Chapter Twenty-One
Jace
What in the hell did I do? I slump on the sofa and stare blindly at the wall. But instead of white paint and teal window treatments, all I see is Zoe’s eyes as I repeatedly drove inside of her. It was pure bliss but also my ticket to hell.
No, it’s her ticket to hell.
I rake my hand through my hair and smack the back of my skull against the cushion. The cushions are thick and stuffed with extra padding, so it doesn’t hurt. Which is both a relief and an irritation. I need something to knock some sense into me.
What do we do now? Pretend it didn’t happen? Do it again? Adrenaline rushes throughout my veins as my gaze catches the notepad on the coffee table. I know what answer I want, but that’s borne out of selfishness. Zoe’s mother will disown her. Hell, my brother will send me on a one-way ticket back to Vegas. And Fletcher, Zoe’s father? He’ll castrate me. He’s already made his disdain for me clear.
I straighten on the sofa. I’m not that person anymore. I’m not strung out. I have a steady job. I’ve managed to save nine months of salary, so I’m far from destitute. My condo is clean and tidy. There’s nothing he could find in my recent past that would be a red flag. I’ve been celibate for almost three years. Zoe’s face floats in front of my eyes again until now.
After snatching up the resort notebook, my heart races. The second the pen is clasped in my fingers; I jot down a string of words as notes play in my head. I haven’t felt the pull to write lyrics since the last time I saw Zoe. The words poured out of me then, just as they are now.
Maybe it wasn’t sobriety that stopped the flow of words. Maybe it was giving up half my soul to stay away from her. The vibrant side that saw pleasure and pain. That felt emotions. That ached to be with her and claim her as my own.
The words fly onto the page until I sit back and smile. It’s rough, but it’s a song. One that doesn’t sound like the vibe I used to write. It’s softer. I tap the end of the pen on the pad. An acoustic version would be smoking hot.
Shit. I toss the pen down and slump back into the cushions. It doesn’t matter. I’ve propositioned every recording studio around with no results, and if I want a chance with Zoe, returning to the music industry would be the nail in my coffin. Fletcher would use it to claim I wanted Zoe only for a career.
Let it go, man. This isn’t for you.
My phone rings. It’s Everleigh. I snatch it up while crumpling the piece of paper and tossing it into the trash. “Hey, boss.”
“Jace, I’m so sorry. I know I promised not to disturb you on your vacation.”
“It’s fine. I needed a break.” And a trip back to reality. When I get off the plane, I’ll be in the desert heat working from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. while keeping the lightweights from doing something they can’t leave in Vegas. I don’t have to work that many hours, but overseeing and supporting my staff is important to me. “What’s up?”
“Adrian has come in late the last three days.”
“How does he look?” Adrian Coleman was a guy that spoke to me on a soul level. Another starving artist that wallows in self-pity. I interviewed him three months ago and until now, he’s been on the straight and narrow.
Until I wasn’t there to keep a thumb on him.
I rise off the sofa and pace in front of Zoe’s bedroom door. She left with her mom as soon as we arrived back on the mainland, and I haven’t seen her since.
My eyes dart to her door. Is she avoiding me? Does she regret having sex with me?
Of course, she regrets having sex with you. Or maybe she’s so proud of your island fuck that she can mark it off her bucket list. Stop making something out of nothing. You were on a private island, half-naked, and you banged. End of story.
But if she wants more? Yeah, there’s no way I could say no. There’s no way I’d want to say no. I’d find a way to change her father’s mind no matter how long it took.
“I think he looks strung out. Dark circles under his eyes. Jumpy. Arguing with other staff. And disappears for 20-30 minutes to the bathroom two or three times a shift. Now, he’s showing up late.”
“Right.” My shoulders stiffen. He’s not just coming in after indulging the night before, he’s using on the job which is something I won’t tolerate. “I’ll call him.”
“You don’t have to. I can call him. I just wanted you to know what was going on. I’ll call him in on his next shift and let him know that we’re not tolerating this type of behavior. I didn’t want to wait until you came back to tell you and have you get blindsided.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” As much as I regret that my career didn’t take off like I wanted, I love working for Everleigh and her husband, Victor. They both have brilliant minds and have treated me with dignity and respect. Even when I was struggling to keep the demons at bay without indulging, they took a chance on me and kept pushing me until I’m now the head of their security at Everleigh’s hotel and nightclub.
