Lisa looked at the clock. Seven hours. She’d only been here for seven hours? It seemed like much longer. It seemed like forever.

Cherry Pies smelled like a combination of beer, poor life choices, and shrimp cocktail sauce. And desperation, though she was fairly certain the desperation was mostly coming straight from her.

“I like the getup,” one of the cocktail waitresses said, putting her tray on the bar. “It’s classy. Makes you stand out. Tell me something. Is it Velcro?”

What? She could barely hear over the pounding music. “No. It’s Chanel.”

The cocktail waitress shook her head. “Nah, Chanel don’t wear that uppity shit. She’s old school. Nothing but nipple clamps and a thong. I keep telling her she should wear more clothes if she wants her act to last longer, but no one listens to me. I need four beers and a daiquiri.”

The music died down a bit as this particular show ended, and thank god, the clapping wasn’t nearly as loud. These “gentlemen” showed their appreciation with dollar bills, not enthusiasm.

“What kind of daiquiri?” Who the hell ordered a daiquiri in a strip club? In the hours since she’d been thrown to the lions, she’d poured about a hundred beers, made up dozens of tequila and whiskey shots, and a couple of sidecars and boilermakers.

The fruity drinks hadn’t come up, though she had plenty of citrus. She’d been surprised at how well stocked the bar was. Normally a dive like this would be nothing but beer, whiskey, vodka, and tequila. Cherry Pies sported all the liquors of a good bar and three types of vino—red, white, and a pink of indeterminate origin.

The cocktail waitress, who was in fact topless, shrugged. “No idea. I asked and he said if you didn’t know what a classic daiquiri was you weren’t a real bartender. I told him this is a strip club, ain’t nothing real here, but he insisted. He’s hot, too. Damn, we don’t get many men in here who look like that, and there’s a table of five of them tonight. I thought JoJo was going to bust an implant shaking those things their way, if you know what I mean.”

She didn’t. She understood very little. Since the moment she’d walked in, the world had been a loud, weird place where nothing seemed to stop and glitter rained down from time to time. Certainly the drink orders hadn’t stopped, nor had the head bartender’s orders or Jai’s leering. Or the constant comments about her boobs. Which were covered, and yet the men of Cherry Pies believed in equality. They harassed a woman no matter her age, size, color, or amount of clothing she wore. These men were serious about their sexual harassment, and no amount of clothing would stop them.

Her “interview” had consisted of Jai looking her over, nodding, and then tossing her to the wolves. She’d been there five minutes when she was thrown into the pit, as she now affectionately called the large bar at the back of the establishment. She’d poured her first beer, gotten her first one-dollar tip, and told herself life was going to be okay.

Seven hours later, she was fairly certain she was in purgatory. It wasn’t quite hell because she could still find stuff to laugh at, but her feet hurt so much she wanted to die. It defo wasn’t a good place.

“A classic daiquiri?” It was such an odd request for a place like this. She sighed, realizing who’d ordered. “Is this for Jai?”

It would explain a lot. This whole evening was her interview and she would be told at the end of the night whether or not she’d gotten the job. Then there would be normal things like corporate videos on safety—don’t cut yourself, don’t spit into the drinks no matter how much you want to—and procedures. There would be tons of paperwork. There was an odd comfort in paperwork.

The cocktail waitress Lisa had named Whiskey because of her throaty voice shook her head. “Nah. Jai likes Jäger. This is a superhot guy. I’m planning on going home with this dude. He’s with the cowboy. Don’t know his name because he always pays cash, but he comes in once a week or so. Usually during the day. Weird guy. I think he actually comes in for the buffet.”

With a wince she turned and poured the beers. Bartending had gotten her through college. By the time she’d gotten into grad school, Will had started making enough from his practice that he’d asked to pay for her school. He hadn’t liked her spending long nights at bars, but the truth was she kind of missed it. There was something deeply human about a good bar. A good bar could be a community, form a makeshift family for those who desperately needed one. Working in bars had taught her that kindness lurked in the oddest of places, and that sometimes those who were the most broken could also be the most human of all.

