Текст книги "The Allure of Dean Harper "
Автор книги: R. S. Grey
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lily
I paced back and forth in the living room of my apartment. It was a small space, but I made do, huffing and puffing with annoyance as Jo sat watching me. I could feel her eyes volleying back and forth across the room, trying to keep up with my pace.
“If Dean says he’s going to handle it, you should trust him,” Jo said.
I shook my head. “No. His lawyer said that there wasn’t much we could do. Dean didn’t have that menu copyrighted. Trying to sue Hunter would cost Dean a fortune in legal fees and probably wouldn’t result in any sort of solution.”
“Maybe Dean could confront Hunter himself?”
I shot her a glare. “What? Like an old-fashioned duel?”
I was way past that point. I wanted Hunter to pay. I could handle his flirting and general incompetence, but this? It showed that there was more to the sweaty doofus exterior. He’d been playing us all along.
Jo crossed her arms. “Whatever. If his lawyer says there’s nothing he can do, then you have to move on. You guys can just come up with a better menu or something.”
I paused and turned to her. “Sweet, naive Jo. This isn’t like fashion, where tastes change overnight.”
She held up her hands for me to stop. “Oh god.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going to let Hunter get away with this.”
“Lily…” she warned.
If we couldn’t sue him, I had to figure out how to convince Hunter to pull the plug on Ivy & Wine another way. Dean had already spoken with him, during Hunter’s inevitable termination from employment. He didn’t care that Dean had helped build his career. He didn’t care that Dean had taught him everything he knew.
During the confrontation, Hunter showed no remorse and he admitted to nothing. He kept calling it a “disagreement”, which was either to show that he was completely oblivious to the ridiculousness of such a statement, or to flaunt the fact that we couldn’t touch him legally.
Fortunately for Dean, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
I’d searched around online for any details concerning Ivy & Wine. A small NYC blog had posted a short snippet, but there was no mention of the investors or Hunter. Other than that, no other blogs had any details about the restaurant. I checked real estate and development websites to no avail. It wasn’t until I searched the New York State Corporations Database that I got my first break. There was a registered agent listed under Ivy & Wine, LLC, one I wasn’t expecting to find: Hunter’s wife, Colette. The wife he loves and respects oh so much.
I searched around on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram for any information I could find about Colette. From what little I could gather from digitally stalking her, she was a sweet woman from northern New York whose great-great-great-grandfather created the airplane or something. (Okay, clearly I didn’t read the whole article.) All of her Facebook photos were of her and Hunter vacationing in the Hamptons and Cape Cod. She was from old money and Hunter owed every inch of his new restaurant to her. Meanwhile, he was traipsing around NYC humping anything that moved behind her back.
I just need proof…
I sat beside Josephine on the futon and angled my body toward her. “I think I have a plan, but I need your help.”
She arched a brow. “With what?”
“How do you feel about going undercover?”
She dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Please don’t make me do something I’ll regret.”
…
Hunter’s social media presence was nothing if not predictable. If there was something cool going on in the city, he had to tweet, blog, and post about how he was somehow involved. He was a “VIP” at every club in the city, he’d been to every bar opening this side of the Mississippi river, and he’d even once “sipped sizzurp with The Biebs #now-imabelieber”. I nearly gouged my eyes out after reading that tweet.
Fortunately for me, his annoying need to brag about his adventures meant that I knew exactly where he planned to party on Friday night while his wife was out of town. His tweets leading up to the event read like this:
@BigGameHUNTER12334: Can’t wait to party hard this Friday. #whenthewifeisawaythemicewillplay
@BigGameHUNTER12334: VIP 2Nite @OakBar #bottleservice #wheninrome
@BigGameHUNTER12334: We go hard #pregame #sippinondrank
And then of course, his wife had to chime in…
@Colletteinthecity: Don’t have too much fun without me! ;)
@BigGameHUNTER12334: *kissy face*
Lord help us all.
Essentially he had the Twitter feed of a fourteen-year-old girl and the body of an overweight middle-aged man. He was basically begging for karma to bite him in the ass.
