Alex

I watch Helen walk away, my jaw pained from clenching so hard. What the fuck is she doing at a bar? Like some sort of blue-collar worker.

With the stash of money her father gave her—money he stole from my family as well as hundreds of other families—she should be sitting pretty on some Caribbean island sipping piña coladas. At least that’s what I had always imagined. Me and everyone else who was a victim of the Blackwood Ponzi scheme that cost many their entire livelihoods.

It just doesn’t make any sense.

After that kiss we shared all those years ago, that kiss that caught me completely off guard, I thought that maybe—just maybe—there was something more than friendship between us. I left that night feeling flustered and unnerved. But isn’t that what Helen had always done to me? Unnerved me?

She had looked so breathtakingly beautiful and I made a rash decision. Something I never, ever do. I’m always calculated and deliberate in all my decisions. Except that one night.

Girls had always been attracted to me. Apparently, I was physically appealing to them. However, when they got to know me, they’d always considered me “weird” and “too serious.” But Helen had always treated me normally and had the uncanny ability to put me at ease and make me laugh. Not all the time, but more than anyone else. Actually, no one else has ever really been able to make me laugh or feel truly comfortable or uninhibited. But with Helen, I felt okay being out of control. Except when we kissed. It was . . . too much.

But then I woke up the next day and my life fell apart, and her father was to blame. Since that day, I tucked Helen and that kiss in the back of my mind and tried not to think about it.

Nothing good could come out of loving the taste of my enemy.

I toss some money on the table and follow her. “What are you doing here?” I repeat.

“Working.” She scowls at me, then turns her attention to another customer with a fake smile.

“Pardon me,” I say to the customer, interrupting them. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Where have I been?” she asks indignantly, sliding a drink to the customer, who leaves some money and smartly walks away. “When, today? Yesterday? For the last twelve fucking years?” At this point, she’s yelling.

“Do. Not. Curse. At. Me,” I growl.

Luckily, over the sound of the music, not many people can hear us. But the daggers she’s shooting out of her eyes clearly show she’s one pissed-off woman. “Excuse me? I’ll curse at you if I feel like it. And how is it any of your business where I’ve been?”

I reach over the bar and pinch her chin, moving her head side to side. “What the hell? Let me go!” She swats my hand away.

“What happened to your face?” There’s an angry bruise on her cheek. She’s tried to cover it with makeup, but it’s swollen and if you really look carefully, you can see a bluish tinge.

“Again, none of your business. And don’t ever touch me again!” As she screeches at me, I feel my phone in my pocket vibrating.

“Of course it’s my business!” I bark back. “Wherever you’ve been, you went with my goddamn money and my father’s hard work!”

Every day I wrestle with my anger more and more, and I’ve become the worst kind of man.

The kind of man who has nothing to lose, which also makes me the most dangerous kind. And anyone who is within five feet of me seems to be able to sense this and tends to give me a wide berth. I’ve been told I sneer and that my eyes are piercing and cold. People are scared of me, and I couldn’t care less. They should be scared of me.

Except, Helen slams a glass down on the bar top and leans toward—not away from—me. She’s not only not scared, she’s ready to figh me. There are only two people who never back down from me: one’s Bradley and the other’s my mother. Now, here’s the person who should be the most afraid of me and yet, instead of running as far away as she can, she is inciting the fire further.

“What’s going on here?” the guy working beside her asks, noting our heated gazes.

She’s glaring at me.

I’m glaring at her.

“You motherfucking sonofabitch!” she yells, which catches her colleague off-guard. My phone keeps vibrating, so I take it out of my pocket and glance at it.

“Damn it,” I curse. If it were anyone but Bradley, I wouldn’t even think of answering. But when Brad calls, I rarely ignore it because it’s always important. “This isn’t finished. Do not move,” I order, which gets me a middle finger from her. I growl as I turn away from her to answer the phone. “Not a good time, Bradley.”

“We’ve got a problem,” he says, in a serious tone. Normally, he’s stoic, but right now he sounds worried, and a worried Bradley is never good.

“One second.” I make my way out of the noisy club, moving past people as quickly as I can. “Okay, I’m listening,” I say when I step into the alley.

