Chapter Eight #2
blanc that was in a silver bucket filled with ice on the table (yes, Marcus had
a silver wine bucket, making me think that perhaps he had it all and I
wasn’t talking about shit you could buy, just it all).
He refilled my wine while I asked my next.
“You have a place in Aspen?”
He put the bottle back and his eyes came to me as he
replied, “Yes.”
I twirled linguine. “What else you got?”
“A beach house on Coronado. And a set of six lots that I
bought in Englewood four years ago that had houses on them that were in a great
neighborhood, but not in great shape. I had them razed and then had a number of
trees planted so when the time came for me to build there I’d be in the city,
close to work, but I’d have nature around me, peace, quiet, and privacy.”
A beach house in Coronado.
Nice.
And peace, quiet, and privacy.
That sounded real good.
“Mm-hmm,” I muttered to my linguine before I put it into my
mouth.
“Does that trouble you?”
I chewed, swallowed, and answered, “Why would it trouble
me?”
“You seem troubled,” he remarked.
I put my fork on my plate and gave him my full attention.
“I’m not troubled that evidence is suggesting you’re a lot
more loaded than I thought you were, and I thought you were pretty loaded,
sugar.” I said my next watching him carefully, which was the same way I was
speaking, “I’m troubled because you wanna take me to
Aspen next week when I’m gonna be back at work.”
His head tipped a bit to the side, but other than that he
didn’t look ticked.
However, he did ask, “You’re going back to work?”
“Yes.”
“So soon?”
“It’s not soon, honey bunch,” I told him cautiously. “By the
time I go back, I’ll have been on vacation for a month.”
That got me a scary look as his eyes went hard.
“You weren’t on vacation, Daisy.”
“I’ve been away,” I said quietly. “And I’m a draw. I’m not
on that stage, they don’t need the rope outside and the only person who doesn’t
hurt because of that is me, seein’ as Smithie has me
on paid leave and he pays me a whack. But you know that, I’m sure.”
He inclined his head and kept his gaze on me. “I do.”
“So I need to get back to work.” I shot him a smile. “And
anyway, I’m runnin’ out of Southern movies to watch. The
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood is a kickass book, but the movie
sucks.”
Marcus reached for his bread, murmuring, “I’ll talk to
Smithie. He can wait a week while we’re in Aspen, and when we come back, if you
still want to dance, you can go back then.”
I didn’t get into the “if you still want to dance” part.
I said, “I already arranged it with Smithie, Marcus.”
He chewed his bread, swallowed, and locked his eyes on me.
“I’ll rearrange it.”
Oh boy.
“Okay, sugar, just to say, that’s my job and Smithie’s my
boss. I know you got a stake in that club but he’s my boss, and we got
it arranged.”
“And like I’ll said, I’ll rearrange it.”
“I got a Porsche to pay for.”
“And you’re on paid leave.” He shook his head and took up
his fork. “It’s too soon.”
“Honey, I need to get back to life. I had my time. I got my
daisies. I did my drama. I’m not sayin’ nothin’ else is gonna spring up
with all that and bite me in the ass. I’m gonna have
my moments. But now, sittin’ around the house is one
long moment that reminds me my life was interrupted by that asshole.”
“You won’t be thinking about that in Aspen with me.”
“True enough,” I agreed. “And I wanna
do that, Marcus. I really do. I’ve never been to Aspen and I bet it’s real
pretty. And it’s sweet you wanna spend time with me
there. It’s just sweet you like spending time with me. But Smithie takes care
of me. It’s time I take care of him right back. Maybe after a while, I can take
a few days and we can go.”
“Smithie’s fine, Daisy.”
“Without me there, Smithie’s bleeding money, Marcus.”
“He isn’t.”
“Maybe you don’t get to look at the books but when I say he
pays me a whack, he pays me a whack.”
His gaze steady on me, he socked it to me.
“He doesn’t. I do. I cover your salary, Daisy, and I have
for the last two months.”
“Say what?” I whispered.
“I pay your salary. Smithie couldn’t afford you.”
But I was stuck on the last two months.
The last two months.
The last two months where that time ago Smithie took away a
whole set, one song off the other sets and ended my lap dances but increased my
pay so much, my eyeballs burned when I got a good look at the first paycheck.
And…
Two months.
Before the rape.
Before anything.
“Say what?” I repeated, not on a whisper, on a breath.
“I didn’t want you on the stage for four sets with those
sets being three songs, too long alone up there and exposed. And I definitely
didn’t want you doing lap dances. So to cover the loss in tips that would be,
we elevated your salary, and because Smithie couldn’t pay that and it wasn’t
his decision, I covered it.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“No. But I knew I wanted to.”
