12. Jax
Jax
I’m speaking to one of the new DJs in the Green Room as he sets up for the evening. He’s nervous and looks scared to death, but I’ve heard his set before, and I know he’s gonna kill it.
My shoulders ache pleasantly from my gym class. The exercise did the trick. I’ve managed not to think about Mr. Jones, or “Mr. Asshole” as I’ve decided to christen him, for almost three whole hours.
The DJ is nearly done setting up when I see Scott come in at the back of the room. His easy smile is firmly in place, curly mop of dark hair dangling into his eyes, and the shaved sides making him look more rugged than usual.
A lot of the women watch him as he makes his way through. He’s wearing a white fitted shirt and a pinstriped vest. He looks like a 1930s mobster, but it works for him.
Is that a watch chain coming out of his pocket? My brother is ridiculous.
Then I look at his expression and tense up. Despite the forced smile, he looks haggard and worried. I check that the DJ has everything he needs and leave him to it, stepping down from the back platform.
Walking through the room, I skirt around a tall guy with bright green hair who is shouting into his friend's ear too loudly for the quiet room. I step past them when Scott almost collides with me. My brother’s eyes are focused on the floor, a deep frown on his face.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, imagining every kind of terrible scenario.
Is Nick Monroe here? Has he threatened Scott again?
“Flynn’s here,” Scott says nervously, biting his lip.
I relax, rolling my eyes. “And? Why has that got you so panicked?”
“He’s in the office, Jax, asking questions about the club. Did you rat on me?”
“Of course I didn’t. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.”
“You were pretty adamant that we should tell him,” he mutters defensively.
“Yeah, because we should. But I’m not a fucking snitch, Scott. What’s he asking about? You did deal with the balance sheet, right? Because if you left them the way they were, there’s nothing I can do. He understands this stuff better than both of us, and he’ll recognize a problem immediately.”
“I dealt with them. Would you just go deal with him? He’s in a mood about something, I don’t know what, and it’s making me anxious.”
“I’ll go and talk to him. Could you let Aidan know that we’re about to get started in here? It’s Clark’s first set, and I want more people to boost him up a bit.”
“Sure.”
“And Scott?”
“What?”
“Chill, would you? If Flynn sees the most laid-back man on the planet looking stressed, that’s more of a red flag than anything.”
He flips me off as I spin around and head up to Flynn’s office.
Unlike Scott, I like it when Flynn stops by. He took on a lot of the family's responsibilities when my dad got locked up, and I always learn something new from him.
Flynn’s almost ten years older than me, but he talks to me like I’m his equal. He’s never spoken down to me because I’m a woman—and he’s taught my brothers to do the same.
I have a lot to thank Flynn for, least of all for letting me take charge of the club while he’s working on the new one.
My gut clenches as I think about what he’s going to say when he finds out about Monroe.
Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
When I walk into the office, Flynn’s standing next to the open safe. My pulse skyrockets as I squint at the contents, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see what’s inside.
Somehow, it’s full again. I don’t want to think too hard about where Scott got the money, but he must have known that would be the first place Flynn would look.
“Hey shithead,” I say brightly, as I push the door closed behind me, and Flynn turns with a wide grin.
“Hey dirtbag. Did you dye your hair again?”
I snort. “Yep. You gonna dye yours so you stop looking like such an old man?”
Flynn’s hair started to go gray when our mother died. Now it’s pretty much salt-and-pepper throughout. He’s rocking it, though.
“I was thinking bubble gum pink might work,” he says good-naturedly, “but I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
His tone reassures me that he hasn’t found anything out of the ordinary at the club yet. He usually scrutinizes everything in minute detail, but with the sister club being set up on the other side of the city, he has other things on his mind right now.
I swallow, heading over to the desk as he turns to do the same. He glances at my shoes with a little frown of irritation as he lowers into his chair. I sit down across from him and make a show of leaning back and putting them up on the desk.
“I don’t like those heels,” he says irritably, shuffling some envelopes.
“Sexist.”
“Do you have any idea how bad they are for your feet? Can’t I buy you some comfortable boots or something?”
“They make my legs look good,” I murmur. “Plus, it’s better when I can look down on a man when I kick him out. You dudes are all stupidly tall.”
Flynn’s frown doesn’t fade. “Wear sneakers. Think of your hips in your old age.”
“Nope.”
He scowls at me and then plucks a folder off the desk in front of him and throws it into my lap.
