Chapter Three
Reilly
TAKING one last look at myself in the mirror before I head over to The Merge where I am, as of today, gainfully employed, I’m pretty happy with what I’ve managed to pull off in such a short timeframe.
I’m wearing a black pencil skirt that ends just over my knees and has a split that runs half-way up the front of my left leg.
I pulled out my favourite go-to, white, sheer blouse.
The neckline is high and hugs around the base of my neck, while the sleeves flow loosely down my arms. I’ve put on a white crop top underneath; you can see just a hint of skin between where the crop top ends and my skirt begins on my waist. The outfit is finished off with a pair of black pumps, adding a little extra height to my already tall frame.
Not having time to do anything with my hair, I settled for tying it up in a ponytail—one just like Holly usually sports.
I’m satisfied that I’m pulling off my professional, badass business bitch look, which let’s face it, I need to, considering the only side of me that Zac—aka my new boss and my best girl’s new boo—has ever seen of me is the drunk, carefree party girl Reilly.
I need to prove that I’m also a professional who is damn good at what I do.
Picking up my black Ted Baker Audrey bag, I start looking around for the clutch I had all my cards in last night.
Then it dawns on me. “Fucking Bray,” I say out loud to the empty room.
I know exactly where I left that clutch last night—right on the floor of his living room where it fell out of my hands, due to being upside down over his damn shoulder.
I’ll just text him later and get him to pass it onto Alyssa; that way, I won’t need to face him. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.
Making my way out to my car, I smile when I see it, my beast, my baby, my ride, the one ride I don’t mind driving over and over again.
Turning the key over, I listen as the engine of my black Mustang GT convertible roars to life.
I’m not really sure how he did it, but my dad had cars delivered to both Holly and me on our university graduation day.
Holly got her dream yellow VW bug, and me, I got this machine.
Walking up to the back entrance to the club, I approach as the door opens and a wall of muscle clothed in black stands between me and the inside of the club.
I have to tilt my head back to meet the wall’s face.
I reach his face as his eyes not so subtly rake up and down my body.
Clearing my throat, I gain his attention.
“Are you lost?” the wall asks with a raised eyebrow.
Tilting my head, I squint my eyes at him. I’m about to get riled Reilly on his ass when I remember that this is now my place of business. Taking a deep breath, I gather myself before I respond to him. Holding my hand out, I say, “No, I’m Reilly. Zac’s expecting me.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. Sorry, love, but Zac’s not interested.” The wall steps back, planning to shut the door in my face. I react without thinking and stick my foot out to catch the door, only to have the door slam into the inside of my left foot.
“Ahh, motherfucker!” That hurt like a bitch. I’m jumping around on the spot, cursing and rambling for a good three minutes, before I stop and shake my foot a little while inspecting the damage. Yep, that’s going to bloody bruise all right.
“You might want to get on that little walkie thing and let Zac know that Reilly, get that name right, Reilly his new PR manager, is here.” I can’t help but give the brute attitude now. He slammed the goddamn door on my foot.
He steps aside, freeing the doorway. “Okay, sweetheart, settle down, come in and take a seat at the bar. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Firstly, I’m Reilly, not your sweetheart or any other demeaning pet name you like to hand out, thinking it will make all of womankind swoon and forget you injured them. Secondly, I’ll show myself to the bar, thank you.”
I limp my way over to the bar. I’m almost there when the bartender from last night rounds the bar, stopping in front of me. James, I think his name was.
“What on earth happened to you?” he questions. Before I can answer, his hands are reaching out and grabbing me around my waist, effortlessly picking me up and placing me onto the bar. Great, Reilly, first day on the job and you’re already sitting on top of the bar.
“The oaf at the door tried to slam said door in my face. I used my foot to stop it.” I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal.
James’s eyes widen. “Kid has a bloody death wish,” he mumbles, before telling me not to move.
I watch as James digs out a scoop of ice, wrapping it in a towel before making his way back to me. He’s gentle as ever, picking up my injured foot and removing my shoe, then holds the ice onto my foot. I audibly moan at how good that ice feels right now.
“You’re lucky I’m gay, sweets, or that moan right there would land you in a world of trouble, although…” Pausing, he looks me up and down. “Nope, still gay,” he says, shaking his head.