I stared at him.
Then I started, “Why didn’t you—?”
I cut myself off because it felt all of a sudden like
something was stuck in my throat and I thought it pertinent to focus on
breathing.
“Daisy?”
Marcus looked concerned.
I put a hand flat on the table and pushed through the thing
choking me.
“That was two months ago.”
“Darling—”
“Before he got to me.”
Marcus went still.
I pushed up on my hand, shoved back my seat, and took my
feet.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” I screeched.
He was out of his seat, too, and approaching me.
“Daisy—”
I scuttled back and lifted up a hand but he didn’t stop
moving so I didn’t either as I bit out, “Don’t come near me.”
“I had things happening,” he said quietly.
“You saw me. You knew you wanted to take your shot,” I
hissed. It all was coming to me, pouring over me like boiling oil. “That day.
That day you were there and you left without even looking at me. You were up in
Smithie’s office with Smithie. The next day Smithie gave me my raise. You saw
me. You knew then.”
He kept coming at me, stalking me around the table.
“When I made my approach, Daisy, I wanted it to have my full
attention.”
“If I was Marcus Sloan’s moll, no one would even think of
touching me.”
“I couldn’t have known you’d be raped, baby.”
I shook my head, still retreating while he advanced and he
did it speaking.
“And you’re wrong. Men like that I don’t get so I don’t get
how they can do the things they do, but if he had that monstrousness in his
head, it’s doubtful anyone could have stopped him, even me.”
He was making sense and I didn’t need sense.
“I need to go,” I forced out.
“It’s not my fault.”
That made me stop dead. The words and the tortured way he
said them.
When I stopped, he moved in. Hands cupping the sides of my
head, he held it back and bent his face to mine.
“It’s not my fault, honey. It isn’t anyone’s fault. If I
could have stopped it, I would. If I could make a miracle and go back in time
to erase it, I would. But I can’t. And you could have been mine then, and
unless I had reason to put a man on you, which I can’t say I would do, not in
the beginning, it might alarm you and I would do nothing that might alarm you,
he would have found his way to get to you.”
I shook my head in his hands then nodded it.
“You’re right.”
He stared into my eyes.
“I’m…I…I’m…”
“Just take a breath,” he urged.
I did that.
Then I said it.
“I’m sorry.” I shoved my head through his hands so I could
plant my face in his chest and I grabbed onto his sweater at the sides of his
waist. “God, I’m so sorry.”
He wrapped his arms around me, murmuring into the top of my
hair, “It’s okay.”
I let his sweater go so I could wrap my arms around him too.
Marcus held me and I held him back.
Eventually, still in my hair, he said softly, “Thinking this
is one of those moments you were talking about.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, embarrassed, so I shoved my face deeper
into his chest. “God, I’m so, so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
I tipped my head back. “That was…it was stupid. It wasn’t
even logical.”
“You get a pass on being illogical. At least for another
month or six or, seeing as you’re female, another seventy years.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He grinned down at me.
His grin faded, his look grew probing, and he whispered,
“Good?”
I stopped giving him the stink eye and nodded. “Yeah,
honey.”
“Go to Aspen with me.”
“And the hot guy takes advantage,” I muttered.
His grin came back. “I didn’t get where I am pissing away
opportunities either, Daisy.”
I rolled my eyes.
He gave me a light shake.
I rolled them back.
“Aspen,” he pushed.
“I need to take care of Smithie.”
He studied me.
Then he sighed.
It took a lot but I didn’t smile my triumph, just felt it
warm me deep down inside.
But I got serious when I asked, “You pay me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that…uh, gonna continue?”
“Do you like stripping?”
“I’m fucking amazing on that stage.”
He shook his head, but did it with his lips curled up,
holding me tight. “Then yes, it’ll continue as long as you want to be on that
stage.”
“I rocked a private dance, sugar, but I can’t say they were
my favorite things. They were just below having my eyes burned out with a
red-hot fire poker, having my nails ripped out at the roots, and having a
really bad hair day.”
He started chuckling.
It looked good on him but I didn’t join in.
When Marcus noticed my seriousness, he sobered and asked,
“What?”
“There’s nothing I can ever—”
He let me go with one hand to put two fingers to my lips.
When I shut up, he took his fingers away and said,
“Something else my sister taught me. If you can give it, you don’t blink at
giving someone you care about something they need or they want. No matter how
deep it cuts, how much it costs, how steep the price might be in a different
way. It’s an honor and it’s a blessing. So giving you the things I can give you
means I’m honored and blessed, Daisy. Please don’t take that away from me.”
I stared up at him thinking Marcus Sloan wasn’t like a
dream.
He was just a dream.