CHAPTER ONE
Denver
Newman’s week had been a clusterfuck. There was no other way to describe it. He’d been guilted by his mother’s friend into looking at the failing PR firm. Bribery had included cookies and a pot roast, and sucker that he was for food, added to the fact he couldn’t say no to anyone, he’d agreed. That was his first mistake. The second was he’d forgotten just what an arrogant son of a bitch Mrs. Marla’s son actually was.
Newman had hit a wall with every suggestion he’d offered. The thickheaded idiot and his colleagues on the board had vetoed each one. Today, he’d packed up his briefcase while the idiots watched, and then left. His parting shot had been “when you get real, call me.” His cell phone had rung five times since, but he’d ignored it.
Day had drifted into night while he sat in his hotel room and continued to read through files and try to work out how to do something for those stubborn fuckers. When frustration started to turn him mean, he decided on a walk to clear his head.
The problem was, Newman didn’t like failing, and he didn’t like letting people down. It was a fault, there was no doubting that, and one that had cost him dearly in his lifetime. It started when he was old enough to realize just how much he owed his parents, and had never diminished. People’s expectations had always weighed heavily on him, and so he did what he could in life to live up to them. Not this time, however. This time he’d walked away. A rarity, but it had either been that or maim someone.
“Let them simmer,” Newman muttered, looking at the sign up ahead. Beer and naked dancing girls. Seriously, who the hell could ask for more. In his current state of mind, he could spend a few happy hours drinking a buzz on, then head back to his hotel and fall into slumber.
The flashing neon sign said Come in for a eer. Which suggested someone needed to change the bulbs on theB. It didn’t look like a place you’d take your mom, but was perfect if you wanted to sulk in a dark corner.
Opening the door, Newman winced as a loud screeching noise assaulted his eardrums. Looking around the dark interior he searched for the culprit. A cat, maybe? Was someone torturing the poor animal? He hoped not, because he was a sucker for cats, and didn’t feel like getting into it with someone tonight. He wasn’t sure he would stop.
Moving through the dark recesses of the bar, Newman saw a group of men clustered around a chair. On top stood a woman. She had her back to Newman and appeared to be dancing and singing. He realized it was her making the god-awful noise.
She wore a tartan skirt that stopped above her knees, torn black tights, and a black tank top with two diagonal zips. Her boots were for shit kicking, black with laces up to the ankles. Not the kind of outfit to inspire lust while exotic dancing, Newman didn’t think, but then it took all kinds. Having said that, when she turned, she did a move with her hips that was quite something, and he had to admit, that was a fine ass. He believed the term for her moves was twerking, and the men watching seemed appreciative, but he hadn’t come here for that. He wanted beer.
Moving to the bar, he sat.
“What can I do you for?”
Newman gave his order and tried to block out the screeching still going on behind him.
“Seriously, man, she may have a fine ass, and seems to move well, but she can’t sing worth a damn,” Newman said, wincing as she hit a high note… wrong.
The man had that bored expression that said he’d been there too long, and while he wasn’t looking, life had passed him by.
“Never seen her before. She wandered in a few hours ago, started drinking bourbon. After three, ended up on the chair. She has the moves, and I don’t think those guys are worried about her voice. It’s the rack that’s the drawcard, and that ass.”
The barman said the words with no emotion, suggesting he’d seen too many of each and was immune.
“Not a heavy drinker then.”
“Lightweight,” the man said, looking disgusted. “And as the entertainment’s taking a break, I’m letting her keep the crowd happy. In fact, with those moves, I’d look at hiring her if she wanted work.”
“Hell of a crowd,” Newman said beneath his breath. There were a total of five men in the room, seven counting him and the barman.
Newman had just taken a mouthful of beer when the woman, who had her back to him, did some kind of shimmy that made his eyes cross, then turned to the front. The smile on his face froze as he got his first clear look at her. Sure it was dark, and he was some distance away, but he knew that face. What the hell was Hope Lawrence doing here? The woman was a serious nature freak, straight as they came, and he could add geeky to the mix. Other than that one embarrassing moment with his friend Buster, he didn’t think he’d ever seen her drink alcohol. Not that he’d seen her in years, but still, he didn’t think she’d have changed that much… or had she? Newman was on his feet before he realized it, and heading her way.
“Show us what you got, sweetheart!”
The men who ringed Hope were encouraging her to get her clothes off with whistles and calls of encouragement, and soon they were all chanting their demands.
Newman had nearly reached her when one of the men slid his hand up the outside of one long leg, and under the hem of her skirt. Hope looked down, and Newman could tell she was struggling to focus. She tried to slap the hand aside, but missed and nearly tumbled off the chair.
“How about you back off and give the lady some room?”
“Get lost!” one of the men said, not even bothering to look at Newman, who now stood behind the group. “She’s no lady.”
Newman was one of those people who took a while to anger, but when he got there it was best you stand clear. A slow burner, his friends called him. The combination of those idiots who’d been pushing his buttons all week, tiredness, and a longing to be home contributed to his current dark mood. And now some idiot was telling him to get lost.
“No,” Newman said, forcing his way through the ring of men all getting an eyeful of Hope’s breasts as she bent at the waist to shimmy her hips. “Now back off, or I’ll make you.”
Someone grabbed his shoulder, so he started swinging. The first blow got a guy on the jaw and sent him backward. He took a shot to the eye that had him seeing stars. Newman lived in a small town with several friends, all of whom kept fit like he did. They sparred often. He was grateful for that now. Swinging, he took the man down.