“You’re welcome.” She covers the phone to speak to someone. Likely Victor. “Sorry about that.” She laughs as she returns to our conversation. “You know how it is. There are constant fires to put out at this place.” The faint cry of a baby breaks through the connection, and my heart clutches. I always wanted kids. Does Zoe want children?
Okay, slow your roll. You’ve spent one afternoon together.
“Yes, I know.” I chuckle in response as I envision her seated in the high-backed leather chair surrounded by papers, suite mockups, and baby toys. They have a toddler and another baby on the way.
“Do you want me to give him a first warning or a final warning?”
I study my reflection in the mirror–clear eyes, tan skin, and full cheeks. I look good. Healthy. Clean. But as much as I want those things for everyone else, I can’t will it on another person any more than my family could when I was struggling. “I’ll call him and let him know he’s fired. Tell security not to let him in the building for work or entertainment and increase camera monitoring. Make sure everyone has his employee photo and physical description.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We can’t tolerate people using on the job. It would be one thing if he was using outside of work and coming in sober, but he’s not. He’s using when he disappears.”
“And hiding out to make sure no one notices?”
“No, he’s losing time. He’s going into the bathroom, using, and likely nodding off.”
“Okay. Are you sure you want to do it? I can call him. You’re supposed to be enjoying your break. You know you never even take two days off at once.”
“It’s fine.” She gave me his number and I waited for the call to go through.
“Yeah?” The voice sounds vaguely like Adrian, but it’s tinged with paranoia.
“Adrian, it’s Jace.”
“Oh, hey. How goes it, man?”
“I’m well, thank you. Everleigh called and said you’ve been coming in late and abusing your break times. She was concerned you’re using, which is why she called.”
“She can’t know that. No one has….” Even though he trails off, I know what he was going to say. No one has seen him.
“Let me correct myself. She described your behavior, and I know you’re using on the job. We’re letting you go.”
“Fuck you, man. That’s bullshit! She hasn’t got anything on me, and you’re listening to her. What are you, her bitch? Are you sneaking around behind Victor’s back and sticking it to his old lady?”
“You need to stop.” My teeth grind together as the hate and venom fall from his lips. It disgusts me that in the past, I would’ve responded in this same way. Hell, I did respond like this. “I know the behaviors people display when they’re using, and I decided to relieve you of your position.”
“Well then, you know how it is. I just need a little bump at work to make it through the shift. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. You’re missing over an hour of your shift. Now, you’re coming in late. This puts the rest of the staff and the clients at risk of getting hurt. I take pride in our reputation of being a clean and safe place in Vegas to visit. I’m not salvaging that reputation because you need help.”
“I don’t need help. I’m fine. I’ve got this all under control.” His voice is harsh and razor-edged.
“You need to get into rehab. Or go to a meeting.”
“Fuck you. I don’t need anything, and I don’t need advice from you. You’re a washed-up singer who thinks he’s a big deal because he has a female boss who tells him what to do. But it’s the opposite, it makes you a fucking pussy with no balls.”
The line goes dead. Well, that went well.
Two seconds later, I have Everleigh on the phone. “It’s done. He’s pissed and hurling insults. But I think the business will be okay. He’s geared his rage toward me.”
“Did he threaten you? I’ll call the police.”
“No. Nothing like that. He said I was a washed-up musician who was a pussy for a female boss.”
“Asshole.” Her chair squeaks as she rises upright. I don’t have to be there to recognize the sound. “You’re a fabulous songwriter and singer. I’ve not changed my mind. You’re welcome to sing at the club or at one of the casinos.” She instinctively knows which insult bothered me the most.
“Thank you. I appreciate your support.” There’s no way I’m accepting her pity offering of a singing gig. “Keep an eye out for him, but I don’t expect any problems.”
When I’m off the phone, I kick the trashcan. He isn’t wrong. I’m a washed up has been. With a soft spot for rescuing people who don’t appreciate it. That’s always been my downfall.