“Seasons Enterprises is meeting with Glen tonight. Right now. They’re making an offer.”

I think I misheard. “I’m with Glen right now. What are you talking about?”

“Our inside guy says that Anthony from SE is on his way to meet with him. They may already be together. Where are you? What was all that noise?”

“I just left a goddamn nightclub. The prick is still upstairs. He hasn’t been out of my sight more than ten minutes. There’s no way he’s meeting with SE. You got bad information.”

“No. No way. Close this deal, Alex. I’m not letting a billion dollars slip through our fingertips, especially after the Holloway debacle last quarter. Damn it, I should’ve gone myself.”

“I’m the Archer in Archer Technologies, asshole, and you have half your body in a cast. So shut up and let me do this before I fire you.” I’m seriously pissed at his lack of confidence in me. We lost a shitload of money last quarter with the Holloway venture, but we are in no way destitute. He needs to calm the hell down.

I hear silence, then an uncharacteristic laugh. “You fire me?” He laughs harder. He knows I value him and can’t fire him. Not really. He owns forty-nine percent of the company. But he also knows that I’m great with numbers and have the better business sense of the two of us, which is why we shouldn’t have invested in Holloway. Bradley was adamant it was a sure thing and that I was wrong about their negligible accounting practices. I wasn’t.

But selling and marketing—that’s Bradley’s strength, not mine. Dealing with CEOs, boards of directors, presidents of companies . . . that’s all Bradley. Nevertheless, he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“I’ll call you back.” I hang up and look at the line to get back into the club. I skip ahead and the same guy who originally let me inside must’ve remembered me, or took note of my “don’t-fuck-with-me-right-now” face, because he lifts the red velvet rope and I walk right in.

Where the first floor of Duality is all white and sleek and modern-looking, upstairs is the opposite. As soon as the elevator door opens, I have to adjust my eyes to the dark and smoky-looking room. The first floor is all class; the second is all decadence, with black velvet furniture and a few hints of gray. Hell, even the crystals hanging off the chandeliers are black.

The room is shaped like an arena. In the center are two stripper poles, with women dancing completely naked. There are intimate booths all around the dance floor. Then there is a second level with more tables and a bar on the east and west sides of center stage. On the north side, there is a second level with mostly naked men wearing odd-looking Venetian masks breathing fire. From the roof there are cages hanging down with more dancers—male and female.

Between the lights, the music, the nudity, and the amount of people dancing, it’s sensory overload.

I immediately hate it. More so than the first floor.

I like quiet. I can’t hear myself think in a place like this. It reminds me of some sort of erotic circus.

I know I need to find Glen, but my mind can’t seem to wander away from Helen. How can she be working in a place like this? At least she’s downstairs and clothed. Not that it’s any of my business what she does or doesn’t do. I never expected to see her again, and running into her without warning has the effect of slamming me right into a brick wall. My head throbs.

Three security guys run past me and a group of people start to congregate around an altercation at the other end of the club.

Glen.

“Damn it,” I groan, and I make way to the area just as a topless woman points a red fingernail at Glen while a security guard holds him back.

“Let me go!” he barks, a thick vein on his forehead looking like it’s about to explode. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing you didn’t want me to do.”

“You disgusting old man! I didn’t want your fat fingers on me!” She lunges forward, but there’s another guard there ready to grab her before she gets to Glen.

“Anthony! Tell them who I am. Tell them.”

Anthony? I hadn’t even noticed my competitor standing beside him. He’s just . . . there, looking helpless and lost.

I shake my head and step back, trying to blend into the crowd. I think I’m going to sit back and let this play out. Anthony stumbles around, trying to say the right things to the security personnel, even taking out his wallet, which is met with reproachful stares from the security guys. I can’t help but laugh, quietly.

“We don’t care who he is. Rules are rules, and he grabbed one of the dancers. He’s out of here. Cops are on their way.”

“Cops? What the fuck!” Glen starts fighting to get loose from their grips as he’s dragged to the service elevators. Anthony’s stammering insults as to how they’re treating Glen and threatening to take legal action on Glen’s behalf.

I slip out of the side exit and quickly call our lawyers.

