AVA

 

I fly through the rest of my day and, before I know it, I’m back at Fever and enjoying a glass of cool water courtesy of our loveable, manwhore bartender. The sun set hours ago, taking with it the warmth and humidity, and replacing it with a cool calm. Stephen noticed pretty quickly I was preoccupied, so he’d cracked jokes until I’d relaxed back into the atmosphere at Fever about twenty minutes into my shift.

He thought I was upset, like maybe I’d lost my case today. And I let him think just that. The alternative would be explaining that I’m actually horny as hell and desperate to get home and spend some time with my vibrator.

Goddamn, Christopher has left me aching.

I keep trying to tell myself that he’s just one man. That I’ve seen good-looking men before, that I’ll see them again, and besides he’s way too old for me. He’s in his forties, at least, and I’m just pushing twenty-five. That’s one hell of an age difference and well beyond anything in my experience. I should have just acknowledged he was handsome and moved on with my life. But for some reason my mind keeps returning to him. Back to the sprinkling of salt in his black beard, the barest hint of crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes, making them look kinder even when he’s frowning through a court case. The way he’d stared at me made me feel stripped bare…

“You’re doing it again,” Stephen says.

I glance over. “Doing what?”

“Spacing out.”

Knocking back the last of my drink, I gaze around the room. There’s nothing that really needs my attention right now. All of the girls are happily engaging customers. Kayley is on one of the poles and working it like she was born to do it. Emma is laughing with three men from a Caesar’s Palace bachelor party, but I can tell which one is the groom from the way she gives him the slight cold shoulder.

“Just thinking…” I tell Stephen. “How much longer before you go over there and ask Kayley for a lesson?”

“This isn’t falconry, sweetheart, I can’t just take flight whenever I feel like it. There’s a time and place to ask for pole dancing lessons.”

“And here I was with a crisp fifty in my pocket.”

“Well, if you insist…”

I’m not even wearing pockets. I have never, in my life, found a stylish dress that has pockets, but if I did I would buy fifteen.

Kayley swings off the pole and takes a final bow, enjoying the way the men around her applaud like they’re witnessing the second coming of Jesus. Then she saunters over to the bar where Stephen’s already pouring her a glass of water.

“Whiskey,” she says, waving her fingers at him.

He gives her a look. “Water,” he replies. “Whiskey after.” He winks at me, which essentially places the blame for Kayley being denied alcohol squarely at my feet. As though, if I weren’t here, he’d be less concerned about the girls getting dehydrated. As though, if I weren’t here, he wouldn’t make it his absolute priority to keep all of the girls from passing out under the hot lights.

Kayley sighs but takes the water, shooting me a pout as she does. Even pouting, she looks like a goddess. “So…” she says, setting the glass back down on the bar, “… tell me more about the hot lawyer.”

I wince as Stephen perks up. “Hot lawyer?” he asks, delighted.

“I told you not to worry about it,” I hiss at Kayley, giving Stephen a significant look which she completely ignores.

She tosses her head back so her gorgeous teal hair cascades down her back and her winged eyeliner is at an angle that could cut a man. “Honey, it’s all you could talk about when you came in today.”

I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have told Kayley, but I’d needed to tell someone and she was the first person I saw when I’d arrived. She’s got this disarming way of making a person feel like they can tell her anything and she’ll somehow make it better.

It might be because Kayley has been in this game for a while. She and I are nearly the same age, but she appears to have so much more experience with life in general.

“Hot lawyer?” Stephen asks again, more insistently.

“Who’s a hot lawyer?” Emma asks, sidling up behind Kayley and taking a sip from her glass. She’s abandoned her men in favor of coming over to see what all the fuss is about. “Ava?”

“Ava argued her case against a hot lawyer today,” Kayley tells her.

“You argued your very own case! “Omg! Girl, that’s freakin’ awesome!”

“Hot lawyer!”

“Goddammit, Stephen…”

I glance around to make sure that none of the clients are paying attention to us. The men that Emma had left behind are laughing together, so they’re fine. Jaye and Josie are distracting a couple of other clients. No one seems to have noticed that two of the most sought-after girls in Fever are chatting with the bartender and the hostess.

“Is he huge?” Stephen asks, leaning forward on the bar so his ponytail hooks over his shoulder. “Did he use the gavel on you?”

“You are never coming anywhere near a courthouse–”

Kayley leans over to whisper in Emma’s ear effectively interrupting me. “Apparently he’s an older man.”

“How much older?”

“Forties.”

Emma faux-gasps. “Scandalous!”