I closed Twitter and slid my phone into the small black backpack I’d picked out for the occasion. That, on top of my black beanie, black jeans, and a black long-sleeved shirt made me look less like a criminal and more like every other girl going out in the city on a Friday night. Hipster fashion really took the edge away from my badass vibe.
“Jo, you ready?” I yelled across the apartment.
She’d been fighting me on Operation Hunter Becomes the Hunted for the last two days, but there was no way around it. I couldn’t be the bait for Hunter because he knew I hated him. He’d see right through the plan. Jo was my only option.
“Why do I have to wear this blonde wig? I look like Shakira.”
The blonde wig was partly for dramatic effect and partly because I knew Hunter liked blondes.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not pretend your skinny ass has even half the hip action Shakira does. C’mon. Let me see it.”
The bathroom door opened and Jo stepped out wearing our pre-planned outfit: a slinky red dress with matching heels. She looked sexy, and just a tad slutty—perfect for Hunter.
Jo propped her hand on her hip and shook her head. “This is such a terrible idea.”
“No! It’s brilliant. It’s going to work.” I paused. “Wait, you didn’t tell Julian, right?”
“No, but I feel like I should. Isn’t this technically cheating?”
I threw my hands up. “No! It’s not like you’re going to have sex with him or anything.”
She blushed. “I don’t know! You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with me about all this.”
“Okay. You’re right. All I expect you to do is seduce Hunter and get him to admit all of his secrets so we can blackmail him.”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s all?”
I shrugged. “Let’s make it hurt.”
Chapter Forty
Lily
In the movies, they make the art of seduction seem simple. A pretty woman walks over to the target at the bar, he hits on her, bada bing bada boom, the FBI swoops in and deactivates the bomb, thus saving the world.
In reality, Jo wasn’t a secret agent. Not even close. The world would have exploded like thirty minutes ago if the FBI were relying on her.
“I don’t know. He seems busy. Maybe we should give him a few more minutes?” she asked, peering over her shoulder at Hunter for the thousandth time. I shook my head and took another sip of my water. I was purposely staying away from alcohol so I’d have my wits about me, but Jo was about to drive me to hard liquor.
“We’ve been here for an hour. Eventually you’ll have to go talk to him.”
“Or maybe we can scrap the plan and come up with something better. Maybe he didn’t pay his taxes last year. We could pretend to be the IRS.”
I let my forehead fall to the bar as she continued to ramble.
“We say we’re going to audit him and then we kidnap him. Julian has this spare room where we could keep him.”
“Jo. Jo. Jo,” I groaned, rocking my head back and forth across the bar. This was a complete waste of time and money.
“I’m not good at this sort of thing. Remember when the theater teacher, Mr. Finch, kicked me out of The Wizard of Oz in the 7th grade because I didn’t act with enough soul?”
Oh Jesus.
I sat up and motioned to the bartender, prepared to scrap the plan all together, but then I smelled Hunter’s spicy cologne. He approached the empty chair beside Jo and I froze.
“What’s a girl like you doing sitting up here alone on a night like this at a bar?” he asked.
I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. He’d just jumbled about fourteen pickup lines together, hoping one of them would stick. I reached into the front pocket of my hoodie and pressed play on my tape recorder.
“Oh, uh…” Josephine fidgeted in her chair, unable to think of something charming to respond with. I kicked her foot and she giggled. “Just enjoying a drink.”
“Is this your friend?” he asked, pointing to me.
I turned away so quickly that I nearly broke my neck. My blonde hair was tucked up under my beanie, but if he saw my face, he’d recognize me right away.
“Oh, her?” Josephine asked with a high-pitched voice. “She’s just a, uh, a…one of those ladies from the local convent or something. She goes around to the bars to try to save souls.”
“Is that so? Well I hope I don’t see her at my bar, at the restaurant I own.”
“Wow, you own a restaurant? That’s so exciting!”
“It sure is sweetie. Hunter Smith, nice to meet ya,” he oozed. “What are you drinking?”
