Chapter 9
Josephine
I’m pulling a heap of fluffy white towels from the dryer when I’m bumped with just enough force to send me stumbling. But before I can collide with the industrial appliance, I catch myself and spin in search of the offender.
A gorgeous redhead dressed in all white side-eyes me from a few feet away as she disposes of a handful of needles in a sharps container.
“Oh. Sorry, hun. Did you need something?” she purrs, her voice sticky sweet and almost childish. I think her name is Staci. Yep. Staci, with an i.
She’s one of the nurse estheticians at Lake Chapel Radiance. Her face is made up to perfection, and her hair is perfectly coifed. Clients probably use her plump, filled lips and taut, smooth forehead for inspiration.
“No. I’m good,” I concede, proud of myself for picking my battles and passing on this one.
Marilee hired me on the spot after my working interview on Monday. The schedule is surprisingly perfect—the spa is busiest in the afternoon and evenings, and my two in-person classes are both in the morning. The pay is nearly double minimum wage, and some of the nurses share their tips.
The job is ridiculously easy, too. I check people in. Get them tea, wine, or champagne. Prepare the procedure rooms, then clean them afterward. And I take out the trash and do the laundry.
My primary objective is to be discreet—which Marilee couldn’t stress enough during my interview—and to blend in.
Lucky for me, going unnoticed is a specialty of mine.
The solid black uniform (nurse estheticians wear all white, and assistants and support staff wear black) makes it even easier to put my head down and focus on the task at hand.
The hours will cut into my study time a little, but I can’t pass up this kind of money.
Plus, I like being busy. Putting in a solid day’s work feels good.
Familiar. There’s dignity in the ability to provide for myself.
I’m grateful for the exhaustion each night, and I’ve had no problem completing my homework this week while still finding time to hang out with Hunter.
I’m focused on folding the freshly laundered towels and trying my best to stay out of Staci’s way when a pair of male voices carry down the hall.
It only takes a moment to recognize them.
Popping my head out of the back room, I peek down the corridor and grin at Locke’s and Kendrick’s backs. Giddy, I fight back a girlish squeal that is so out of character I surprise myself.
I told Locke about my new job, although I have no idea how he knew I’d be working today. And I don’t remember mentioning the name of the spa, either.
I bounce excitedly on my toes as I fold the last towel, then take off after the guys. Locke and I have plans to meet up on Friday night, which means avoiding the inevitable party and another interruption on Saturday night.
Near the back entrance, the guys are talking to a man in a white coat over broad shoulders.
I bite the inside of my cheek and do my best to school my expression as I continue my trek toward them, watching as each of them shakes hands with the man.
Kendrick hands him something, then they turn to leave.
Fishing my phone out of my pocket, I double-check to make sure I don’t have any texts or missed calls from Locke.
I click open our text thread, but the last message from him was from this morning.
Confusion clouds my mind, and I pick up the pace, hoping to catch them.
By the time I reach the door, the man in the white coat has ducked back into a procedure room, and the hallway is empty.
I push through the heavy door and call out as I step into the thick evening air. “Locke!”
Both men freeze in place the second my voice rings out across the small lot.
Kendrick’s head whips around, his eyes boring into me with an intense, predatory glare.
Locke turns around slowly, and when he’s facing me, he swallows thickly.
I hurry to catch up. “Hey.” I grin, slightly breathless, as I glance back at the exit to make sure no one followed me out. I only have a minute before I have to get back in there, but I can at least—
“What the fuck are you doing here, Ohio?”
Stomach plummeting, I blink rapidly and scramble to make sense of his question.
“I—I work here,” I stammer. Defensiveness creeps up my spine, so I pull myself up straighter. Squaring my shoulders, I return Kendrick’s glare. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Joey, don’t,” Locke warns, shifting from foot to foot.
Don’t? Don’t what?
All the joy coursing through me a moment ago saps out of me when I register the dread in his eyes. Instead of the confident smile I expected from him, his face is drawn, and his brow is furrowed. That’s when it clicks. Locke isn’t here for me.
I’m still trying to make sense of the situation when Kendrick takes a menacing step forward, getting right up in my face.
“You saw nothing,” he growls.
And now my hackles are raised.
Is this sourpuss pissed off that I caught him at a medical spa? Is he worried I’ll tell people he likes to indulge in expensive-ass facials? I have no interest whatsoever in Kendrick’s business. Up until a minute ago, I thought he was accompanying Locke to see me.
Blinking away my annoyance, I turn to Locke. But he looks like he wants to be anywhere but here.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand. “Why are you here?”