“What’s up with the daiquiri, New Girl? You don’t know how to make one?” Whiskey asked. She was a tall bleach blonde with beautiful golden-brown skin and a slender body. She had on a tiny mini skirt, sky-high stripper heels, and nothing else. “I could go and get Jazz, but she doesn’t like her breaks getting broke, if you know what I mean. I’m surprised because honestly so far you’ve been real solid back there. I lost a bet to Rosie. Said you wouldn’t make it an hour.”

She opened the fridge and thanked god that at least Jai had a proper bar. There were lots of chilled pub glasses for beers and exactly five classic cocktail glasses. She pulled one out and reached for the shaker. “I’m stronger than I look.”

One part Bacardi. One part simple syrup, but not the crap Jai had bought. Lisa hated over-the-counter simple syrup. Something about the processing gave it an aftertaste she couldn’t stand. Her first boss had taught her to make her own each and every night. Simple syrup was easy enough to make. During her break, she’d gone into the kitchen and met the cook, retired Staff Sergeant William Batten. He’d been more than happy to let her use a sauce pan and his stove top. She’d noticed that a few of the girls had come through looking for snacks and he’d treated even the mostly naked ones with the kindness of a father to his wayward daughters. He would shake his head, avert his eyes, and pass them the sandwiches he’d made.

“Rosie said any woman who can walk in those shoes belongs here,” Whiskey replied.

Her sad, hand-me-down Louboutins reduced to stripper shoes. Although now that she looked at what the other ladies were wearing, she suspected that perhaps Mr. Christian himself was a strip-club fan. She cut a lime in half, shoving it into the juicer and squeezing with a practiced hand. “Good to know I have proper footwear. And the thing about the daiquiri is it’s a little like a test. You know how chefs test each other?”

Whiskey shook her head. “No. Wait. Do they go at each other with knives? Because that’s how my uncle Antony did it and he owned an Italian place back in the day.”

She couldn’t help but smile even as her feet ached. It made her realize how much she’d isolated herself over the past six months. Since the debacle with Vallon, she’d been holed up in her apartment feeling sorry for herself. She was an extrovert. She needed the energy of being around people to thrive. And she was kind of a weirdo, so the odder the people she was around, the better. “No, not like chef fight club. When chefs test cooks coming in, they tend to ask them to cook an omelet. It’s seemingly simple, but easy to screw up. The theory is if you can’t cook an egg, you can’t cook at all.”

Whiskey placed the beers on her tray with a nod. “Ah, you’re saying the daiquiri is a test. It’s like the omelet.”

She shook her simple three-ingredient drink and poured it into the cocktail glass. “Yep. And it’s an old enough style drink that I’m surprised anyone would ask. Most people these days want some kind of daiquiri, not the base drink.”

“Oh, you know my momma loves her strawberry daiquiris,” Whiskey replied.

The music started up again and finally there was no one at her bar. It looked like the main billing of the night was up. Whiskey had explained to her that the really hot girls didn’t perform until after ten. All the tables around the stage were full now.

Jazz strode up, the head bartender looking no more relaxed than she had when she’d walked away for her break. The woman was a good foot taller than Lisa and she was way better dressed for her job. Jazz wore a sexy sleeveless jumper with a plunging neckline that showed off her toned body. Her long hair was back in braids and even white teeth shone against her perfect skin. It probably wasn’t Jazz’s fault that the smile still looked a bit predatory. Jazz stared down at the cocktail in Lisa’s hand.

“We got some weird bridal party in tonight?”

She shook her head. “I think it’s a test.”

Jazz wrapped an apron around her lean waist. “It ain’t Jai. Jai doesn’t know what a daiquiri is. Well, then, go on. I can see that you’re curious, but if you aren’t back here soon, I’ll assume you don’t care about that tip jar.”

Mystikal’s “Shake It Fast” started rocking the building and Lisa knew she couldn’t pass up this chance. She wanted to know who was testing her. She still wasn’t sure it wasn’t Jai, or perhaps the actual owner was here. Jai called it his club, but he was merely the manager.

“I’ll follow you,” she told Whiskey. “This is too full. I don’t want you to spill it.”

