Page 77 of Resist

“I’m still not quite sure.” But I think of Vaughn’s smile at the park the other day. The sound of her voice over the phone. The way I get hard thinking about her.

“It’s always good when a woman intrigues a man.”

I level her with a look that says I’m not buying whatever dating advice she’s selling and then breathe a sigh of relief when the waiter slides the check folder onto the table.

“Saved by the bill.” I laugh and then look at my watch. “And a meeting that starts in twenty minutes.”

“I’m going to get it out of you one way or another.”

Spoken like a true woman.

Smoke swirls around me.

The rich scent of Cuban tobacco seduces me as I draw in the taste of fine whiskey.

The meeting that saved me? More like an excuse to go to The Club and relax for a bit.

“That good, huh?”

I glance over to Chuck and nod, not really wanting to be bugged, but respond anyway. “That good.”

“So what was up with the woman you brought the last time you were here?”

“She was no one.” The less these guys know about Vaughn, the better. The members of The Club are bastards without morals. Case in point, why I can fit in perfectly here.

“No one?” He chuckles and draws on his cigar. “The way you kissed her in the hallway sure made her seem to be someone . . . well, unless she was on the clock, of course. Then you and I both know she’s a damn good lay who’d suck you dry, swallow it all without complaining, and then you could discard her when you’re done with her.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the leather of the lounge chair in an attempt to let go of what he just said. “Not disposable, not on the clock,” I murmur before drawing another inhale on the cigar.

“She could be on my clock then. Or should I say cock.” He nudges me and laughs that fake laugh of his that says I’m way too fucking important when he’s riding Daddy’s inheritance without a single thing credited to his name.

“Watch it, Chuck,” I warn but keep my eyes closed, my tone even.

“I heard Preston was asking about her. Said she looked familiar.”

My blood boils instantly at the words. At knowing Carter was here watching from afar and I never noticed him. At wondering what the fuck it is that happened between the two of them.

“Preston’s a politician. Everyone looks familiar to him,” I say. “His dick’s far from discriminating, so let’s not insult my date.”

“Man, I needed this.” Of course, he keeps talking, never one to get a hint. “It’s been a shitty week so far. Too many pricks and not enough pussies”—he nudges me again—“if you know what I mean.”

“Mmm.” It’s all I trust myself to say because Chuck is high on the list of obnoxious members. Just because I represented him in his divorce doesn’t mean I like him. Not even a little.

“Hey, Mitch said he saw you with Roxanne . . . uh, Roxanne—” He snaps his fingers as if he’s trying to think of her last name while I all but wrap my fingers around his neck to get him to shut his nosy ass up. But rather, I don’t look his way because I don’t trust myself to not give away anything.

“Flannery,” I finish for him.

“That’s it. He said he saw you two having dinner at a bistro.” The restaurant flashes in my mind. French feel, American food, and Roxanne continuing on with her lies. “If you’re hitting that too, dude, you are the fucking man!”

Chuck. Chuck. I don’t give a fuck.

I crack an eye open and level him with a glare. “And what business is it of yours?”

He nudges me, and my hand clenches around my highball glass in response.

“You’re among like-minded men, Lockhart. We don’t spill each other’s secrets, and we sure as fuck don’t talk outside The Club.”

But we do. The fact that he knows about that night with Roxanne says we do, considering Mitch saw me.