By the time I get to my house, I have local attorneys working on getting Glen out of jail  courtesy of Archer Technologies, and tomorrow I’ll have to talk to the owners of Duality to see about having the charges dropped.

If this doesn’t land us the business, nothing will.

If it hadn’t been for Helen, a vision that almost feels like a hallucination, I’d say that the night turned out better than I expected, thanks to Glen’s sleazy antics.

Helen

I unlock the door to the pay-by-the-hour motel and turn on the light, which takes a moment to work. As the lights flicker, I try to ignore the loud noises coming from my neighbors on either side.

I toss my purse on the bed and go take a hot shower in the tiny, rusted bathroom, still in disbelief about seeing Alex Archer tonight. I still can’t believe he insulted me in one breath and then turned around to take a call. As if the accusations he spat my way were part of a normal day at the office for him.

And . . . and he touched my face.

Why the hell did that do weird, sexy things to my body?

Stupid traitorous body!

I’m still fuming and confused as I lather. Movement in the corner of my eye by the hot-water knob on the shower faucet draws my attention.

“Oh my God!” I screech loudly as I hop out of the shower while also trying to avoid getting shampoo in my eyes. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!”

A cockroach!

A black-winged disgusting creature has taken over my shower. I know it’s girly and not very independent-woman of me, but I have a ridiculous fear of roaches.

I break out in a cold sweat and can practically feel it crawling on my skin as I run in place like a lunatic, unsure what to do next.

If I didn’t have soap all over my body, I would never step foot back inside the shower, but I have to rinse off.

I’m bone tired, and this damn bug with its little animated antennae is just staring at me while the water continues to run. Naked and dripping wet, I jog to the room frantically, grab my shoe, and throw it at the creature. But it just flies around, which causes me to screech more. I throw another and another until I have three pairs of soaking wet shoes. Finally—crunch!—I get it with a pair of sneakers. It’s plastered against the wall, and I’m scared it’s going to resuscitate or slide down and land on my toes.

I throw a towel on it to cover it and awkwardly step back into the shower, not taking my eyes off the towel hiding the vermin as I take the quickest shower known to man. Then, I run out and close the door to the bathroom, as if that makes any difference. I look around the small room, looking for more roaches. “Please God, I don’t ask you for much . . . please don’t let its family be nearby.”

When I don’t see any more, I put on my pj’s, strip the stained comforter off of the mattress, put a dry towel on the sheets, and crawl into bed, covering my head with another towel, just in case Mrs. Roach comes to execute revenge for her husband’s murder.

I can’t wait any longer.

I need to move back home or to a better temporary apartment.

Which is why, four hours later, I’m standing in front of the bank, waiting for it to open.

“Good morning,” I greet the teller, even though there is not one good thing about this particular morning. “I need to access my safety deposit box, please.”

“Sure. ID, please.” She slides a paper my way. I already know the drill. I sign and wait for her to check my identification before she walks me to the room. She turns the counter-key, then leaves me alone. I dig my own key out of the bottom slit of my purse, the one I cut out and then re-sewed, and open the box. I promised myself I would sell these things only if there was an emergency.

Even when times were the hardest, when I was homeless, I still never sold one. I was innocent, sentimental, and holding on to some sort of hope that was never realized. I’m not eighteen anymore. I have real responsibilities that I can’t put off. My heart breaks as I pull two of the Limoges boxes out of the safe. I don’t even look at which two because if I did, I’d sit here all day figuring out which means less to me. I stuff them in my purse, lock the safety deposit box, and walk out of the bank feeling completely and utterly defeated for the first time in my life.

As I get into my car, my phone rings—it’s a private number. Monday at this time, it can only be one person. I answer and accept the collect call fee.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, honey. How are you doing?”

I turn on the motor and swallow down the lump in my throat. Sometimes I wish I could vent. Tell him how things really are going. Instead, I lie. Just like I’ve done every single week for twelve years. “I’m good. Nothing much going on here.”

“You sound . . . off. Everything okay?”

“Of course. Everything’s fine.”

“You sure? You’re not lying to your old man, right?”

“Of course not, Dad.” I don’t want to burden him with my problems. He has enough going on. Being wrongfully accused and having his name smeared all over the news—no, my problems are nothing compared to his. I get to live out in the world and he’s stuck in a jail cell for the rest of his life.

