“Every day,” Lauren said. She’d done almost all the talking so far, Junior nodding along and staring at her with open adoration. Being with them was almost as bad as being with Josh and Aly. Everyone around me was disgustingly in love, and it was starting to make me nauseous.
“How much are you going to charge per hour?” I asked.
Lauren answered, and my mind went to work on the math, tallying up the number of private rooms and how many hours they could logistically rent them each week.
“That will do a lot to help cover the cost of renovations,” I said. During the tour, Lauren had explained their plans to turn Velvet into the safest, most profitable play club in the country. I was fully on board with that, because money flowing into my accounts from a legal business would always be welcomed. My revenge had an expiration date, and after that, I planned to be done with gambling for good, which meant I’d need to replace that income with legitimate sources like this one.
I turned to face Junior. “You need any help looking over the books?”
He shook his head. “I’m good.”
Lauren slipped her arm through his and stared up at him with hearts in her eyes. “He’s a secret math whiz.”
That didn’t really surprise me. Junior was a cautious man. He wouldn’t be so hell-bent on buying this building if it weren’t going to be profitable, regardless of how in love he was with one of the club’s owners.
“I still want to see them,” I said. “Just to double-check. If I’m going to be a silent partner in this little venture, I want to make sure we’re squared away first.”
“I’ll send you the numbers later,” Junior said.
I glanced at my watch. I had a lot on my calendar for the rest of the night and wanted to hit the gym before I went to my last, and most important, appointment. “We done here?”
“We’re done,” Junior said.
“Good. Don’t fuck this up.”
With that, I saw myself out.
4
Stella
It was Friday night, andmy last client was late. His appointment was at 11:15 p.m. but it was now 11:25 and there was no sign of him. Technically we were open until midnight, but this wasn’t my night to take walk-ins, so if I didn’t have a client, I didn’t have to be here. I could be upstairs, lying flat on my couch with a heating pad, until it was time to close up.
As predicted, my back was stiff, muscles already tightening, shoulders achy from holding my arms out for so long. I’d downed a couple of acetaminophen to take the edge off, but the pain was making me cranky, and I’d be even more pissed if my client didn’t show.
I was about to give up when a large blond man swept inside. From my perch in the seating area, I had a perfect view of him. He was dressed like a total slut: gray sweatpants and a white tee that looked two sizes too small. A gym bag hung from his shoulder, and his hair was damp like he’d just stepped out of the shower.
I felt like apearvertwatching him from the shadows, but for the life of me, I couldn’t pull my gaze away. His profile was striking. Sharp jaw, aquiline nose, defined cheekbones, full lower lip. I wanted to study him, draw him, trace his lines and learn how they fit together to create such a stunning specimen of a man.
My gaze dropped to his beefy arms. Smooth, virgin skin as far as the eye could see. Good. I liked working with blank canvases. It was much easier than trying to cram my designs in between other artists’ work.
He stopped when he didn’t see anyone at the front desk, and I probably should have said something, but I was still too busy drinking him in. He looked like the poster boy for Farmers of America, the definition of corn-fed good looks. Tall enough that he could have been three tractors in a trench coat. Broad enough that I worried the growth hormones we injected into our beef were starting to mess with our genetics.
An annoyed look crossed his face as he caught sight of me, and all thoughts of farm boys fled my mind. His expression was pure ice king, down to the haughty quirk of his brow. It made me want to draw him even more. Seat him upon a frozen throne and put a crown of icicles atop his head. Maybe add a pair of antlers and replace the lower half of his legs with those of a deer. I’d turn him into a villain straight out of Narnia and flank his throne with polar bears dressed in battle armor.
“You Stella?” he asked in a gruff tone that shredded my fantasy.
“That depends,” I said, leaning back into my chair.
His brows drew together. “On what?”
“On whether or not you plan to apologize for being ten minutes late to your appointment.”
“I hit traffic,” he said, turning fully toward me. Damn, he was big.
“And you couldn’t have called?”
He attempted to freeze me in place with his stare. “I don’t believe in distracted driving.”