Whiskey gave her a one-armed shrug and started back out into the fray. Lisa followed along, her feet aching. Maybe she should have given up the daiquiri. She wasn’t as sure on her stripper heels as Whiskey was. She’d made it halfway across the floor when she suddenly found herself blocked by a large man in a softball uniform that proclaimed he was one of the mighty Rebels of Caruth LTD. She wasn’t sure what he was rebelling against, but he was in her way.

“Excuse me,” she said politely as the strobes began to flash.

“Excuse you,” he slurred. “Teacher lady, I need a new drink. I wanna round of Fruit Loops shots for my buddies. Why are you dressed like a teacher lady? Reminds me of Mrs. Hoover. Third grade. She was a bitch.”

Okay. “I will get those to you in a few minutes.”

She started to go around him.

“Wait, teacher lady. I need a drink,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”

He was an asshole. “Nope, but I’m busy and I’ll get to you in a moment.”

She started moving again, walking around him and catching a glimpse of the table ahead. Was that…?

“Hey, lady, I said I want drinks for my friends,” the dude who looked way too old to be in a softball uniform insisted. “My dad owns this place and he won’t be happy you ignored me.”

He reached for her, but that was the moment the strobe light went off and everything seemed to go in slow motion. One minute he seemed to be going for the drink in her hand and then in a flash, he was stumbling, his hand finding her breast.

She heard a shout over the din of music, and glitter started to pour down from the stage. It probably should have hit Miss Mischief, as she’d been announced, who was shaking her thing for all she was worth, but one of two fans picked up a stream and blasted it straight into Lisa’s face. The drink in her hand dropped and she watched in abject horror as Softball Uniform tripped and slipped, and before she knew it he was taking her down to the floor with him.

The floor that was covered in glitter and potentially heretofore undiscovered hemorrhagic fevers. One minute she was standing up, tall and proud and confident in her ability to mix a proper daiquiri, and the next she was a glitter-covered patient zero with a large man on top of her.

“Hey, now this is more like it.” He reeked of beer and sweat.

“Get off me.” She’d just said the words when the man was lifted off her and tossed to the side.

“Are you all right?” a familiar voice asked as Remy dropped to one knee in front of her.

She was fine. Probably.

She started to get to her knees, but softball dude had gotten up before her.

“Hey, Teacher Lady,” he began, getting back into her space.

“I am not a teacher,” she growled and pushed him back.

He stumbled a bit and then somehow managed to smash right into the cold buffet, sending shrimp and salad and oysters flying. Some of those suckers seemed to have caught air and soared out into the crowd.

She slipped in shrimp cocktail and went down again, her heels wobbling underneath her. She hit the floor hard, looking up at the ceiling and wondering if anyone ever dusted. At least she’d stopped moving.

But a loud howl signaled all was not right in her world. The lights suddenly came up and Lisa realized everyone was staring at her. Well, the people who weren’t trying to help the dude in the softball uniform. He was lying to her right and his arm seemed to be at the wrong angle. He screamed louder than Mystikal could rap.

“Lisa, are you all right?” Remy was down on one knee.

“I dropped your drink.” She didn’t move to get up. Nope. There was no reason to. She was covered in perfectly made daiquiri, man sweat, and glitter that might have gotten into her lungs, and there was zero reason to get up. She could die right here. And she knew it had been Remy who’d ordered the drink because it only made sense. Bad things happened to her when he was around. “Jazz can make you another one.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, chère.” His blue eyes looked her over with what seemed like genuine concern.

A whole bunch of guys she thought were probably McKay-Taggart employees stared down at her.

And then Jai was staring at her. “Jesus, Lisa, that’s Billy Caruth. His dad owns this place.”

She didn’t move. She might have gone a little numb, actually. “I’m fired, aren’t I?”

She suddenly felt strong arms lifting her up and she was cradled against Remy’s big body.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re right for this job,” Jai replied with a frown.

Story of her life.

Jazz strode up, shaking her head. She counted out a bunch of ones. “Don’t spend it all in one place, princess.”

Forty bucks. She’d made forty bucks in seven hours, would probably get sued by a douchebag, and now had to deal with the hottest man she’d ever met.

All in all, not the worst day of her life, and that was pretty shitty when she thought about it.

