5. Rae
5
RAE
“H ello, American,” a male voice whisper-shouts as I yank off my headphones at the end of my set.
The man standing within earshot is my age and the kind of preppy handsome that sells Ralph Lauren campaigns.
I look at the security guard, who is facing the other way. Not again .
“Hey!” I shout at the guard, who finally turns back, spotting the man next to me.
“He’s a VIP,” the guard mouths.
Perfect. I should’ve known Debajo would be one of those places where VIPs get whatever they want.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to be friends.” The man who approached me offers a blinding grin that’s familiar and not. “That was quite the set. Have a drink with me.”
“I’m not sticking around.”
“Please?”
I could use a drink. Plus, I won’t be able to sleep for hours.
With luck, I’ll get to bed by six o’clock in the morning, stare at the ceiling for a few hours while waiting for a response from my lawyer, then drag myself out of bed midafternoon to do a little sightseeing and get my bag before catching a flight out of here.
“You’re buying,” I inform him.
Before heading to the bar, I stop in the bathroom, pop two ibuprofen, and wipe the sweat from my face and neck.
My new friend meets me outside. “Not going to lose this wig?”
I hold a strand up. “This is my natural hair color.”
He grins. “I’m Ash. Now is when you tell me your real name.”
“I don’t think so.” I settle in next to him as we head through the private backstage halls. Security lets us pass without comment.
“Damn it. It was going to seem natural when I called you Raegan, but I guess I can’t say you told me.”
I stop abruptly. “How did you?—”
“Come on, blondie.” He grabs my wrist and tugs me after him.
My real name might be on every contract, but I keep my personal life separate where I can. It’s strange hearing not only my nickname, which all my friends use, but my full name.
“Wish I could hide out for privacy,” he says, reading my mind. “I play pro football.”
I scan his lean form. “Quarterback?”
He scoffs. “Proper football.”
He holds the door for me, and I walk through into another world. There’s a private bar, beautiful people lounging at tables, a poker game in one corner. The veneer of casual exclusivity is impossible to miss. Diamonds against crushed velvet. Wool suiting on faded leather stools.
My gaze lands on the table of men playing cards. One in particular has me stiffening.
Harrison King is wearing a suit tonight. He’s impeccable. Not runway-model beautiful, but mafia-don ruthless. Sharp angles and unyielding planes. His strong face is sculpted into an intense study of the cards in front of him, the ones on the table.
Ash follows my gaze and snorts. “Don’t let him ruin your fun. Just because he’s a prick and he owns the place…”
I arch a brow. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
We head for the bar, and he orders me a cocktail.
“Harrison King stole my belongings,” Ash goes on after. “Held my head underwater until I conceded. Told on me.” There’s a pause as I process each of these transgressions. Finally, Ash raises his glass, grinning. “He’s my older brother.”
“So, he sent you to make nice.” I shouldn’t be talking to anyone who shares an ounce of DNA with the man I loathe.
“Hardly. He’ll be upset I’m talking to you.”
I take a sip. The vodka soda is clean on my tongue, in my throat, as music from the afterparty outside drifts in.
“Then by all means, continue.”
Ash barks out a laugh, blue eyes warmer than his brother’s. “If you hate him, why are you playing his club?”
“A mistake. One I’m going to fix in the morning so I can get out of here.”
“That’s unfortunate. You should stay.”
“Help the man I hate make money?” I scoff.
“I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re making money too, Raegan.”
“Rae,” I correct, not because we’re friends but because hearing my full name weirds me out. “Why do you care?”
He turns the glass in his hands. “Women have followed him willingly all his life. I think you’d show him there’s another way.”
“He wouldn’t appreciate another way. The man treats women like disposable napkins.”
“He proposed to the last woman he dated. They were engaged, until she ended it.”
I cut Ash a surprised look. The idea of Harrison King having a softer side, of wanting to spend his life with another person, is hard to picture.
“I can’t imagine what he did to deserve to get dumped.” I don’t hide the sarcasm, but I’m still processing the “engaged” part.
“He trusted her too much.” My new companion’s voice softens. “We date the people we think we deserve. Though he’d never admit it, my brother doesn’t think he’s worthy of better.”
My attention drags across the room to the man in question, hating that those words make me question Harrison King’s spot in hell.
I realize my mistake too late, because he’s spotted me.
Harrison King rises from the table with the grace of a shadow. Now, he’s headed this way.
