanently set. I’ve been accused in the past of being about as sentimental as a rock, but found myself placing the shirt back into the closet rather than disposing of it. I like that fact that I’m reminded of Robyn every time I open the door.
Jesus, I need some sleep and maybe a restraining order. What am I doing?
I’m distracted from tracing the coffee stain on the shirt by the sound of my cell phone ringing.
“Cole Silverman.”
“Good morning, Mr. Silverman, this is Miss Spears. I’m calling from Starbucks. It’s come to my attention that you have paid one of our employees, Mr. Rodriguez, to give out your number to an unsuspecting female customer. This is not only unethical, it’s also against company policy.”
I’m completely thrown off guard and feel my eyes widen in recognition of the fact she’s found out I slipped Andrew cash to do me a favor. I listen with a sense of dread as the woman continues. “Is paying coffee shop baristas to find you a date normal practice for you, sir?”
I couldn’t be more mortified and for the first time maybe ever, I’m utterly speechless. I begin to mumble an apology before I’m cut off.
“Mr. Silverman, I request that you come over to the store immediately to discuss this. Mr. Rodriguez is in serious breach of company policy and in very real danger of dismissal. He’s made me aware that you work across the street; I’ll expect you within the next fifteen minutes. Good day, sir.”
The line is disconnected before I can answer my overly obnoxious caller. I stand still for a moment absorbing the conversation before my temper flares and I grab my jacket. I don’t particularly like Andrew, but I won’t have him fired for this. I head straight back to the shop. She’s more than likely unaware I’m a lawyer. I’ll have this woman talked in circles and so confused within thirty seconds she’ll be apologizing for wasting my time.
I hardly make it three feet into the shop before Andrew points to a table in the corner with a blank expression fixed in place. I watch as a colleague shoulders him, and he cowers behind the coffee machine. There’s a woman sitting with her back to me, presumably Ms. Spears, and I cough loudly on my approach to announce my arrival. The brunette swivels in her chair, holding a to-go cup with my number sharpied across it, her brow arched and lips pursed. I stop dead in my tracks and swallow the harsh diatribe I’d mentally prepared and was about to deliver.
“Good morning, Mr. Silverman.”
Her voice is smooth now, melodic even, nothing like how it sounded on the phone, and my name falls like a song from her lips. God, those lips.
“Indeed it is. Hello, Robyn.”
I pull out a chair and take a seat across from her, never once breaking eye contact. “I’m assuming that Andrew’s job is, in fact, safe then?” I shoot a look over to where he’s peering above the coffee machine watching.
“For now. Although I’m pretty sure that it probably is against company policy for the staff in here to pimp out people’s numbers.”
She’s smiling, so I take it lightheartedly.
“I’d just like to make clear that this is the first time I’ve ever been pimped out. I wouldn’t want you to think that this is normal practice for me.”
I watch transfixed as her mouth tips at the corner and she fights a smile. The line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the soft waves of her dark hair falling over one shoulder have me mesmerized. Robyn is living, breathing art. I want to stare at her in much the same way I would a Picasso, taking in all the elements that make up the whole. Her face is a perfect juxtaposition, the features all too prominent and fighting for attention. Her almond eyes are set too wide against the slightness of her nose, angled to draw your attention down to settle on a set of excessively full lips. It should tilt her appearance on the side of peculiarity, yet the odd proportions only enhance her beauty.
“I should apologize for the way I got you here, but I couldn’t resist and I wanted to thank you in person for the coffee. It’s a nice gesture, even if it should be me paying for yours. How’s your shirt, by the way? Do I need to reimburse you for a new one?”
There’s something in the way she asks that makes me think she’s worried I might say yes.
“No, cleaned up fine.” I grin; the lie instantly causes her to smile. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned your acting skills weren’t up to par, but I beg to differ. Not for one moment did I doubt that I was about to encounter some angry middle-management dragon waiting to rip me a new one about exploiting her staff. I can’t tell you how happy I am that it’s you sitting here right now.”
“Maybe I should quit dancing and switch to acting. I’ve obviously missed my calling in life,” she lilts.
“That would be a bold move on the heels of one success. Maybe we could discuss it further over dinner?” I’m aware of the hope laced through my question with all the subtly of a fire alarm. She did call and initiate this meeting though, so that must count for something. She wanted to see me.
“I’m not sure. I mean, no offense but I don’t really know anything about you—going out alone with you would be irresponsible.”
Wow, okay so I didn’t see that coming.
“Well, that’s where you’re in luck. I have a work dinner tonight at Masa, and it will be filled with boring attorneys and other equally exciting individuals. You could be my solace. Call it payback for the shirt. Nice meal, great company. It could be fun. There may even be some dancing.” I’ve never known anyone to dance at these things, but I’m hoping that it will tip the vote in my favor. A wash of uncertainty settles over her face; she looks like I’ve asked her to partake in some sort of criminal activity and not simply dinner. “You don’t have to look so excited by the prospect of a date,” I joke, trying to infuse a little humor I’m not exactly feeling. And there it is, the smallest tip of her mouth, a flash of a suppressed smile, bitten down and held in place by her teeth. She’s about to agree. I feel as though I may have just stumbled upon her tell. So naturally I revel in my success before earning it.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not going to take no for an answer?” she asks.
“Because I’m not.”
“I feel like I need to be up front with you, Cole…” If she’s about to tell me she’s married or involved with someone—I’m not sure I’ll be able to mask the disappointment. God, please don’t be married. “I’m not looking to get into anything with anyone right now, no matter how casual. I’m going through some things and now’s not the best time, like, at all.”
“Well luckily for you, it’s just dinner, not a marriage proposal. On a more serious note, you’d actually be doing me a favor. See, if you don’t agree, I’ll be forced to attend with Janet from the office. I truly fear for my virtue. You’d be liable for its untimely demise. Could you truly live with yourself if you knocked me back now?”
“Your virtue? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Yep, I choked…that’s the best I could come up with. It’s true, though.” She’s smiling. You don’t smile if you’re not going to concede, surely.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay. I’ll be the protector of your virtue for one night only.”
I breathe deeply and grip the side of the chair, willing myself to stay calm and collected, when what I actually want to do is fist pump the air in victory. Her acceptance is more satisfying than scoring a winning touchdown at the Super Bowl.
“Excellent!” I clear my throat and wipe my sweaty palms over my slacks. I’m not sure I’ve felt this excited about a company dinner in all the time I’ve worked at the firm, and that includes my first Christmas as an intern when Steven announced to Mr. Peterson, our supervisor, that he was going to ask one of the interns out on account of her having the most phenomenal tits he’d ever seen. Peterson, being the smarmy asshole that he is, told Steven if he did it at dinner, allowing the entire office front row seats to the imminent rejection, he would pay him $500. What neither of them realized was that Steven was talking about Sarah, who had told me in confidence the first day of our internship that Daddy just happened to be Mr. Peterson, and she was keeping it quiet, not wanting to give the impression that she was only there through Daddy’s connections. That evening had held my number one spot for work dinners for many years, but I’m pretty sure tonight may steal first place.
I cough and clear my throat, peering across the table at Robyn before getting down to business—arranging our date.