 

* * * *

 

Remy looked down at her as they made it to the parking lot. She didn’t seem to weigh a thing in his arms. It took all he had not to crack a smile. She looked completely shocked, her eyes fixated on someplace in the distance, her hands clutching a bunch of sad, crumpled ones. Her sweet face was covered in glitter of all colors. Somehow she’d gotten a napkin stuck to her hair. He was not going to mention that it made her look a bit like a unicorn.

She was so cute he could almost eat her up. He wanted to cuddle her and promise her that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to tell her he’d been an ass and she needed help and he was very, very interested in being helpful to her. Shit, it was right on the tip of his tongue to whisper to her that she could count on him.

Then she blinked and he caught sight of the hollow look in her eyes. “I forgot my purse. I have to have my purse.”

Shane jogged up, carrying what looked like an expensive handbag. “Got it. Wow, that dude will be lucky to use his arm after what you did to him. That’ll teach him to touch you again, hot shot.”

Her bottom lip quivered, but she took the purse. “Yeah. I can stand now. I’m good.”

He wasn’t sure she should. Despite the fact that she glittered like a disco ball, he could see that her skin was on the pale side. She felt fragile in his arms. Still, she seemed determined, so he eased her down. It was time to get her home and cleaned up and figure out what the hell was going on because it obviously wasn’t what he’d thought. He’d watched her for hours, and no woman worked that hard without a reason. Hell, no human being worked that hard if they didn’t have to.

He turned to his group. “Can y’all fit in Shane’s truck? I think I should take her back to her place right away.”

“Definitely,” Riley agreed. “She’s in shock.”

“I asked the cocktail waitress about her. Said this was her first night and she’d never seen her around before,” Wade said. “According to her, Lisa walked in late this afternoon and was working the bar fifteen minutes later. Said the manager likes to throw newbies into the fray to see what they can handle before he hires them.”

“She did a good job.” Remy wanted her to hear it. “It was that asshole’s fault. He wouldn’t leave her alone. I should have gotten there faster.”

The minute he’d realized that big guy was harassing her, he’d nearly jumped out of his own skin to get to her. He should have been watching, but he’d been waiting, wanting to hide out so she didn’t catch on to the game.

Meanwhile, she hadn’t been playing a damn game at all.

“I got the info on that asshole who wouldn’t let her through,” Dec said. “I wrote it all in a text that I sent to you. He is the youngest son of the owner of the LLC that runs fifteen strip clubs in the area, including this one. Also, I might have explained to him that I would come see him if he decided to sue. After hours and off the clock, of course. I think he realizes the error of his ways. But I would still like to get hold of the security footage. I don’t want them dumping it.”

Wade nodded. “I can get it. My old CO is actually the cook here. It’s why I come in. We’ll go back in and see what we can find to protect her.”

It likely meant she wouldn’t get sued, but they wouldn’t be able to get her job back. Job. She’d come for a job and she’d clutched those wadded up bills like she’d needed them. Desperately. She’d worked that bar like she knew what she was doing. Where the hell had that poor rich girl learned how to work a bar?

“Do you think she’s trying to make it to the train?” Riley asked.

Remy turned and Lisa wasn’t where he’d left her. She was slowly making her way across the parking lot. Every now and then she would roll an ankle because those heels hadn’t been meant for city street walking, but she would straighten up like a trooper and keep her long march going.

“Damn it. Why is she walking?”

Shane nodded Lisa’s way. “You know exactly why she’s walking away. That girl’s got pride. I believe you told her you weren’t interested and she took you seriously. Time to turn that around, man.”

“Women don’t like to hear they aren’t interesting,” Riley said with a sigh.

“All of you suck.” Remy jogged to catch up with her, hearing his friends chuckling as they turned to head back into the club. “Lisa? Lisa, honey, where are you going?”

“Home.” She didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch her since she kept stumbling in those shoes. He would have too if he’d spent hours and hours in uncomfortably high heels. She’d likely thought she was coming in for an interview, not for a full shift. “Chère, you can barely walk.”

Now she turned to him, planting those heels on the concrete with one finger pointing his way. In the moonlight she looked a little crazy. “Don’t you call me that. Don’t you use that Cajun accent on me.”

