CHAPTER 7
The answers are simple, yet we twist them until they’re unrecognizable.
I tentatively enter the doorway of Finn’s office.
The space is larger than I expected. The right half is set up like an office, with his desk in the corner, a filing cabinet, and two credenzas.
The other half is more of a lounge area, with a couch, two sofa chairs, and a coffee table.
The walls are a subtle gray, complemented by newer, modern black furniture, all done in a minimalist style.
The click of my heels must have alerted him to my arrival, because the computer screen shuts down, as if he put it in sleep mode.
Spinning in his chair, he faces me, gestures to a chair in front of his desk.
“Come in. Take a seat.” His expression is difficult to read, and I wonder if he’s finally figured it out—who I am.
The thump of my pulse overrides all sound.
I drop my purse beside the chair and sit, crossing my legs as I do.
Finn leans back and laces his fingers over his flat stomach.
The motion stretches his distressed black tee between the width of his shoulders, prominently displaying his upper body strength.
The amount of ink he’s sporting tells a story, so does the scar and the amount of silver in his coarse, wavy hair.
It speaks of a life lived, one I know nothing about.
And like me, he likes his jewelry. There’s a bulky ring on every finger, beaded and leather bracelets, and a long chain rests between his pecs, holding a HOC pendant at the end.
My awareness of the mistake I’ve made unfolds as I examine my emotions.
I’m a fucking liar.
But believing my own bullshit is a new one.
It’s not anger riding me right now. It’s hope.
It’s a desperate ache for what once was—to hear his voice in my ear, to know his mind again, to feel his touch on my skin, even though his hands were all over me less than fifteen minutes ago.
I still want him in a way I shouldn’t. Sure, I got lost in the music, but it was more than that.
I got lost in him, in the heady sensation of him finally touching me again.
He touched me like a woman he wanted to take to his bed and couldn’t get enough of.
This need is like faulty wiring I haven’t fixed yet, sparking just under my skin. It’s a weakness and something I can’t afford to let loose, or it’ll wreak nothing but havoc and ruin everything I’m attempting to do.
Under his stare, time stretches, making me self-conscious of every movement I make. I break the stare and take in his office.
It’s clean and organized, with zero clutter. Everything is in its proper place, even the papers on his desk. The only personal item is a picture frame facing him, and I burn to see it.
His cut hangs from a tree-like coat rack in one corner. There are some black-and-white pictures on the walls, scenic views, a lake, a forest, and a close-up of a tree. Similar to the one at what I think of as “our place”.
My gaze slowly returns to him, and I find him watching me. He has one arm propped up now, his chin resting on his fist.
The words in bold black tattooed lettering mock me from his forearm.
RESPECT
Give it to those worthy
HONOR
Bleed it
HONESTY
Demand it
LOYALTY
Above all else
I fight not to grind my teeth. Really? Loyalty ? To whom? Certainly not to me.
“Why stripping?” he asks, still studying me.
I shrug. “Why not? I love to dance. I’ve done it my whole life, and the money’s great. Plus, I’m not too proud to say I like material things.”
His mouth twitches with amusement or disappointment—I don’t know. “You said you’ve been dancing for a long time?” He tilts his head, analyzing my response. “Ever had any classical training?”
I fight the urge to shift. “Yes.” I offer nothing more. What is this? Is this a game or does he really still not remember me? Needing to steer this conversation before I give too much away, I ask, “How long have you owned the club?”
“Five years.”
“I’ve been wondering,” he says, his voice low, controlled. “Why that costume? The Army jacket, the plaid shirt?”
“I wanted to stand out. Tell a tragic story,” I say, my heart pounding. Our story.
“You know I served?”
“Oh, uh-mmm, yeah.” I gesture to his left bicep. “I saw the tattoo.”
Maybe he has an inkling of what’s really going on here, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to come right out and ask. Before I can put it out there, he hammers another nail home in my chest.
“You know, you remind me of a girl,” he says, and breaks eye contact as he looks directly at the picture I was eyeing a moment ago.
Not a woman. A girl.
“What, like an old girlfriend?”
“In a way, yeah.” Well, if that doesn’t feel like shit, I’m not sure what does.
“Somebody you went to school with?” I ask, knowing the answer but needing to hear more truths spill from his lips, the whole of it.
“No. Someone I met after. In Albuquerque.”
“Someone special?”
He hesitates. “Someone I lost… a girl I lost track of.”