“So, what’s new?” he asks.

“Nothing much.” I back out of the parking space and start heading to the pawn shop. I did a bunch of research and found one that specializes in antique collectibles. “Oh, you’ll never guess who I saw.”

“Who?”

“Alex Archer.”

There’s a long silence before he starts to talk again. “Archer? W-what? W-where?”

“At work. He was there doing—I don’t know why he was there, actually.” I don’t think he was there for the music, and he could’ve gotten a drink anywhere.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Again, I lie. Why make him relive his friends’ betrayal? “Arrogant as always.”

“Stay away from him, honey.”

That catches me by surprise. I know he’s upset about the way the Archers turned their backs on us, but warning me to stay away . . . that seems harsh.

“You there, Helen? Stay away from the Archers. They’re bad news. You hear me? Damn it,” he sounds frantic.

“What do you mean, ‘bad news’?”

“Just . . . it’s a long story. Trust me, he’s no good.”

I never really question anything when it comes to my dad, but I’m also tired of being treated like a little girl who can’t handle the realities of life. Reality punches me in the face on a daily basis. We’re well beyond sheltering me from it. “I’m going to try to go visit you next month.”

“I can’t wait, sweetie.”

I quickly add, “And the whole story . . . the one you never tell me because you think it’s too complicated or whatever . . . I want to hear it.”

“Honey, it’s nothing to burden yourself with. I’m not going to spend the little time I have with you talking about the Archers.”

“We’re going to talk about it, Daddy. I’m not going to let this one go. It’s time.”

“I only see you a few times a year; I don’t want to spend it rehashing something we can’t fix. The past is the past. Let’s move on.”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not giving in this time. You’re going to tell me, Dad.”

He exhales loudly into the phone. “Fine. But only if you promise me that you’ll stay away from Archer until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

It’s not like I’ll see him again, or anything. “Fine.”

It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen Alex. It’s not as if he frequents Duality or Miami, for that matter. I can stay away, even if he happens to come by the club again. Right?

Even all these years later, seeing him turned me to complete mush. He is, by far, the most unbelievably attractive man I’ve ever known. There was always something about Alex . . . even all those years ago I found his quiet, reserved demeanor intriguing. I wanted to ruffle his feathers, make him laugh, see him let go. But never, not even on family vacations, did he look anything but completely in control. Except the times we were alone. When it was just the two of us, he’d smile and even talk a little.

Age had not changed any of that. Except his quiet reserve had morphed into mysterious intimidation. And he wasn’t tall and skinny anymore. He was lean and imposing.

“Helen? You there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Um . . . what did you say?”

“I said, okay. We’ll talk when you’re here.”

“Good. Anything new with you?”

“Nothing on my side, honey. I miss you. How’s work?”

“Same ol’ same ol’. Time’s almost up.” I hear the operator counting down our remaining seconds.

“Okay. Damn, it always goes so fast. We’ll talk when you’re here next month, but meanwhile, stay away from the Archers.”

“Daddy . . .”

“I mean it. I love you, sweetie.” The line goes dead just as I arrive at the pawn shop.

I look at the phone, bewildered. That was an odd conversation. I shrug, tossing my phone aside, and reach for my purse.

“Mama, I’m so sorry,” I whisper to myself as I take out the two small boxes and undo the bubble wrap. My mother loved collecting these little pillboxes and I continued the tradition after she died. They were the only things of real value that weren’t seized. I take a deep, calming breath and head into the store to get this over with.

After haggling back and forth for half an hour, I walk out with more money than I came in with and a big hole in my chest.

I go to another bank and open a new account with the money. Then I go apartment hunting for something that is not as seedy as the motel I’ve been staying at and that will allow me to stay on a month-to-month basis, until I can resolve my legal issues with Luke.

Turns out I can’t afford much, and the places I can afford aren’t available at the moment. Once I get paid on Friday I’ll have more options, which means that for now, I’m stuck in Roachville, USA. I do, however, decide to leave a small down payment with an attorney to get the ball rolling on my legal issues.

