Chapter Twenty

Troy

Hawk and I drink the Glenfiddich until dawn. When I wake up, I’m on an enormous black leather couch with a fur throw draped over my legs. My head hurts like hell, and the rest of me doesn’t feel great, either. Worse, the confidence brought on by the scotch has completely evaporated, and I feel lower than I thought possible.

When I sit up, I groan in pain. My head spins, and I rub my eyes, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Morning,” Hawk calls in a scratchy voice. He walks into the room carrying a wooden tray of scrambled eggs and bacon. “I made breakfast.”

“You made breakfast?” I wince under the agony of hearing my own voice.

Hawk snorts. “Well, not really. I called Steakhouse and had them deliver brunch. But it’s still good. Those damn Caldwell’s excel at everything. Each one so different, but all of them a brood of fucking overachievers.”

My body can’t decide if the smell is mouth-watering or nauseating. One moment I feel like grabbing the bacon from the platter and shoving it in my mouth. And in the very next, I feel like throwing up all over Hawk’s supple couch.

“I don’t think I can eat anything.” I close my eyes and groan, throwing the cover over my eyes like a furry blindfold. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You need to eat.” Hawk sits down on the other end of the couch and yawns. “Trust me, I felt like shit when I woke up too. A little hair of the dog masquerading as a Bloody Mary, and I feel light years better.”

“Yeah, I don’t think bacon and eggs are going to make me feel better.” Unbidden, my mind goes straight into the sewer as I think of Joslyn. I dread the moment when I have to tell her that I won’t work with her anymore, and honestly, I don’t know if it’s because I still feel that way, or because of how ashamed I am after our nasty fight.

Hawk shrugs. “Suit yourself, Cass.” He rises to his feet and stretches his long limbs toward the cantilevered ceiling. “I gotta get to work. Debugging and all. When you’re done, just show yourself out.”

“I can take a hint.” Climbing to my feet leaves me winded and dizzy, and I stumble forward, putting my hand on the pristine white wall.

“No, man, you don’t have to go right now.” Hawk stares at me from the doorway. “Stay as long as you need to. Mi casa is su casa.”

“I have to go to work.” It sounds like the worst thing in the world as I say the words. “Maybe I’ll tell Nixon about your new thing.”

Hawk rolls his eyes. “My new ‘thing’ is poised to become the latest and greatest in casino security. And don’t say much – it’s not ready yet. The last thing I need is Caldwell over here spouting his baseless demands. Damn bitch thinks he can just snap his fingers and have whatever he wants.”

“Aye aye, captain,” I say with a little salute. “Duly noted. Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“There’s no way I was letting you drive. Feel better man, yeah?”

I nod weakly. “Yeah,” I mutter under my breath. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

The arid and steamy air hits me in between the eyes by the time I leave Hawk’s mansion and drive back to the Vegas Strip. I pass a couple of ambitious joggers – both college kids, sweating like crazy – and it makes me wonder if Joslyn is still training despite having completed her audition.

Stop thinking about her, idiot, I tell myself, clenching my jaw and squinting at the road. She’s icy cold, remember? But telling myself that isn’t quite enough to rid myself of the powerful memory of Joslyn’s sleek, taut body pressed against mine.

When I get into work, I go straight to Nixon’s office. My hangover has started to subside a little, thanks to a giant bottle of Vitamin Water, but I still feel like shit.

“Nix?” I call as I knock on the door. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” Nixon calls back. Thankfully, he doesn’t sound nearly as irritated as he did the last time I saw him. “Come in.”

I push open the door and slouch down across from Nixon’s desk. He looks up and frowns. “Troy, you look like shit. What happened?”

Oh, nothing, just drank half a bottle of eighty-dollar scotch in a useless attempt to wipe my brain free of Joslyn Monroe. Mission failed.

Instead, I shrug. “Nothing,” I lie. “I stayed up drinking with a friend.”

Nixon snorts. “Ah, to be young and single,” he says in a twist of irony neither of us ever saw coming. “What’s up?”

“How’s the security tech here at the Armónico?”

Nixon frowns. “I didn’t know you cared about technology. And to be honest, I don’t know. Ford developed most of it.”

Yep, another brilliant Caldwell. “Oh.”

“Why? Something going on that I need to know about?”

“No.” I shake my head. The motion sends me into a spiral of pain, and I can’t help wincing. “I mean, I was just thinking about the future, you know.”

“Well, Ford’s a really great developer. I hope you’re not suggesting I replace my own brother with someone else. I mean, Ford is the one who designed this technology in the first place. I know it was years ago, but it’s still top-notch.”

Shit. This isn’t going the way I want it to.

“Troy? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” I say lamely, getting to my feet and stretching. “I should get back to the floor.”

“Right.”

When I turn around to wave goodbye, I see his eyes are already glued back to his computer.

I leave Nixon’s office, check in with Jack, and spend a couple of hours prowling the gaming floor. The casino isn’t as packed today – there’s some new show opening a few doors down – and I’m relieved that work isn’t as stressful as normal. At lunch, I chow down on a double-bacon cheeseburger.

Joslyn would like this place, I think as I look around. Goddamnit, why does everything have to remind me of her?

