Finding Redemption (The Rose City #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Can you stop pretending you don’t know who I am and let me in, please?”

Vanessa Barone knew there were worse things than being stuck outside a nightclub—on a cold January evening in downtown Portland, fighting with a surly bouncer while wearing nothing more than a silk triangle top, metallic bootie shorts, and three-inch Manolo Blahniks—but at the moment she couldn’t recall a single one.

The winter breeze rushed over her skin, and another shiver racked her body. Trying to summon warmth, she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. As it stood, the heat of her annoyance was more effective than any of her other efforts. “It’s freezing out here.”

Unmoved, her least favorite bouncer loomed over her, arms crossed over his massive chest. “Doesn’t matter who you are. You’re not on the list,” he repeated for the ninth time.

Or at least she thought that was what he said. Her ears were nearly frozen off, and his familiar rumbling baritone made it hard to tell if actual words were coming out of his mouth or if he was simply grunting in some random, monosyllabic manner.

When he held his tablet out to her and said, “See, your name’s not on here,” she wanted to punch him in the face.

Jordan Thompson. The bane of her freaking existence. The minute she’d arrived at the VIP line at Silk, her favorite nightclub in Portland, and saw him, she knew he’d be an ass.

Every ounce of willpower went into suppressing an eyeroll.

Before she lost her temper completely, she did something she rarely allowed anymore.

She let her mother’s stern voice fill her head with her longest-standing advice.

Sii sempre gentile con tutti. Non sai mai quando ti capiterà di aprire un negozio e avere bisogno di clienti.

Translation: be nice to everybody because you never knew when you might need those same people again.

It sounded better in Italian, but she never forgot it.

With Maria Barone’s voice echoing in her brain, she inhaled a deep breath, felt her lungs freeze on impact, and offered Jordan her best runway smile.

“Look, I know I’m not on the list.”

Jordan raised a scarred eyebrow. Had her attempt at sweetness come out sounding like she was placating a toddler?

Ugh, why did he have to be so…obstinate?

Six months ago, they spent three awkward days together in Vegas for her sister’s wedding, where she’d assumed Jordan was the billionaire groom’s brooding bodyguard.

Only later did she realize he was also Joel’s friend.

Something she’d never even considered before because, one, Jordan seemed incapable of regular human interaction, like, you know, smiling, talking, laughing, and two, it never occurred to her he might have friends.

As it turned out, Joel and Lucy vanished into their post-nuptial penthouse love nest. Which left Jordan trailing after her for three painfully long days, wearing that same grim, disapproving expression he was casting her way now. Honestly, if he frowned any harder, his face might crack.

One or two teeny-tiny mistakes in her past and her sister and brother-in-law thought she needed a bodyguard babysitter wherever she went. Life was not fair.

Whatever. That was in the past, and she firmly believed in staying focused on the present. Even if the present was threatening to freeze her ass off.

“I already told you, I forgot to call ahead.” She lifted her shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “It was a last-minute decision. I had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up. So here I am.” She flashed her signature smile again, the one that usually got her whatever she wanted.

Jordan’s returned disdain was palpable. “Then get in the regular line.” He jerked his chin toward the queue snaking around the corner of the club. Silk was always packed on a Friday night, and that line would take forever.

Vanessa huffed. “There’s, like, fifty people in that line. I never have to wait. Max always lets me in, even if I’m not on the list,” she said, dropping the owner’s name for good measure.

It was true. Max had always told her she could come whenever she wanted, and the first drink was always on the house. Every other bouncer let her through without a second thought.

Every bouncer except this one.

“Look, Zeus—” she began, knowing he hated it when she called him that. The slant of his brow told her she’d hit her mark.

“Look, princess,” he interrupted, his glare intensifying.

“Get your name on the list, and I’ll let you in.

Otherwise, get in the other line or go home.

I don’t care which.” He straightened to his full height, his frown etching deeper.

Everything about his demeanor told her that he did not give a single fuck about her predicament.

Vanessa clenched her jaw, realizing that even her mother’s advice on kindness couldn’t salvage this situation. Another violent shiver shook her body.

Jordan angled his chin toward the goosebumps that had turned the skin on her arms into a rumble track. “Chilly?”

She would’ve wiped the smug grin off his face, but no, this jackass was stone cold. He had his resting prick face down to perfection.

“I hate you,” she hissed.

His attention dropped back to his tablet, as if it held something far more interesting than her. “No, you don’t.” He pressed something on the screen. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your hate.”

“Apart from existing, you mean?” She didn’t care if she sounded rude. At this point, it was all she had.

He looked at her, angling his head as though he was about to explain something to a five-year-old. “You don’t hate me. You dislike me. And trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

Oh, she could kill this man. If he weren’t six-five and built like a brick shithouse.

Holding his glare, she reached into her Birkin and grabbed her phone.

Jordan remained motionless, arms re-crossed over pecs the size of pillows.

Apparently, he was unaffected by winter temperatures, because his biceps strained against the sleeves of his t-shirt, the material riding up over the bulging muscles—not a single goosebump in sight—and making his sinuous forearms even more conspicuous.

The man’s body was ridiculous. If his personality wasn’t so obnoxious, she might have admired it.

Which was exactly why she’d nicknamed him Zeus. He had the body of a god and the temperament of a thunderstorm.

She sneered as she pulled up Max’s number and hit dial with frozen fingers. A few tense seconds passed, the two of them locked in a scowling contest, until Max answered.

“Hey Vanessa, darling, what can I do for you?” Club music blasted through her phone.

She smiled triumphantly and hit another button. “Hi Max. I’ve put you on speaker. I’m outside, but my name isn’t on the VIP list. Can you tell the bouncer to let me in?”

“Who wouldn’t let you in?” Max’s voice filled the air, sounding genuinely confused.

Brilliant question, Max. “Jordan.” She spat his name out like poison.

Laughter roared over the line. “Jordan, let her in. She doesn’t need to be on any list. Vanessa can come and go as she pleases.”

She smiled widely, showing all her professionally whitened teeth. “Thanks, Maxi-poo,” she cooed. “See you in a second.” She hung up and tossed her phone back into her purse. “Did you hear that, Zeus? I can come and go as I please.”

Jordan’s glower could have brought God to his knees, but she met it with a smug smile in reply. This round was hers.

Without breaking eye contact, he unlatched the chain on the velvet rope and stepped aside. Vanessa brushed past him, feeling a surge of satisfaction. After a terrible day and now sparring with Jordan, winning had given her the boost she needed.

Was that why she hadn’t called Max right after Jordan shut her out? Because she enjoyed sparring with him? No. Ridiculous. Her brain was frozen along with the rest of her.

“Just don’t play with fire tonight, princess. I won’t be there to bail you out,” Jordan grumbled as she passed. “I’m on door duty.”

She turned, flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave his granite chest a quick pat, ignoring the zing of awareness that shot through her.

“Lucky for you, I didn’t bring any matches,” she said before strutting into the booming club.