She flinched back and her elbow collided with my spine.
“Ouch,” I hissed, only loud enough for her to hear.
“Just a martini. Nothing special.”
“Well I think a special lady like yourself deserves special attention. Why don’t you come over to the booth with me and some friends? We have bottle service.”
Yes. YES. This is what I needed.
She hesitated, fumbling for an excuse not to follow him, but then I delivered a highly discreet message through a series of coughs, sneezes, and sniffles. “Go.” Cough. “With.” Cough. “Him.”
“What? Did the nun just say something?” Hunter asked.
Jo scooted her barstool back. “She’s been saying it all night, ‘go with him’, meaning Jesus I guess. Let’s get away from her.”
I peered over my shoulder just in time to watch him lead her back to his corner of the bar. He put his hand on her lower back and she sidestepped away from him with a laugh. Oh god. I could only imagine the sort of drivel coming out of his mouth. Hopefully she’d managed to turn on her recorder before he dragged her off.
“You look like the president of the Dead Poets Society.”
Motherfucker. I would have recognized that deep voice anywhere.
I turned to my left just as Dean took a seat at the bar beside me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, peering behind him for Julian. If he stomped over and punched Hunter in the face for flirting with Jo, my whole plan would be ruined.
“Josephine can’t keep a secret,” he said, waving down the bartender so he could order a drink.
That two-timing whoreface. She deserved to be Hunter’s bait for the night.
“And?” I asked, scooting closer to him.
His brown eyes cut over to me and his lips curled up into a smirk. “And I’m going to help.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. You’re not going to make me sit through some chastising speech about how I should have let you handle it?”
He laughed and turned to me. His knee brushed mine and his hand dropped to my thigh. I stared there as he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day. I’ve tried handling it my way and it didn’t work. I’m willing to try your way now.”
I nodded, completely in shock that he was on board with my plan. If I’d been a betting person, I’d have put a million dollars on Dean sabotaging the scheme. “So then where’s your disguise?” I asked with a smirk.
“Ah,” he said, dipping his free hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and extracting a small brown mustache.
I burst out laughing as he pressed it on above his upper lip. Beneath it, he was still as suave as ever: smooth, wavy hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and a fitted black suit. However, with the mustache in place, it was completely impossible to take him seriously.
“How do I look?” he asked.
I laughed. “You look like Tom Selleck.”
He smiled, causing the mustache’s cheap adhesive to fail on one side. “Did you come up with code names for the night?”
“Hmm, we could be Bonnie and Clyde,” I suggested.
“A little too obvious.”
I tapped my finger on the bar. “What about Sam and Frodo?”
He laughed. “You’re Sam.”
I smiled. “You know, some people think Sam and Frodo had a little thing going on while they were climbing those mountains. There were lots of lonely nights on the way to Mount Doom.”
He curved his arm along the back of my chair and leaned forward so that his skewed mustache tickled the side of my face. “Frodo definitely had a thing for Sam.”
I shivered and turned to kiss him, mustache and all, but then I noticed movement near Hunter’s table out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head in their direction, nearly falling off my barstool.
“Shit. They’re leaving!” I hissed, reaching for my wallet so that I could close out our tab.
Dean let go of my leg and turned to the bar. “Go ahead. Follow them and I’ll catch up.”
I nodded and flew toward the entrance of the bar. “We’ll meet again, Frodo!”
Chapter Forty-One
Dean
By the time I paid and walked out of Oak Bar, Lily, Hunter, and Josephine were nowhere in sight. I checked my phone and tried to call Lily, but she didn’t answer. I scanned down the street in both directions, but they were gone. I ripped the cheap mustache from my upper lip and shoved it into my pocket just as my phone vibrated with a text.
Lily: Can’t talk. Hot on the trail.
Dean: Lily, where are you guys??
Lily: CODE NAME.
I growled, even though she couldn’t hear it.
Dean: SAM, which way did you head? Are you in a car or are you walking?
Lily: Oh no…
Dean: What??
A second later, my phone rang with a call from Lily.