Despite not being able to push Joslyn out of my head, I feel a lot better after eating and sucking down a cold-brew coffee. My headache eases away, and although I smell musky and sweaty from skipping a morning shower, I feel much more alert by the time I get back to the Armónico after lunch.

Thankfully, the rest of the day passes without incident. By the time my shift ends, I’m ready to go home and plant face-down in my bed for the next twelve hours. And finally, Joslyn has disappeared from my head. The only things I can think about are sleep and guzzling as much water as my stomach can hold. I whistle under my breath as I walk to the parking garage.

“Hey, asshole!”

Warily, I turn around and see Joslyn standing there. She’s wearing a pair of cropped black workout pants, a black top, and an expression like she’s about to open up a can of whoop ass on me.

“I can’t get rid of you, can I,” I mutter, turning back around and unlocking my car. As soon as the words escape my mouth, I regret them. Fuck it, I think bitterly. She’s the one who’s always antagonizing me…it’s time to bite back. Just who in the hell does she think she is anyway?

Joslyn storms over to me and grabs my shoulder, yanking me away from my car with surprising strength. Her lips twist in a scowl and her eyes narrow into furious slits.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Joslyn growls.

“Nothing,” I mutter. “Look, I’m going home. I’ve had a shitty day, and–”

“Well, I’ve come to tell you that I don’t need you anymore,” Joslyn says in a voice I don’t recognize. It drips arrogance and something else. Something like…hate. She tosses her head and inhales deeply, her nostrils flaring with purpose. “In fact, I don’t want you anymore, either.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms over my chest, my headache returning full force. “Because I don’t exactly want you right now, either. And I was going to tell you myself–”

“Oh, no.” Joslyn expands her tiny stature and shoves her pointer finger into my chest. It’s like a nail impaling my skin, but I don’t move to slap it away. In spite of my piss poor upbringing, I’m not my fucking wastoid father. I’ll never raise my hand to a woman, no matter how many times she comes at me looking for a pound of my flesh. “Don’t try to act like this was your idea, shithead. I’m not afraid of Dante Giovanetti. He’s a bully, and he’s not going to do anything to hurt me. He’s just trying to scare me and my father.” She puffs out her chest like a gladiator. “And I can take care of myself. I always have, and I always will. I don’t need some big lug who’s afraid of spiders and nightmares.”

“Yeah, okay,” I mutter, not wanting to get into yet another explosive argument with Joslyn.

A passerby stops to stare. He even opens his mouth, but I spear him with a death glare, so he clamps it shut and walks on.

“What the fuck? You don’t even care?” Joslyn cries in a shrill voice. “And you know what? I don’t need your help training for American Ninja Warrior, either. You’ve already shown me just how useless you are with that! Not only can you not get over cannonball alley, you can’t even fuck me right!”

As much as I want to resist it, anger brews in my stomach, and I can feel myself about to snap. I may not fight back physically, but I’m not above partaking in the vicious war of words.

“That’s right,” Joslyn says, her face a mask of solid granite. “You’re nothing but a pussy and an asshole and a stupid lunkhead!”

“Fuck off,” I snarl.

“No, you fuck off!” Joslyn yells. Her unrecognizable voice shrieks at a volume so high, my headache returns with a vengeance. “I’m independent and strong, and what are you? You’re nothing, Troy Cass! You’re nothing but Nixon Caldwell’s lackey. Second best!”

I stare into her bright blue eyes, and for a moment, I can feel something still there between us. Something hanging as fine as gossamer thread, something threatening to destroy us both if we let it. Joslyn licks her lips, and her angry face melts away, and suddenly, I know that she feels it too. But I can’t give in – I can’t let this woman control my life. Not when she’s spent nearly every moment of our acquaintance insulting me. She doesn’t respect who I am as a person. As a man. In fact, I can’t believe I ever thought there was anything more to Joslyn than her selfish, tempestuous, ignorant nature. She doesn’t know how to let anyone in, and she doesn’t know the first thing about intimacy.

“Fine.” I curl my hands into fists to keep from touching her. “I’m fucking gone.”

Joslyn’s jaw drops as I climb into my car and slam the door. She pounds on the windows with her tiny fists, glaring inside. Whatever touch or trace or lingering hint of tenderness I saw in her eyes flees the scene, and I can tell that she’s filled to the brim with hot, quaking rage.

“You’re just going to leave?” Slam. Slam. Slam. “Again? You’re not even going to argue with me?”

I shove my key into the ignition and slam my foot on the brake, trying to ignore the pounding sound of Joslyn’s fists against the window and the windshield as my car rumbles to life.

This is it. I pause before shifting my car into gear. I can decide right now. Do I stay and talk with her, or do I leave?

I look into her face one last time. It’s time to put her behind me.

But first, I roll down the window, grab both of her hands as she flails at me. “After I ran from your cage, I was able to find a phone and call the police. How do you think your father found you?” Her face grows pale and I go on. “After that, my father beat me nearly to death and I ended up in a coma for almost six weeks. Once I woke up, I went into the foster system, met Nixon and his family, and the rest is history.” I let go of her hands. “You’re not the only one who owns pain, Joslyn. But you’re the only person I know who hits people over the head with it.”

Pushing my foot on the gas pedal, I drive out of the garage, leaving a shell-shocked looking woman staring after me.