He held his hands up, surprised at how intimidating a petite woman could be. “In my defense, I use it on everyone. It’s my accent.”

“Pick another one. Everyone at McKay-Taggart knows different accents. I’ve heard Taggart use a Russian one during scenes, and the Irishman can sound awfully American when he wants to.”

Oh, he needed to soothe her savage beast. She’d obviously had a hell of a night and needed somewhere to put all that anger. She could take it out on him or he could show her he wasn’t the bad guy here and she could count on him to make things easier. He made his tone as soothing as possible and gently plucked the napkin from her hair. It seemed to have been held there by some kind of sauce. “That’s because they used to be spies. Apparently different accents and languages are a plus for spies. I was nothing but a dumb grunt. Having a different accent wouldn’t stop me from taking a bullet, and that’s what I was there for. This is the only accent I have. Well, I used to do a good Elmer Fudd.”

She nodded, but her eyes were on his face, almost as if she couldn’t look away. “Good, use that accent. But don’t you dare call me chère or honey or baby or anything but Lisa or Ms. Daley or Girl I’m Not Interested In. You know what, don’t call me anything at all. Go away.”

He sighed as she started to walk away again. “Chèr…Lisa, come on. Let me give you a ride. We’re going to the same place.”

She turned on him so fast he almost fell back on his ass. “No. No, we’re not because you’re going to move. I was there first. I call dibs.”

What the hell? “You can’t call dibs on an entire building. I signed a lease. I can’t break it now.”

At least Charlotte Taggart had. He jogged and managed to get in front of her. He’d dug himself a deep hole and now he realized he’d lied. Not interested? Bullshit. She scared him. She reminded him of Josette. Josette, who’d always been too smart for him. Josette, who’d convinced him she could be happy staying in Papillon Bayou.

Josette hadn’t even liked walking into Guidry’s, much less would she have been caught behind a bar. He was being an asshole who was putting punishment on a woman who hadn’t earned it.

“What can I call you? Because Lisa is pretty, but I’m a Cajun and we live to call women pet names. It’s in our natures. And I’m sorry about what I said to you those months back. The truth of the matter is you scare the hell out of me and I reacted poorly. Please forgive me.”

She stared at him. “I scare you?”

Yep. She did then and she did now, too. Even with her face glowing like a damn disco ball and half a strip club buffet still somehow hanging on her, she was the most tempting thing he’d seen in years. “You scare the shit out of me, chè…woman I lied about not being interested in. The trouble is I’ve always known I was going home. That’s why I’ve kept all my relationships light. When you walked up to me that day, well, I knew you weren’t the type to have a one-night stand, and that’s about all I do.”

“Because you don’t want to hurt someone?”

It was good she understood. “That’s right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Or because you want to sleep with as many women as you possibly can. Do you think we don’t hear that excuse from the time we’re old enough to come in contact with a player? Hey, baby, you’re gorgeous and beautiful, but I’m all wounded and shit so I can’t touch something as lovely as you. What? You want to heal me through some sex. It probably won’t work. I can’t even think about a relationship that lasts past tomorrow because of all my wounded bullshit, but if you’re sure, then hey, let’s do this thing. Yeah, heard it all before.”

He sighed. “I’m not trying to play anyone. I’m not. I never used any of those lines on you. I acted like an idiot because I had no idea how to handle you.”

She stiffened in the moonlight, her shoulders squared and rigid. “You handled it fine. You were honest.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I wasn’t honest, and even if I had been being honest, I wasn’t kind.”

“I haven’t known many men who cared much about kindness.”

“Well, then you haven’t known me.”

She was silent for a moment, as though trying to decide what to do. She sniffled. “Did you order the daiquiri?”

He felt himself frowning. “Yes.”

A humorless chuckle came from her throat. “Of course you did. You’re the whole reason I left the bar. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have a job right now. I would have a place to be. I would have a home that hadn’t been invaded by an asshole. Why? Why did you order that fucking daiquiri? And think long and hard before you lie to me.”