“Can you hear me?” she whispered.
“Hardly. Where are you?”
I felt helpless standing in the middle of the sidewalk with nowhere to run. They could’ve been halfway across town already.
“Hunter and his friends just went into a place called Tease.”
I groaned and took off running. Tease was just two blocks over from Oak Bar. If I ran, I could get there before Lily went inside.
“Lily. Wait for me to get there. Tease is a strip club and a sleazy one at that.”
“What?” she yelled. “Josephine is in there with them!”
“Lily. Did you hear me? Do not go in without me.”
When she didn’t reply, I glanced at my phone and found the call had already ended. Fuck. I sped up and rounded the block. She wasn’t going to listen to me and now she and Josephine were inside a shady strip club, all so Lily could carry out her half-baked plan to either ruin Hunter’s restaurant, marriage, or both. The only reason I’d agreed to help was because I knew Lily wouldn’t stop until Hunter paid. I should’ve known she wouldn’t make it easy. She never does.
The bouncer guarding the door at Tease had beefy arms and a tiny head. The combination was unsettling, and when I tried to run past him, he held out his meat hook to stop me.
“What’s the rush, buddy?” he asked.
I glanced down at his hand on my chest and then narrowed my eyes on him. “My friend is in there. I need to get her out.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Better not be talkin’ ’bout a dancer. We don’t need a jealous husband goin’ in there and wreckin’ business.”
“She’s not a dancer,” I sneered, stepping back so his hand fell from my chest.
He studied me for another second and I clenched my fists. The longer I was out there talking to SmallHead McGee, the longer Josephine and Lily had to fend for themselves.
“There’s a cover,” he said, drawing out his words in a way that grated on my nerves.
I reached for my wallet. “Great. What is it?”
He cracked his fat knuckles. “For you?” He sized up my suit. “Thirty bucks.”
That’s it? He knew I needed to get in, he could have asked for any amount, and he’d come up with thirty dollars?
“All right, buddy,” I said, throwing his word back at him and handing him forty dollars. “Keep the change.”
He grinned as I walked through the door, staring down at the forty bucks like he’d just won the lottery.
The strip club was clouded with cigarette smoke and furniture straight out of the 80s. Red vinyl chairs rimmed three separate stages, a large one in the center and two smaller ones that flanked it on either side. Red and yellow lights flickered overhead, illuminating the girls dancing on each one. They were the afternoon crew, the stragglers, the dancers that had no dance left in them. They looked like they needed a week’s vacation and a few less days spent inside the tanning bed.
“Awww yeah. Yeah. Yeah. That’s right guys, it’s free steak night tonight at Teeeeeeeeeease.” The emcee boomed over the speakers. “Get yourself a plate and get that green ready for our next dancer. Up next on the main stage is Dusty Roooooose. Dusty Rose is a fan favorite, so you’ll want to move in close, but not too close! She’s been known to biiiiiiiiiiite.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Please put your hands together and give a warm welcome to Ms. Dusty Rose!”
Loud pop music started streaming through the speakers as Dusty Rose took the stage in a bright pink shirt and a short plaid skirt. She looked to be in her forties, tanned and tired, but she was wearing her bleached hair in short pigtails and dancing to old Britney Spears like she was twenty-one again.
I scanned the crowd for Lily, but she was impossible to find in the dim lighting. A waitress in a short glittery dress sidled up beside me, running her hand up my side. “Thirsty, big boy?” she cooed.
I shook my head. “Did you see two girls come in just a second ago? Two blondes?”
She smiled up at me, stringing a finger through her hair and twisting it around. “Sure I wasn’t one of them?”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to help.
I made to move past her and she reached out for my arm. “Fine. Jeez, you’re no fun. I’m pretty sure one of them is over on the other side of the bar.”
“And the other?” I asked.
She smirked and tilted her head toward Dusty Rose. “She’s backstage.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Lily
I had assumed New York City would offer me some pretty eye-opening experiences. I’d planned on visiting the great museums and rifling through independent bookstores in Brooklyn. I’d had hopes of sampling the best cuisine the city had to offer and then lying beneath the oak trees of Central Park, dreaming of the fancy cuisine I’d devour the next day.