In response, Kendrick swears under his breath, pulls out his phone, and pounds out a message with far more aggression than necessary.
“Dude,” Locke tries, snapping out of whatever mental anguish he was just experiencing.
He swipes at Kendrick’s phone, but the other man recoils and dodges the attempt without even glancing up.
“Kendrick. Seriously. It’s fine. She didn’t see shit.
She didn’t even know we were going to be here, did you, Joey? ”
I look between the men, utterly confused. Shaking my head, I answer. “No. I didn’t see either of your names on the schedule.”
Kendrick’s head snaps up, and he bares his teeth. Shit. Another strike for Joey.
“You actually work here?” he challenges.
I stare back, frowning. Why the hell is he being so hostile? Cold and grouchy is one thing, but this reaction is totally unexpected, and frankly, unnecessary. Glancing back at the door, I crack my knuckles.
“Look, I have to get back in there before they notice I’m gone.”
Kendrick scoffs, his tongue in his cheek as he shakes his head. “This isn’t gonna fly, Nicky.” His warning is for Locke, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
My cheeks heat under his glare, and I take a step back.
He’s clearly pissed off. And yet I still have no idea what I did to contribute to his big bad mood.
“Kendrick,” Locke practically pleads. “Don’t do this.”
His words are coated in emotion. Queasiness sets in when I realize he’s desperate.
For what, I have no idea. And maybe I don’t want to know.
Kendrick’s phone dings, startling me.
And to think I was excited. When I spotted them, I assumed they were here to visit me. Now I can’t shake the impending sense of dread swirling around us in the humid night air.
Kendrick glances at his screen, then nods once to Locke. “It’s already done.”
With that, he turns and stalks over to his car, leaving Locke and me staring at each other.
Before I can formulate a question, Kendrick lays on the horn. Locke whips his head toward the car, then looks back at me. His face is pained, his expression filled with remorse.
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Joey. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll call you.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I stand in the parking lot, dumbfounded. When I finally remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing, I hurry back into the building, holding back tears.
What the hell was that?
“There you are,” Marilee admonishes when I numbly make my way to the front desk. “Where did you disappear to?” she demands.
I mumble something about taking out the trash, but before I’ve finished the sentence, she’s hurrying off down one of the halls.
“I need you to clean up the Rejuvenation suite,” she calls over her shoulder, and then she disappears through an open doorway.
I work on autopilot to clean the room she directed me to.
It’s one of the largest in the facility, and it’s typically used for couples or small groups.
I go through the motions of sanitizing the surfaces and tidying the space.
I glove up and carefully dispose of the needles on the tray, then check the mini fridge to ensure it’s fully stocked.
I’m nearly done when I reach for a bottle of disinfectant and knock a manilla folder into the sink. I’m still a trembling mess from that parking lot face-off.
“Shit,” I huff out, gathering up all the papers. I quickly rearrange them in what I think is the right order, glancing over the documents to confirm. But my attention snags on the name at the top of the file: Kendrick Crusade.
Except….
Kendrick’s last name isn’t Crusade. It’s Tyler, or Taylor, or something along those lines.
Isn’t it?
Of their own volition, my hands flip open the second file. I’m not even surprised when I see Nicholas Crusade at the top.
I know with absolute certainty his last name is Lockewood.
Why the hell were they here, and why did they feel compelled to use pseudonyms? Bad, obvious ones at that?
I’ve just set down the files when the door to the suite flies open.
“Ah, there they are,” a man mutters. And it’s not just any man. It’s the doctor in the white lab coat. The one who was talking to the guys before they snuck out the back door.
“Almost done in here?” he asks, making me jump. I peek up at him, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s making a note in one of the guys’ files. “I’ve got another appointment in thirty minutes.”
“Yep, all done,” I squeak, my voice shaky and hollow. I slip out of the room before the doctor has a chance to look up from the files, desperately hoping he didn’t bother to look at me and that I can avoid being pulled into the middle of whatever bullshit is going on here.
Fighting back angry tears, I take off toward the back room.
I don’t understand any of it, but the one thing I know is that I have too much self-respect to let someone disregard me and treat me the way Locke just did.
I don’t need any sort of defined relationship, but I do need to share mutual respect with the person I’m hooking up with.
If he thinks he can meet up with me in secret, then blow me off when he’s with his friends? Then fuck him.
Hot Girl: Don’t bother calling me later. Or this weekend. Or ever.
I stash my phone and snatch the full hamper from the corner and get started on another load of laundry. For the first time all week, I glance at the clock and do the mental math, counting down to when I can leave this place and crawl into bed.