“The woman! The one you wanted! She’s here. And I didn’t bring her this time. I swear. I haven’t gone near her. I’ve been good, Gabe. I swear.”
Fucking Bump. I love the kid more than any other human on this planet, exactly the way he is, but I still wish he’d never gotten shot in the fucking head. And yeah, he was liking coke a little too much back in the day, but addiction I could have helped him fix. This injury is a regret I’ll take to my grave, not that it’ll do a damn bit of good to change things now.
But Scarlett Priest coming to the club a full day before she’s scheduled ... what the hell does that mean?
Is she here to back out? To threaten me with calling the cops for forcing her into this? Shit. What if she’s here to lead the cops to where she was kidnapped?My brain goes crazy, spiraling into more and more ridiculous shit before I force it all to go quiet, and I rise.
“Where is she?”
“With Zoe, in the club. She wants to make sure we’re ready for tomorrow.”
Every fiber of my being wants to walk out of this office and onto the club floor so I can see the woman whose face I’ve been staring at altogether too fucking often on my phone. The woman whose lips I can’t stop thinking about.Fuck.I want to taste her so goddamned bad.
Which is exactly why I shouldn’t go anywhere near her. Self-preservation.
Then Bump adds, “Zoe is showing her the VIP areas so she can pick her favorites and have them set up for tomorrow.”
Favorites.That means she needs more than one. So she is planning on following through. Maybe I shouldn’t have doubted her, but social media queens don’t exactly inspire confidence in me.
“Can we go talk to her? Should I tell her I’m sorry? I mean, I’m not, but I can pretend.” Bump is practically bouncing off the walls, which is never good.
I snap my fingers and lock my gaze onto his. “No. You’re not going anywhere near her. Understand me, Bump? We need to stay away from her.”
His face crumples into a devastated expression, and you’d think I just told the kid he’s never allowed to have ice cream again. I hate that look, but I need him to understand that neither of us have any business going near Scarlett Priest.
She’s with Zoe. Zoe will put her at ease. Reassure her that she’ll have everything she needs. Zoe is incredibly capable and needs no help from me—and certainly not Bump—to do her job.
“Can we at least watch them?” Bump asks, hope budding in his tone.
Fucking kid. I should say no. But I can’t. I want to see her too goddamned bad.Fuck.
“Only if you stay quiet. Okay? If you start yelling at them, like you did when you came in here, then—”
Bump yanks his pinched fingers across his lips like he’s zipping them shut and tosses away the invisible key.
I let out a sigh and bow my head.This is a bad fucking idea, but all the best ones are.“Okay. Fine. Come on.”
Before renovations, the club was an old Masonic temple that was supposed to be torn down, but something happened and it ended up being sold. By the time I leased it for Legend, it had been rehabbed already, and we retrofitted it for a nightclub. One thing we found that we didn’t expect—hidden entrances and exits, likely used by the Freemasons who built the place.
I added my own touch—an entire wall of mirrors on the second-floor VIP area where we could watch the who’s who of New York without being seen. Everything else is covered by the state-of-the-art surveillance system that I spent a fortune on. A lot of good it did, though, since it didn’t even catch the face of the person who shot up the place, because he was wearing a mask.
I let Bump drag me silently out of my office by the arm and down the interior corridor that runs along the two-way mirrored wall.
As soon as we turn the corner, I see her.
Jesus. Christ.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
She’s dressed like an image out of a fantasy. All innocent and sweet in this blue-and-white-checked dress that should remind me of a milkmaid, but instead makes me think of debauching her until there’s not a fucking innocent thought left in either of our heads. And the neckline shows off the curves of her perfect tits.
My dick jerks in my pants. Yeah. Bad fucking idea.
I shouldn’t be anywhere near this woman. It’s not safe. Or healthy. Or smart.
I can picture that pink-slicked mouth leaving lipstick prints—
“Can’t believe she fucking showed up.” The image leaves my head, evaporated by the sound of Q’s hushed voice.