Instead, I found myself backstage at a squalid strip club, weaving in and out of dancers. In my imagined life, my hair blew in the breeze on the Hudson Bay. In real life, it stank of cigarette smoke. In my imagined life, I mingled with the movers and shakers of the culinary capital of the world. In real life, I was colliding with coke-fueled women who’d run out of options.
When I’d walked into the club, Hunter had been hovering near the entrance, trying to find a spot to claim. He’d spun in a circle with Josephine by his side, inspecting the room for open tables. He’d been seconds away from landing on the spot where I stood frozen and I’d reacted just in time, slipping behind the black curtain with hopes that it lead to a bathroom or storage closet. Instead, I found myself backstage.
I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face, hoping to clear the air. It was no use. Smoke, hair spray, and perfume blended together into a watery eye inducing cloud. I blinked away the haze and glanced down at my phone. Jo was ignoring me, most likely deciding if she was going to suffocate me or throw me out the window later. I’d told her we had to follow Hunter into a bar, not a strip club. I was discovering along with her how big a difference there was.
Lily: JO. Are you okay? ANSWER ME.
I tried again.
Lily: Do you want to leave? This is stupid. Let’s go!
I was about to head back out through the door and break our cover when she finally texted me back.
Jo: He’s drunk and I know I almost have him! Just stay hidden.
“What are you doing back here, sugar?”
I turned to my left to find a half-naked dancer pulling her uniform on over her head. It looked like a cheap Halloween costume. She was meant to be a cop with a badge that read “Sergeant Sexy” in glittery letters. Her dark skin was coated with sparkly lotion and her hair was twisted into tight curls. She had the biggest pair of boobs I’d ever seen in real life and for a moment I couldn’t even answer her question because I was too mesmerized by the sight of them.
“Sugar?” she asked again.
I stared up into her honey brown eyes. “I’m spying.”
She laughed. “On your baby daddy? That never ends well.” She tsked and turned around. “Zip me up, will ya?”
She sucked in as much as possible and I stepped forward to zip her up. The dress was so tight she’d have to cut herself out of it at the end of the night.
“I’m not spying on a man. I’m here for a friend.”
She turned back around and gave me a onceover. Something told me she didn’t believe me about spying for a friend, but she shrugged anyway. “There’s a spot between the main stage and the left side stage where you can pull the curtain back and peek through. Don’t be stupid about it though. Big Ronnie’ll chew me out if he finds ya.”
Before I could say thanks, she spun away, dancing to music I couldn’t hear. Her hips swayed side to side and she arched her back, dragging her left hand down her right arm. It was a routine, her routine.
I walked closer to the curtain and started gently pulling back sections, looking for an opening. I kept waiting for one of the other dancers to stop me, but everyone was too busy getting ready to notice the weird girl in the beanie.
Before I could find a gap in the curtain, my phone buzzed with two text messages.
Dean: Are you backstage??
Jo: I GOT IT. He just sang like a canary and I recorded it all. He’s throwing up in the bathroom. Meet me at the front door.
I pumped my fist in the air. We did it! Hunter was going down and I hadn’t subjected Jo to a strip club for nothing. Win win. I was going to celebrate with Dean and bask in his compliments of what a good sleuth I was.
“Hey! Step off, bitch,” a dancer said, interrupting the party in my head.
I’d been too preoccupied to see her leave the stage and when I’d fist-pumped, I’d narrowly missed punching her in the face. She reared back and pushed me before I could explain the mistake.
I lost my footing and tumbled back, grasping onto the black curtain like it was going to catch my fall. In reality, the thin material gave way beneath my weight and my butt hit the stage with too much momentum to stop. I rolled back—clinging to the one gymnastics lesson I’d had at age five—and landed on my stomach, flat on the center stage with bright red light shining down on me.
Oh shit.