I can’t help comparing the two men. Their coloring is similar, a faint tan from the sun under dirty-blond hair. The same magnetic blue eyes. But where Ash’s friendly, Harrison is cold. Cut from marble.
“Brother,” Ash greets him as he arrives. “You’re the only person in a suit at this hour.” He nods to the rest of the room, where every other man has long since stripped his jacket off.
“I wear one because it’s my club,” Harrison replies.
I take a drink. “There are other options to hide the stick up your ass besides Hugo Boss.”
“It’s Brioni.”
Ash cackles in delight. “I was telling our little queen how exceptional she was tonight.”
“When my club is full, I’ll praise her,” Harrison states.
Ash turns back to greet a friend, leaving me and Harrison at the bar.
“Unfortunately, this was a one-night-only performance.” I shift off the stool. “But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Not half as much as you did.” He blocks my path. “I saw the way you lose yourself up there. In my club , which you seem intent on despising.”
My body tingles, from his closeness and the intimacy of his words.
“It’s a persona. Not me.”
“You can’t hide how it makes you feel. You’ve had orgasms less satisfying than what you experienced tonight.”
Anyone in the crowd could tell I was having a good time. But the way this man watched me, the way he’s watching me now, feels as if he sees under my clothes.
Under my skin.
The thrumming in my stomach streaks lower, between my thighs.
Laughter goes up from across the room, but I can’t look away from Harrison King.
“You know nothing about my orgasms, and you never will.”
I’m hot, and I pull the hair over one shoulder to leave the other bare. He follows the movement, attention lingering on my exposed skin and heating it like a filthy kiss.
“You told Leni this afternoon that you hated me no matter how pretty I was or how big my cock is, which means you’ve considered both.”
My breath catches.
“That’s why you’re angry,” he continues. “You hate me, but the thought of me gets you off. I might be a villain, but in your dreams I still slink into your room at night and make you come.”
His voice strokes down my spine like a filthy whisper. That decadent accent he deploys like a weapon is obscene.
“The only thing I’ve thought about,” I say, nodding to his belt, “is how you must be compensating for something to be this much of an asshole.”
When my attention drags back up to his face, the expression scorches me alive.
A cheer goes up from behind us, and we turn to see Leni come in the door, lifting her hands. “You were great,” she informs me with a grin, offering a high five. “See you back here Monday?” She looks between Harrison and me. “Unless the boss eats you first.”
The man at my side growls, and Leni laughs.
I’m mystified by the dynamic, still remembering the way he shut her up without a word earlier.
When I reach for my phone, Harrison frowns.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Toro for a ride.”
“He’s an old man who needs his sleep.” He jerks his head at one of the bartenders, who reaches for a house phone on the wall. “A car will be here in five minutes.”
He gestures toward the hallway, then follows me out.
The man is a ruthless billionaire. Incapable of compromise. Incapable of love.
Except he might be a villain to me, but he’s not to Leni. To Toro. To his brother.
I have a handful of friends now, but a network of people I go back with? People I trust and who trust me?
That sounds like make believe.
Security holds the outside door for us, the guard already nodding to me with familiarity. “Mr. King. Miss… Queen.”
A half laugh is out of my lips before I step out into the cool evening. Harrison cocks his head.
“Cute couple,” I drawl.
I catch his eye over my shoulder, and he huffs out a breath when he realizes I’m trying to piss him off.
“You’re the one making this hard.”
I rub my hands over my skin in response to the sudden chill—of the night air or his words. “Hard’s the only way I know.”
He strips off his jacket, and my gaze is drawn to the muscles of his shoulders and chest through the shirt beneath.
I’m distracted enough it takes me a moment to realize his intention as he closes the distance between us.
“No. Don’t?—”
I lift both hands defensively, but he drapes the expensive fabric around my shoulders and pulls the lapels closed over my chest before I can stop him.
“You’d probably like to freeze to death your first night.” His closeness invades my senses, makes it hard to think. “If only to leave me in a jam.”
“I told you, I’m leaving in the morning.”
I start to shrug out of the coat, but he stops me.
“Keep it.”
What kind of a man is fastidious enough to wear designer suits but doesn’t care about giving one away to spare me a few moments’ chill? Before I find a good answer, the cab pulls up.
As I drive away from Harrison King for the second time today, I finger the edge of the jacket.
I’m alone again.
The rush of relief I expected doesn’t come.