Shit. His first instinct was to tell her, damn girl, NOLA boy loves himself a daiquiri, but there was something wicked in that girl’s eyes, something desperate that told him she needed to be handled with care this evening and that while he’d thought he was being honest with her before and that hadn’t worked, honesty was definitely required now. “I was curious. My family owned a bar, you see. I grew up in one an hour and a half south of New Orleans. We owned the bar and the wharf attached to it. I consider myself an expert. I was working before I could drink. The sheriff would look the other way. He didn’t care that I would help my pop-pop out as long as I wasn’t sampling the merchandise. I’d watched you all night and you looked like a woman who could handle herself, but there are tests.”

She touched her chest with her free hand. He didn’t mention that it caused something to fall out of her hair. “My daiquiri was perfect. Fucking perfect, asshole. I even made my own syrup. I was great for that job and you came in here and fucked it up for me.”

There was something about hearing those filthy words coming from her pretty mouth that settled him. She’d always been polite around him, so ladylike, but there was a genuine woman in there and he’d hurt her. He’d been less than kind and he hadn’t meant to be that. “Lisa, I’m sorry, but that is not the place for you. You don’t belong there, chèr…damn it. You don’t belong there, ma crevette.” My little shrimp. He couldn’t help it. It was what he did when he was being affectionate, and she did have a shrimp hanging on her shoulder, though it wasn’t petite. Cherry Pies believed in jumbo sizes for their crustaceans. “Let me take you home. Please. I’ll call around and I swear I’ll help you find another job tomorrow if that’s what you need. I know some people. That’s what you need, right? You need a job?”

He’d been an ass and he meant to have the story, but it was obvious he’d been wrong.

“Yeah, I need a job. I have an MBA and I can’t find a job.” She looked down at her shoes. “I’ve been out of work for six months and it’s getting bad. I had some savings, but I’ve gone through it. I turned in my car a few weeks ago rather than have it be repossessed. I’m at the point where I’m not sure if I can buy groceries next week. I only have an apartment because my brother insists on either paying for it or moving me in with my sister Lila and her creepy boyfriend.”

Creepy boyfriend hadn’t popped up at the meeting. Remy would have to look into that. “Why don’t you ask Will for more money? From what I understand Bridget has plenty.”

It wasn’t surprising that he would know her brother and sister-in-law. They were regulars at Sanctum and Will often joked that his knowledge of the human brain and how to fix it paid nothing compared to his wife’s knowledge of how five men could penetrate a woman simultaneously.

Her eyes came up and he recognized something fierce there. Pure pride. “Do you go to your siblings for money? Do you ask for handouts, Remy?”

Hell no, he did not. “No. So let me help you. Help isn’t charity. Help is…well, it’s simply what we should do for each other. If I was walking down the road at night, would you stop and pick me up?”

One shoulder shrugged. “I don’t know. If I found you interesting, I might.”

He groaned. “I wish I’d never heard that word before. Please, Lisa Daley. Please let me take you home. I’m worried stray dogs and cats are going to think you’re a movable feast and some random club kids will decide you’re a walking rave and party around you.”

She grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

“I think you’re cute as a button, ma crevette,” he admitted.

“Okay. But only because my feet are swollen.” She stuffed the dollar bills into her bag and then the shrimp that had been on her shoulder fell and she shrieked but managed to catch it.

“It’s not alive,” he said quietly, looking around to see if anyone was calling the cops on the massive dude and the tiny woman who had screamed. She stared at it for a long moment and then he heard her stomach rumble. Damn. The woman was hangry. He could understand that. It was one part of her savage beast he could soothe easily. “Are you thinking about eating that?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But that would be gross. Right?”

In the distance he heard the sound of a siren wailing. It appeared the ambulance was coming for her erstwhile former customer. Remy pulled the shrimp out of her hand and tossed it away for some lucky roaming cat to find. This particular kitten had just gotten herself a keeper. “Pizza is on me.”

He lifted her back up because he couldn’t stand the way she stumbled in those shoes and walked to his massive truck, tucking her inside and doing her seatbelt himself.

“I would like that,” she said, her lips curling up.

It was the first real smile he’d seen on her all night and he didn’t want to think about what that smile did to his insides. He drove out as the ambulance was pulling in.

She was right where he needed her to be—at his side. Now he simply had to find a way to keep her there.