I want to call Luke and beg him leave, but I also don’t want to rile him up too much. He knows where I work, and I don’t want him causing a scene. Instead, I decide I need blueberry pie, ASAP.

Gina is a baking queen, and she turned her life around one baked good at a time. I park my car outside her small bakeshop and walk in through the back entrance, the delicious sugary smell filling up the air around the store.

“Hi, Philip. Hi, Carly,” I call out to the two young employees working in the kitchen. They’re probably seventeen years old, and I would bet all my Limoges that they’re homeless. Gina’s always trying to help someone. I’m more than aware of that fact—I owe her so much.

“Hey!” Carly says cheerfully, as Philip, who shyly looks up from the bowl in front of him, smiles at me.

“Gina around?” I ask, but before they can answer, the lady herself comes to the back, flour caking her apron and a bit of chocolate on her cheek.

“Hiya, babe! What brings you here?” She eyes me warily. “Shit! Carly, bring in the blueberry pie I just put in the display.”

“You know me so well, G,” I say, hugging her tightly.

After I have a big piece of pie and a large coffee in front of me, Gina sits down across from me with her own coffee. “Spill it.”

“Alex Archer.” That’s all I say and her eyes go round. Swiftly, she slices another piece of pie and puts it on my plate. She knows all about my unhealthy infatuation with Alex. In fact, every guy I dated before Luke I’d compared to Alex until Gina sat me down one day and read me the riot act. After stuffing my face with deliciousness, I start to talk. I want to tell her about Luke too, but I don’t want to burden her with my problems. She is the most giving person I know. She puts all her time and money into this bakery and is living in a small studio apartment. But if I tell her I’m struggling, she’ll try to give me money. Money she can’t afford to give.

“I thaw him in the club last night. He was an athhole,” I say, my mouth full of pie. I swallow and take a gulp of coffee. “But he’s so hot, G. I mean, he was hot before, but now . . . now he’s like really, really hot.”

“Hot is a problem. Hot gets you in trouble. You need reliable. You need sweet. You need—”

“I need sex. That’s what I need!” I groan, stuffing my face with another bite of pie. “I need fun. I need to not worry about life for one night. That’s what I need.”

She slumps down and sighs loudly, then takes a forkful of my pie into her own mouth. “God, that sounds good.”

“Right?” I sit back and pat my full belly. “I thought the pie would help.”

“It does,” she says, warily. “But only for a bit. Then you’re left empty and with a bellyache.”

I laugh. “What if he comes back? He’s a jerk, G. Seriously, he was demanding I tell him where I’ve been all these years, as if I was the one who’d disappeared on him!”

“I dunno, babe. The only advice I can give you is to stay away. Men like that only cause pain.”

“Probably orgasms too,” I whine. “But after that, they’re basically the same as this pie. Instant gratification with a tummy full of regret.”

After we finish the entire pie and a lot of coffee, I go home and get ready for work.

As I park the car at Duality, I decide to send Luke a text. I need my stuff from my house. Hell, I need my house! “We need to talk,” I write.

“Get your ass home and we’ll talk,” Luke texts back hours later.

Such a charmer, that one.

I can’t go to my house alone to a man who backhanded me. “Meet me at the coffee shop on Eighth and Ocean tomorrow morning. Please.”

“Why, so that you can have me arrested?”

“I’m not going to have you arrested, I just want to talk. See how we can work this out, peacefully. Tomorrow at ten, okay? Please.”

Crickets.

I silence my phone and slide it into my pocket as I walk into work.

I’m wiping down the counter before my shift starts, my mind on Luke and what I’ll say to him tomorrow. Maybe he’ll agree to take some money and sign the house over to me. I decide to propose that to him when we meet up. Why spend money on lawyers if I don’t have to?

“You okay?” I look up, and Iggy is leaning on the counter with a smirk on his face. How long has he been watching me?

“Oh, hey!” I chirp. “Sorry, I’ve been a little out of it lately. Lots on my mind.”

“Anything I can do to help? I heard you had a problem with a customer the other night.”

Alex. Yes. I had a problem with Alex.

“Nah, it was nothing. You know I can handle the rowdy ones better than most.”

