Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Oof!” I rebounded and stumbled to a halt. “Damn, you scared the shit outta me.”
“Ew,” Veronica said, but without her usual humor. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Home? To take a shower? Maybe have something to eat. And then I’m going to make a sacrifice to the powers that be. That’s a typical Tuesday for me, though.”
Still not a single smile. Tough crowd.
“Home where? My place?”
“Ron, stop it. I’m going back to Jax’s apartment,” I said. “I’m fine, and you need to let go of all of this. It’s eating you up, and it’s not even your problem.”
“I just—you can’t trust him. I mean, he changed his name.”
“So?”
“Why would he change his name if he had nothing to hide?” Veronica asked.
“Because,” a man’s voice grumbled across the room, “I didn’t want the same surname as our uncle, Veronica. Surely, you can understand that.”
We both spun on the spot.
Jax stood in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Riley, I came to talk to you about that business proposition I made last week.”
I drank him in, the open-collared shirt, the tattoos, and the sleeves rolled back on his forearms to reveal his muscles. I couldn’t help myself with him. I stared, shook my head to clear it. “I told you, Jax, I’m not selling.”
“You need to reconsider, Miss Robinson. If you sell the studio to me, all your problems with disappear.”
I cleared my throat, slung my gym bag over my shoulder. “I told you, no. I won’t allow my studio to be turned into some sleazy strip club. No amount of pizza and pancakes will change that.”
“Pancakes?” Veronica muttered.
Jax’s grin was undeterred by the rejection. He strode across the room instead, glanced his sister’s way. “You going to unclench tonight?” He asked. “Or drag her off to your apartment again?”
“If she’d come with me we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” Veronica said. “Listen, dude, I don’t really know you anymore, and I don’t want to, so I’m going to avoid this after-school-special moment and go home to my daughter.”
Jax blinked at her. “You have a daughter?”
“Later,” Ron said and waved at me over her shoulder. She padded out of the room and down the hall without a backward glance.
I sighed.
The entire situation here was a clusterfuck.
Jax took the gym bag from my shoulder, then grabbed my hand and started walking for the exit.
“Hey,” I said. “Wait a second. Where are we going?”
“Somewhere.”
“Jax, you can’t just caveman-drag me back to your lair.”
“I didn’t use a club,” he shot back.
“Very funny.” I kept pace with him, thoughts mulched up from Veronica’s insistence that he wasn’t to be trusted, to the prickles of anxiety and joy that resulted from my hand tucked into his. “Seriously, though, where are we going?”
“Somewhere sleazy,” he replied.
Chapter 19
Jax
I walked around to the passenger side of the Porsche Cayman and opened the door for her, held it, and offered her a hand.
Riley emerged in her yoga pants and crop top, a jacket hanging open over it. Her dark hair was messy, and the wind tugged at it, teased it, while she stood, staring up at the front of the building in front of us.
“Welcome to Sleaze City,” I said and threw my arms wide.
Club Queen towered above us, a building of slick stone, with the name not in flashing lights but silver text slashed across its face. The doors were glass and gave a view of the rich red carpeting beyond, a walnut desk where a concierge waited, and a chandelier overhead.
Outside, the doorman waited in his tux, silent but smiling at whoever entered or exited. He’d been trained never to look too closely or speak too much—the men, and sometimes women, who came to my club expected discretion, privacy, and class.
“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” I said and placed my hand in the small of her back. I guided her away from the Porsche and toward that entrance.
“It’s—” But the words failed her. She simply stared at it, at the bouncer, at the décor.
“Sleazy?” I asked.
Her sneakers padded across the sidewalk and onto the red carpet that led up to the front doors. The doorman stepped forward and gave us both a curt nod, then allowed us entrance. He knew better than to stop me.
“It’s not what I thought it would be at all,” Riley said and stopped just inside the doors. She looked up at the chandelier then nodded to the reception area, where Benjamin was seated. The man wore a gray moustache and salt-and-pepper hair, and I fucking dug that to death. I’d hired him on sight, simply because he reminded me of one of those circus ringmaster dudes. He was stern, and he’d chase out the lowlifes before they got their mouths open.
I walked Riley toward him and halted in front of his desk. The low thump of music leaked from beyond the two sets of polished walnut doors. In there was paradise for my customers. I’d ensured that they enjoyed themselves in the lap of luxury.