“That’s a damn shame to womankind, but if you ever want to really test that theory, hit me up, spunk,” I say, waggling my eyebrows at him teasingly.
“I’m not stupid or crazy enough to test that out with you. I like breathing way too much,” he responds.
I’m trying to process what he just said. I don’t really get how I have anything to do with him breathing. Maybe he’s been testing the product a bit under the bar.
“What the fuck is going on?” The deep, rough voice rumbles through me.
Oh boy, I know that voice—my body was way too acquainted with that rumble last night.
Just don’t look up, Reilly. Don’t make eye contact.
Be strong. You do not need to get mixed up in his mess.
Remember the cops rocking up on his doorstep this morning.
And that right there does it; my resolve is set.
I look up to James, who looks like he’s seen a ghost. He hands the ice over to Bray before saying, “I was just helping her, man. She injured her foot.” Then he turns to me.
“Sorry, sweets, you’re on your own with this one.
Like I said, I like breathing.” James turns and practically runs out of the bar area.
I’m wiggling my ass closer to the edge, just about to jump down, when Bray puts a stop to my movements. Placing his hands on my knees, he says, “Don’t even think about it, pumpkin.” He then lifts my foot, inspecting the damage before gently placing the ice back on.
“How’d this happen?” he asks while his thumb rubs up and down the arch of my foot.
Jesus, Holy Mother Mary. My body feels like a thousand bolts are currently running through it.
Sparks. I can feel them everywhere. Is it hot in here?
Oh man, I really need to get him to stop doing that. It’s literally frying my brain.
Wait, he asked a question, right? I can do this—I can answer a question. I can jump down and release his hold on my foot. Deciding that’s the best plan of action, I place my hands on his chest, on his well-defined muscle on top of muscle chest. Shoving him back slightly, I jump down.
“I tried to tell him that I was here to see Zac. He didn’t believe me and went to shut the door in my face.
My foot stopped the door. That’s all, nothing too interesting.
Now, is Zac in his office? Should I just head up there?
” Lifting my head to meet his eyes, I can see he doesn’t like what he heard.
His face is stone and gives nothing away, but his eyes, they are brighter somehow, more intense than they were a minute ago.
“Wait, who the fuck slammed a fucking door on you?” he grunts out.
Okay, so maybe it’s not just his eyes that are showing how mad he is. But what does he have to be mad about anyway? It was my bloody foot not his.
“You know, I didn’t stop to get his name.
Next time I see him around, I’ll be sure to tell him Bray would like to know what your name is.
” Slipping my shoe back on, I walk around him and head to the lift that I remember leads to Zac’s office.
I can feel Bray’s eyes on my back the whole damn way there.
At least I’m not limping anymore, my foot feeling numb from the ice.
Sitting in Zac’s office, my mind is whirling with possibilities and ideas. I try to rein in my excitement and remain professional though. Zac is thorough, knows what he wants, and has high expectations for his club. I’ve been given the tour around the building, and shown where my office will be.
Notepad in hand, I’m currently sitting on the couch and taking copious notes of the many tasks he wants me to do.
It’s almost like he’s challenging me, like he expects me to fail.
Well, he’s in for a rude awakening—Reilly Reynolds does not fail at anything.
Well, maybe relationships, but that’s mostly always intentional on my part.
“We host new and upcoming indie bands on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You’ll notice in the calendar that we’re currently booked for the month; you will have to start booking bands for the next month’s spots.” Zac is pacing his office as he rattles off task after task. Almost without taking a breath.
“We also host live bands on Fridays and Saturdays for limited time slots; the rest of the night is our featured DJs. I expect you to get to know them and work with them. Their contact details will be in your email contacts.”
Finally, he takes a breather and pauses.
Looking up at me, he squints his eyes, almost like there is something he’s unsure of.
Like he’s trying to figure me out somehow.
I sit and wait him out. I will not let his stare intimidate me.
Straightening my spine, I arch an eyebrow at him, daring him to say something about me.
Zac just smirks at my silent challenge, asshole. “There are also other events we hold here. You won’t need to do much for them. They promote themselves and are by invite only.”