Not special then. Just… lost.
When he turns back to me, I struggle to hold his gaze, instead studying the new ink on his other fist—a red swallow. Like he took something that was “ours” and made it into a “theirs”. Possibly to represent whoever’s heart he stole after mine?
I swallow the toxic urges bubbling up inside me and fight to steady my resolve.
I’ve come this far. I won’t crumble now and fuck everything up.
And fuck him for his lost girl comment. He lost track of me?
I was right fucking here. I waited so long for him that I nearly died trying to escape the chaos he stirred up before he left.
Veno finally tracked me down, and where the fuck was he?
Not here protecting me, that’s for damn sure.
“How much did you check into me?” He asks with a sharper-than-normal tone.
“Enough to know you don’t usually let things go that far with an employee,” I say, keeping my tone light, but there’s an edge to it.
I think he catches on as the muscle in his jaw jumps.
He swipes his hand slowly down his mouth, palming his goatee as he licks his bottom lip.
The muscles in his arm flex with the movement, his tattoos transforming into arm porn.
Bastard , I think, as wetness coats my panties, although my eyes eat up every detail.
“The girls who audition don’t usually sit on my lap, grind on my dick, and stick their sweet little fingers in my mouth for me to suck on.
” His dark-blue eyes penetrate with each word.
The room shrinks, the air sucked away by his comment and the heat in his gaze.
“Not sure if that’s a regular thing for you, but it was definitely a first for me. ”
Mentally, I’m walking over and slapping him across the face. It’s a struggle, but I maintain my composure. “It won’t happen again,” I say, projecting sincerity. “I’m here for the job. Nothing more.”
He watches me for a long moment, then nods, jaw tight. “Good. Because that can’t happen again if I hire you. Whatever this is”—he motions between us—“would be something we’d both need to ignore.”
I hold his gaze, trying to act as if I’m on the fence, though I’m solidly on one side of it. Using another HOC will be safer and easier. And once I’m working here, I’ll have better access to other members of the MC, since they supposedly visit the establishment quite often.
Nodding, he says, “We have a deal then. I’ll have my assistant, Raven, contact you.
” He hands me the paperwork from the corner of his desk.
“If you’ll just fill out the first two now, we’ll know how to contact you, what kind of shifts you’re looking for, and what you’re okay with.
Raven likes to review those details before putting you on the schedule.
She’ll give you a call to confirm everything, get you set up with the person who handles costumes, and answer any questions you might have. ”
“Okay, no problem.”
The tension between us is palpable as I fill out the forms, his presence like a malignant storm cloud, hovering over me and studying my every move. His mood charges the air, the intensity building with every second I sit in front of him.
When I’m done, I stand and hand over the papers while slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Thank you for the job. It’ll help me get my brother back on his feet so we can make a go of it here.”
He nods and takes them from my hands. I turn to go.
“Lil’,” he says suddenly, stopping me in my tracks. I freeze, stomach tightening.
Masking my surprise, I ask, “Lil’?”
“It’s a good name for the stage. Or would you prefer something else?” His gaze is inquisitive as if he’s daring me to react.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “As long as it’s not Angel, I’m good with whatever.”
He doesn’t pry, but the curiosity has a wrinkle forming between his brows. “I already told you what went down with the employees I let go, but it still needs to be said. I expect honesty and that the other girls are treated with courtesy and respect. I don’t tolerate drama or lies.”
“I understand.”
For a long beat, he says nothing, then nods once.
“Good. As far as private dances go, it’s your body, your choice.
You decide when and what you’re willing to do.
Raven will review it with you and fill the staff in so they know what to tell clients when they ask.
If there’s ever a problem with a client, another employee, or something outside of the club that gets too big for you to handle, I hope you’ll come to me.
If not me, go to Raven. Raven handles most of the day-to-day stuff, but if it’s bigger than that, I expect you to come see me. ”
“I can do that.”
Something passes between us—an unspoken truth, a shared acknowledgment of our attraction that we’re both going to ignore. But I push it aside and head for the door.
“You know, you already had the job, Lily. Before the lap dance.”
I pause, a grin tugging at my lips. “I know.”
I walk away, ready to put some much-needed distance between me and the man who has the power to turn me back into the woman who was too weak to survive on her own. I’m not that girl anymore. And if being around him brings her to the surface, then distance is exactly what I need to keep her at bay.