“Looks like we have a surprise guest on the stage now folks,” the MC said, stalling. “Kimmy Cat was supposed to be up next, but let’s see where this goes.”
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and watched as two bouncers made their way toward the stage with angry scowls aimed at me.
I surveyed the crowd around me. They weren’t angry, they were confused. I pushed onto the heels of my feet and tried to regain my equilibrium.
One of the bouncers reached the stage and leaned in to grab my arm.
“Let her dance!” a customer yelled.
“Yeah! Let her dance! Let her dance!” another chanted.
They want me to dance.
THEY WANT ME TO DANCE.
“Ladddiesss and gentlemen, we’ve got a brand new dancer on the stage tonight!” the emcee began, trying to make sense of the situation.
Oh no. No, no, no.
I stood and tried to get the emcee’s attention. I waved my hands back and forth in front of my chest in a universal sign of “STOP. LET ME OFF THIS STRIP CLUB STAGE.”
“Looks like we have a…sexy ninja,” he improved, misinterpreting my signals for dance moves. “Maybe a slutty samurai, showing off her erotic mooooooves! Give it up for, uh…”
“Busty Black Belt!” Josephine yelled from somewhere in the back of the crowd.
“Buuuuuuusty Black Belt!” he echoed, changing songs to T-Pain’s “I’m in Love With a Stripper”.
I smiled and held my hand over my brow to find Josephine, but the lights were blinding. I could only see the first row of men, smiling and goading me to dance.
“Show us what you got, honey,” a guy yelled from the front row.
I stood in the center of the stage, completely frozen. I had two options: I could dance or I could let the bouncers drag me away.
“Work it, baby,” another guy yelled.
My cheeks flamed as I wrestled with indecision, but in the end, my body made up my mind for me. It started moving to the beat, slowly at first, just my head and shoulders rocking back and forth. The front row of men cheered me on and I smiled.
This isn’t so bad.
The emcee kicked the music up another notch, loud enough to drown out the sounds of the club. I tried to shimmy to the left and to the right, but I couldn’t quite work out how to coordinate my chest, shoulders, and feet.
“Sexier, honey!”
They wanted sexy? I’d show ’em sexy. My rolodex was chock-full of the most sultry dance moves: stirring the pot, grocery shopping, watering the lawn, you named it. I watered that lawn like my life depended on it and the crowd sat stunned, watching me in complete silence.
I pulled the beanie from my head and tossed it out into the crowd. That earned me a few whistles and that’s when I saw Dean standing at the end of the stage with his arms crossed. His features were cast in shadows, but I could see the incredulous grin stretched across his lips as he watched me.
I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from laughing, and the crowd went wild.
“Yeahhh, honey!”
“Keep biting your lip!”
Dean tilted his head to the right and I glanced over to see the pole gleaming under the neon lights. I hadn’t touched it yet, but I knew I would before the song finished. I shimmied to the back of the stage and tried to recall how dancers usually mounted the poles in movies. Do they just hop on, or do they get a running start first? It felt like I needed a running start, so I let T-Pain’s wise, auto-tuned words wash over me as I ran straight for it. My body collided with the metal and I clung onto it like a baby monkey grabbing on to a tree branch. Usually the dancers jumped on and started to spin, but I just slowly slid down the greasy pole until my butt hit the floor. Nothing happened. The song ended and I was left with absolute silence.
One slow clap started near the back and then the emcee spoke up halfheartedly, “Well, A for effort, right folks?”
Josephine whooped it up beside Dean, tossing dollars onto the stage. “THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!” she yelled.
The two bouncers who had stood off to the side during my “performance” stepped forward as I unwound my legs from the base of the pole, but Dean got to me before they did. He reached up to help me down from the stage.
“That was amazing, I ca—” he began.
Hunter emerged through the crowd, having left the bathroom sometime during my performance. He limped through the crowd, clearly looking worse for wear.
“Hey!” he bellowed, squinting quizzically toward the stage.
We all froze, getting ready to run in case he identified us through the dim haze.
“Why the hell was the nun dancing onstage?”