“Would you have a look at this?”
I open it, raising my brows at the beautiful business plan he’s put together. We’ve been developing a strategy for the new club for a while, and Flynn has a series of big meetings with investors coming up.
The area of New York where we want to build the club isn’t the most affluent, but Flynn has been talking about its potential for years. The Low Ferry district has a subway station right beside it with several up-and-coming restaurants nearby.
The neighborhood is slowly becoming a magnet for young club-goers, and Flynn’s had his eye on it for years. I love the new venue he’s found almost as much as I love Jensons.
“Wow, Fly, this looks amazing.”
“It needs your eyes on it. You know I can’t spell for shit. But I spoke to this graphic designer, and she’s been helping me with the look.”
I glance up at him. “She? Would this be the graphic designer you said you were going to take to dinner the other week?”
“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Uh-huh, sure you don’t. I wondered why you were so dressed up. Did you come straight from her place by any chance?”
“What are you, a psychic?” he mutters. “Alright, fine. Yes. Her name’s Jessica. She’s cool, and she has a lot of talent.”
“That is so cute.”
“Shut up, Jax.”
I snicker as I flick through the papers in the folder. It’s good, but Flynn has never been the best at getting his point across. He tends to ramble and get overexcited by minor details.
“Send me a list of the meetings you have coming up,” I say.
“We’ll want to pitch it slightly differently to all of them.
When you meet with Robertson, he’ll only give you 15 minutes.
That means get the pitch in his face as quickly as possible.
Here,” I hold the folder up, pointing to a teal-colored block at the base, “put this at the top, and highlight the key projections right off the bat. He’s into all that shit. ”
Flynn’s eyes sharpen as they always do when I’m giving him advice, and he nods. “That’s a good call. You think the color scheme is okay?”
“Yeah. You’re still going with the silver theme for this club?”
“Think so. I don’t want it to be tacky, but it’s a nice alternative to Jensons' gold. I can’t fucking wait for the work to be done on the place so we can start designing, it’s gonna be awesome.”
“Have you thought about when you’ll hire the manager?” I ask pointedly.
“You still don’t think you could oversee them both?” he asks, looking disappointed. “I don’t like the idea of hiring somebody outside the family.”
I shrug as my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. “I need to be on the floor wherever I work. Travelling between the clubs would take up too much time. I’m happy to help set it all up, but once it’s running, I should only manage one.”
I drag my phone out, but the number on the screen isn’t one I recognize. I assume it must be one of the new staff I haven’t met yet. They’re all given my number on day one.
“Sorry, Fly, one sec,” I say, holding up a finger. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jacqueline.”
My whole body stiffens. Flynn waves at me silently, showing he’s fine with me taking the call as he rises to leave the room, and I look up at him desperately.
“It’s okay,” I hiss at Flynn. “I want to finish this.”
“I’m gonna go show the pitch to Scott anyway,” he whispers back. “Take the call. Come meet me on the top deck after, and we’ll have a glass of something together.”
He waves vaguely at me again as he heads outside, and I slump back in my chair, clenching my jaw as I stare at the number on my screen.
The fucking nerve of this guy. Calling me after hours, while I’m at work, with no warning? Why the fuck am I so nervous all of a sudden?
“Mr. Jones,” I say, putting the phone back to my ear as the door closes behind my brother.
“You sound like you’re at a bar.”
“I was just talking to a very attractive silver fox. How can I help you?”
It annoys me that he laughs at that. I don’t know why I expected him to feel possessive of me; he literally paid me to blow him today, but still, the rejection smarts.
Is he laughing because he doesn’t think I’d be talking to other men, or is he laughing because he doesn’t care either way?
“How did you get my number?” I ask.
“The agency. I’m home, drinking a glass of red wine, and I’m hard as fuck, so I thought I’d see if you were up for a little phone sex.”
A pulse of heat passes through my body, and I bite my lower lip. “Well, that’s one way of asking for what you want.”
“Should I have played it cool? I wasn’t under the impression you needed me to play hard to get.”
I rise, walking to the door and locking it, just in case Flynn comes back. I have no intention of participating in the phone sex, but I don’t need my brother hearing me tell Jones to fuck off.
“I’m not interested in phone sex right now, I’m busy, and I’m off the clock,” I say, snapping the lock into place and walking toward the desk.
“I’ll give you three grand for the privilege.”