“You sure can,” he agrees with that hot-guy smile. “So, what is it that has you so preoccupied, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I wipe the counter one last time before tossing the rag aside and leaning down. “Need a new apartment and I’m short on cash. Not a big deal, though.”

“You sure? I can talk to the guys. I’m sure we can advance you—”

“No!” I protest, quickly. “It’s fine, really.” I notice he has a stack of papers in his hands. “What’s that?”

“The reason I came down.” He shows me the job posting. “I was going to give everyone who’s already working here the opportunity to apply before we opened up the posting to the general public.”

My coworkers walk around the bar and take a flyer. “Upstairs?” I ask.

“Yep. If anyone is interested, let me know.” He leaves the stack on the bar top. “And don’t forget what I said. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I’m good, Iggy. Thank you,” I mumble, as I stare at the ad.

“Damn,” Marcia, one of the servers, groans. “I hear the tips are double upstairs. And during events, like Halloween an’ shit, they can even triple.”

Double? Double is good. Double is great. Double means I don’t have to spend my spare time worrying about roaches. Well, not the insect variety. I still have to figure out the Luke situation. But the second floor of Duality is racy and most of the staff is nude.

“Wait!” I yell to Iggy and then catch up to him. “What do you have openings for?”

“Upstairs?” He looks at the flyer in my hand. “We’re hiring for most positions. It’s been really busy. We’re looking for servers, bartenders, hostesses, dancers. Wait, for you? I don’t know, Helen. You really interested?”

My boss eyes me suspiciously. “How naked do I have to be, exactly?” I thrust my hip to the side, my hand on my waist, my brow arched.

“Depends what job you’re going for. Dancers are nude. Completely. Hostesses wear a small dress, but they aren’t making as much as the rest of the staff. May as well stay down here. If you want to really make money, you strip. It sounds awful even saying it, but it’s the truth. Anyway, like I was saying, the dancers are making a lot. But the servers are killing it too and they’re not completely nude. You’ve seen them come up and down the stairs.”

I glance back at the ad. Can I do this?

Iggy regards me with a serious expression on his face. “Listen, you’ve been working here for a long time, Helen. You’re a good worker and you have a fantastic attitude, but do you really want to work upstairs?”

“You just offered,” I say indignantly.

“I offered everyone the opportunity. But right now, you’re in a tough spot—you said so yourself. You’re feeling desperate. Don’t do anything you’ll end up regretting. Vanilla is your thing and it’s not a terrible thing.”

Vanilla?

I’m so tired of men thinking they know what’s best for me.

He catches my glare and chuckles. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. Guys tend to be handsy even though we don’t allow it. Are you prepared for that? Do you have the nerve to serve customers while they stare at your . . .?” He looks at my chest for a brief moment.

I swallow. No, I don’t want to work upstairs. But at this point, it looks like I may need to work upstairs. “The guests are already staring,” I retort. And it’s true. It’s not like we are in conservative frocks downstairs. The shirts are tight, and both men and women stare at my boobs all the time.

I think of the roaches. And of Luke.

“I’ll take it.”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll take it. I want it. I’m applying. What do I need to do?”

He runs his hand through his hair. “Are you sure about this? Listen, there’s nothing wrong with working upstairs. I don’t judge. But speaking as someone who has known you for a bit now, I don’t know if you can cut it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’re selling the idea of sex up there.”

“Are you saying I’m not sexy enough?”

He chuckles. “You’re definitely sexy enough. But are you going to have that same confidence when you’re in a room full of people, half naked? Think about it. It takes courage.”

This man, nice as he may be, he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know all the things I’ve been through and all the things I’m going through now. If anyone has courage, it’s me. Now, I feel even more certain I want the job.

“Iggy, if you don’t think I can handle it, then just say it. Otherwise, I’d like the job.”

He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “Matt and Nick are not going to like this,” he huffs. The owners have become like family to me and I appreciate their concern, but right now I need money, not concern. “I’ll let the guys know to add you to the schedule. How soon do you want to start?”

I take a deep breath. If I take too long to think about it, I won’t do it. “As soon as possible.”

He takes out his phone and begins to type. “I’ll email you more info tomorrow morning. Don’t let me down, Helen.”

“I won’t!”

This will bring me so much closer to resolving my issues.

How bad could it be?