I love these girls. It’s the only thing keeping me from threatening them with a firing right now.

“He rides a motorcycle,” Kayley offers, sipping her glass of water with the same attitude that a person would use to sip a martini.

“Bet that’s not all he rides,” Stephen says.

“Get back to work, smartass,” I snap, waving him away. Stephen goes, cackling, back toward the sink where a stack of empty glasses are waiting to be cleaned. “And you too,” I say, turning back to Kayley and Emma. As I do, I catch sight of a man who’s walked into the room and my entire brain shuts down.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

As if speaking of the devil himself summoned him, Christopher Cole just walked into the room. His silhouette is unmistakable even in the dim light, and my first instinct is to leap over the bar and clamber beneath the taps, hiding myself from his sight. Before I can even move, his face turns and I know the moment his eyes land on me because it feels like a physical caress.

When I freeze up, Emma and Kayley seem to instantly know something is wrong. They turn in unison to try and see who it is that’s caught my attention, and when their eyes land on Christopher they both take a moment to admire him.

Then Emma leans in to whisper to me, “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yep.”

“Lord have mercy. You’re so screwed, girl!”

“Thanks, Emma!”

“Need me to get Garth?”

I consider it. For a moment. Garth would be able to get Christopher out of here with minimal fuss. But then again, I think as I realize he’s heading our way, the damage is done. Christopher has seen me, here, in the middle of Fever’s bar in a tight black dress with gold clasps. It doesn’t take a genius to know I work here, and if he’s figured that out then this may be my one chance to do some damage control. Because if there’s one thing lawyers love, it’s a scandal.

“No, leave it to me.”

I finish talking as Christopher pulls up in front of us. He’s wearing a tight black shirt that, in good light, would probably show off his muscles beautifully. His jeans are dark and his hands are on his hips as he leisurely runs his eyes over me.

Kayley steps subtly between us.

“He’s cute,” she says, running her eyes over him like he’s something she would happily step on. “Bit creepy, though… to follow you to work, if I don’t say so myself.”

Christopher doesn’t balk. He nods to her, then to Emma, before fixing his eyes on me in a way that makes me imagine what it would be like to be a butterfly caught under a scientist’s microscope.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

I nod, setting my glass down on the bar and lead him toward one of the back rooms. Emma gives my hand a squeeze before I leave and I take a moment to observe both girls. They’re looking concerned, even as they do their best to hide it. But they know how much my career means to me. It’s one thing to joke about hot lawyers in the safety of Fever’s bar, but it’s another thing entirely to have that safety compromised. Even Stephen has stopped cleaning glasses and is frowning at me from next to the sink.

As I walk through the room, I keep one eye on Christopher. He’s gazing around, observing the room and apparently cataloging everything he sees. There’s a calculation to his gaze that doesn’t strike me as Feverous. He seems to be observing purely to gather information.

Is that what he’s doing? Gathering information about me?

The back rooms are all set up as uniquely as possible. Why be bland and cliché when you can bring fantasy to life? Each room has a kink theme including a king-sized bed in the corner. The room we’ve stepped into has a black area rug, and a lamp that can be set to cast red or yellow light around the room depending on the mood the girl is going for. I set the lamp to yellow.

With a sharp click, the door closes behind Christopher. I take a moment to steel myself before turning to look at him. Christopher’s as handsome as I remember and he’s looking at me now with a speculative look.

I try to reassure myself as I think, he came in here calmly. He doesn’t seem agitated, or annoyed, or preoccupied. If anything, he seems curious. He must know I haven’t got big money, so hopefully he’s not here for blackmail.

“So,” I say, finally breaking the silence. “What brings you here?”

A sudden, awful thought occurs to me. What if he is here for blackmail and he expects me to pay him with my body? I’m a hostess at a gentlemen’s club, and a lot of men seem to think that translates to I’m basically no different to the professional girls who work the room every night.

What if he expects that from me?

What if that is the cost of his silence?

Do I do it?

I can’t deny that I want him. So much so I’ve actually planned a solo party for myself when I get home. I’ve wanted him from the moment I saw him. But not like this. Not as a cheap blackmail ploy to protect my illicit activities from other lawyers who might use it to ruin the career I’ve worked so damn hard to build up.

But when Christopher smiles, I don’t feel threatened. He doesn’t look like the shark in the courtroom. Instead, he looks like he’s finally found the last piece to a puzzle he has been working on. He steps away from the doorway, just enough so he’s pushing a little bit into my personal space.

“I just wanted to see if it was true…” he says. “With my own eyes.”