Chapter 13

Jax

“—even listening to me, bud?”

I lifted my head and hauled my thoughts back together from the corners of my mind. All of them had been of Riley, either of the taste or smell of her, of her quivering body, or of the fear in her eyes before I’d claimed her again.

Bane, my business partner, sat across the conference table from me, tapping his ballpoint on his open schedule. “Dude.”

“What?”

“You’re not even here right now.” The man cut an imposing figure—he’d been intro college football back in the day, before I’d found him and turned him away from sport and into business. He brushed his hand over his jet-black hair, brow wrinkling at me. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “So we’re opening in Delaware next week.”

“We already discussed that.” Bane pointed the nib of his pen at me. “Five minutes ago. Delaware is done and dusted. We’re talking about that opportunity in France. The restaurant?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, the restaurant. Fuck it, I don’t like French food, though. I’d rather open something in Italy.”

“By all means,” Bane replied, still with a frown.

I focused on him completely. I was usually the consummate professional, and I’d been the opposite for the past week. Totally out of character for me. I was supposed to be the dominator, the one who closed the deals and took control of the meetings, while Bane was the smooth talker, the charmer.

“What do you mean, by all means? You’re usually tight-assed about this shit,” I said.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bane said, “that the club scene, while it’s popular, it’s a good source of income and all that shit, but it’s pretty much dead.”

I scooched forward in my cushy, leather seat, honing in on his face. Focused on that ugly-ass scar across his cheek, the sharpness of his nose. He was like Kylo Ren in Star Wars, except more swole. “This again?”

“Yeah, this again. You know I’ve never liked the club vibe. I know you inherited the first one, but it snowballed after that, and I never saw either of us as ‘that guy,’ dude. We’re not—”

“Shitheels,” I finished.

“Exactly.”

“Strip club owner does have a ring to it, though,” I replied.

“Yeah, but it’s a cheap cubic zirconium one. All I’m saying is that we could easily switch lanes, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And that property you’ve had your eye on? Right across from that fitness center? Man, that would be a prime place to open a new restaurant. Think about it, we could start a chain—like fast food but classier.”

It all hinged on whether Riley would sell the damn place to me or not. I considered it, shifted my gaze to the misted glass windows of the cubicle behind him. Bane had rented this office space for himself ages ago, and I hardly ever came here either. Technically, this was our base of operations. We managed the business from here. Christ, the man even had a personal assistant helping him with his day-to-day.

I saw the frosted windows, the mauve carpets once every other month during our meetings. Other than that, I was streaking across the globe, or across Miami, staking my claim on businesses and studios and clubs.

Riley’s place? It’d been one of the last ones on my list. And I couldn’t have it.

Didn’t bother me as long as I had her.

“You’re doing it again,” Bane said.

“Huh?”

“You’re floating around in the stratosphere, bro.” Bane shut his planner with a pert snap. “I don’t have time to sit here and—”

“All right, all right, don’t get your nuts in twist. I’ve got shit on my plate too.”

Bane clicked his ballpoint and stowed it in the top pocket of his jacket. I’d already warned him about it—it was a plebian habit, and I knew all about those. The way I’d been raised would’ve made a hooker turn up her nose at the barbarity of it all.

“One of these days, you’re gonna walk into a door or some shit, the pen’s going to break, and you’re going to ink your suit,” I said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s an Armani.”

“So, we’re going into fashion instead of food?”

“Suck a dick,” I replied, with a grin that’d make a nun blush. “Listen, I like the restaurant idea, I do, but I’m not ready to pull out of all the clubs yet. They turn a great profit, for the most part, and my uncle—”

“Was a sleaze.”

“No arguments there,” I replied. “But he was shrewd in business.”

“Shrewd?” Bane’s dark gaze grew darker. “Bro, he owned one mediocre strip joint, which you turned into a franchise and a raging success. Christ, I know you don’t want to throw it all away, and I’m not suggesting that. Just that it’s time to explore other avenues.”

“I agree with you,” I said.

I still held back, though. A tiny part of me would always be that street fighter. That kid who got in a buttload of trouble and didn’t finish high school. Maybe clinging onto the clubs was a reminder of all that shit. Of where I’d come from.

“Good,” Bane said, and flashed the first genuine smile since he’d sat down. He was a charmer, sure, but he was full of shit, too. And way too serious most of the time. He either needed a drink or a punch in the gut. “So, we’re done for today, I think. Let’s wrap things up here and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo.”

“Kiddo?”

“You don’t wrap things up until I say they’re wrapped up,” I said and pushed myself up from the desk. I circled around the conference room until I was face-to-face with the fucker. He was maybe an inch shorter than me and a lot stockier. Built like a brick shithouse with a better odor.

I grabbed him in a one-armed hug and fisted him on the back. “Now, we’re done,” I said, then laughed and stepped away. “You look good, brother.”

“You too,” he said, straightening his suit lapels. “Different.”

“Different, eh?”

“Yeah,” Bane replied. “I dunno, like you’ve got something up your sleeve. I hope it’s not another surprise deal. The last one with the Russians—”

“Hey, hey, it all worked out in the end. It’s not like they were spies or something. Don’t be a xenophobe.”

“It wasn’t the nationality that bothered me. It was the accent. Couldn’t hear what the fuck they were saying most of the time,” Bane replied.

He had too much class and education for that shit. “I heard ’em just fine.”

“Yeah, but you’re street.”

“Won’t argue with you there,” I replied. My phone dinged in my pocket, and I reached for it so fast I nearly broke the sound barrier.

“Whoa,” Bane said. “What the fuck? You expecting a mail-order bride or something?”

I flipped him off, then took out my cell and walked for the exit. “Next month again,” I said, over my shoulder. “Any emergencies, call me. Unless it’s something to do with the France thing. Christ, I’ve never seen so much cream in my life. Cream in the sauces, cream in the crepes, cream in the motherfucking cream.”

Bane laughed behind me but didn’t follow, and thankfully, didn’t ask any more questions.

I unlocked the screen of my phone and tapped on the text message icon.

It opened up.

“Are you free this evening? I’d like to have dinner and introduce you to one of my friends, if that’s OK. She’s cool. It’ll be a whole casual, breezy thing.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Meeting the friends? Casual, breezy?

Don’t do it. You’re already in too deep. This is crazy. You don’t believe in this type of shit, you’re a dominator. A man. You’re—

My fingers flew across the screen, typing—thank god for autocorrect—out the reply. “Yeah. When and where?” I was tempted to name the place and the time—let it not be fucking French food—but she’d invited, and I didn’t want my woman to think I was rude.

Your woman? Your woman. It’s too late already.

It’d been too late the minute I’d laid eyes on her. I hadn’t lied to her last night. Every word had come from somewhere deep. A place I didn’t examine closely, ever.

“Mama Rosa’s, eight p.m. Be there or be… I dunno, late?”

“See you then,” I replied and sent it off.

Interesting. She wanted me to meet one of her friends. Shit, I could probably rope Bane into coming along and distracting her while I focused on Riley. A romantic evening, wine, candles, Italian food.

And after?

Whatever we wanted.