Brooke
There is a line around the block as we drive past the entrance to MOS in Jake’s Camaro. Hope is riding shotgun up front. I’m in the back, sandwiched between Louis and Harry, sorry Liam, I think. If the car crashed right this moment, I could think of worse ways to die.
“What time did you say you open?” I ask the blond-haired, blue-eyed man sitting beside me.
“Doors open at eight.” Louis answers absentmindedly as he takes in the long line.
“But it’s only just turned six.”
“We’re popular guys.” He shrugs, on my right Liam’s body shakes as he tries to suppress a laugh. “Looks like we’re going to have a good night.”
“And all those people are happy to wait outside for another couple of hours to see you?” I blow out a breath. “Wow.”
“They,” Louis says, making as much of a sweeping gesture as he can within the cramped confines of the car, “know what they like, and they like us.”
“We’ve got a loyal following across the state,” Liam chips in. “We started small, doing a few gigs here and there. Word spread, we increased our social media presence, and boom, here we are,” he says as Jake pulls into a reserved parking space at the back of the club.
“Right then,” Jake says, turning in his seat to face us. “Let’s get you in the building, Brooke. I’ll give you a quick tour. Louis can show you the books—see if it’s something you could do, then you can either sit in the VIP booth or off stage so you can watch us. Up to you. That sound good?”
I nod my head in agreement. Jake flashes me a huge grin, pulls his ever present shades over his eyes, then says, “Show time,” as he opens the car door.
“Jake!”
“Hey, baby.”
“Liam, you never called.”
“Louis, be my baby daddy.”
As soon as we exit the car, the boys are surrounded by a large group of scantily clad women. Hope takes a hold of my elbow, pulling me toward the stage door before I’m crushed by the onslaught. It’s a great relief when the door slams shut behind us.
“Who were they?”
“Groupies.” Hope shakes her head and continues striding forward into the heart of the venue.
“They have groupies?”
“Yeah.” She turns to face me and rolls her eyes. “It’s the reason why they’re all so big-headed.”
“Heard that,” a gruff voice says behind me, and I turn to see a tall, gorgeous African-American guy with the most stunning green eyes.
“Hey, Zane.”
“Hey, Phoenix.” He grins, picking Hope up with ease and spinning her around. “Thought you weren’t working tonight.” He gently puts her down, reaching out with his large hand to brush a random hair away from Hope’s face.
“I’m showing my sister the ropes.”
“Sister?” Zane turns, pinning me with his gaze. He studies me for a minute before a huge grin breaks out on his face. “Hi there…”
“Brooke,” I say, stepping forward to shake his hand. He takes me by surprise by pulling me in for a hug.
“Girl, you don’t look like a Brooke. You look like a Rogue to me.”
“He’s obsessed with comic books,” Hope stage whispers. “He likes to give people nicknames based on them.”
“I sure do. Welcome to the family, Rogue.” He laughs, releasing me from the bone-crunching hug.
“Thanks.” I grin as the gentle giant gives Hope the same treatment.
“I’ve gotta get myself oiled up for tonight’s show. If you’re around later, come find me and I’ll buy you a drink.” Zane winks as he places a dazed Hope on the ground.
As he walks away, I notice Hope staring at his mighty fine ass until he disappears around the corner. Not that I blame her.
“He was nice.”
“Yeah.” She sighs, and takes my hand again, leading me in the other direction from where Zane went. “He’s a nice guy. Real gentleman. He’s also off limits.”
“Oh.” I feel a pang of disappointment, which kind of shocks me. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Guy.” Hope corrects me.
“Guy?”
Hope nods her head, and surges forward, down the maze of corridors. I tug hard on her hand, forcing her to stop.
“Shut up! No way…not that it matters.”
“I know. I had the same reaction, and for your information, he’s bi.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Long story, but he and Shane are really happy together. Shame that others can’t be happy for them,” she says cryptically. “Anyway, come on, we’ve got people to see before the shows start.” I struggle to catch up as she strides off.
There are people everywhere I look, each one of them giving Hope a smile or wave as we walk by. Some of the guys give her fist bumps, which she jokingly returns. I’ve not seen this side of Hope in a long time—the social butterfly who loves everyone and who everyone loves in turn. I thought she’d got lost when Cade…
“Here we are,” she chirps, not bothering to knock as she flings a door open. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Wow.”
“I know, right?” she says, walking over to the computer sitting on the biggest desk I’ve ever seen. I turn around in circles, trying to take it all in. Masculine and powerful are two words that spring to mind. The walls are painted a dark gray, accented with white, plain except for a single painting of a naked woman that looks like it cost a pretty penny. The wooden furniture complements the color on the walls. Dotted here and there are small, yet tasteful, statues of the human body. Everything looks expensive. Very expensive.
In the corner of the room is a top of the range coffee machine, but it’s the desk that draws back my attention. There is a bank of computer screens and other high-tech gadgetry, which I find odd, considering that I know what the venue is used for.
“This must have cost…”
“A fortune. Yes, it did.”
“And you say the person who owns this place makes their money solely from?”
“MOS is a strip club that caters to men and women,” Hope answers absentmindedly.
“Yeah, but it can’t make that much money. I mean look at all this,” I say, spinning around. “I recognize expensive when I see it, Hope.”
“Stripping is lucrative,” she says defensively.
“Please don’t tell me that they’re involved with anything illegal.”
“They’re not.”
“How would you know? You’re the bar manager.”
“I know quite a lot. Believe me, what they do is not illegal.”
“And believe me, this does not come from just running a club. If I’m not mistaken that little trinket over there”—I point to a sculpture of a male torso—“is worth more than my house and your apartment together.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s from a series of works by Diablo,” I say, picking the statue up and checking the base for the telltale mark of the artist they call the Devil. Sure enough it’s there. “He made five in total and by the looks of it, all five are here.” I carefully replace the statue and step back. “They were bought as a set by a mystery buyer two years ago for twelve million dollars. Before you ask, Doc Barrowman bored me to tears during a physical exam last year. Apparently, he likes to dabble in antiques, alongside taking your blood pressure.”
“Oh.”
“As interesting as that was for you, it doesn’t explain how the hell you got caught up with whatever shady shit these guys are into, because,” I say quickly before she can interrupt me, “there is no way on this earth that stripping would make these affordable. However the guy who owns this place makes his money, I’m positive it’s not legal.” Hope doesn’t say a word—she just stares at me, arms folded across her chest. “I don’t like it, Hope. I don’t like the thought of you getting into trouble. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t want to have to come visit you in jail.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “But there really is no need to worry. Everything is above board. Orange just isn’t my color.”
“Ho…”
“You aren’t in sleepy little Emmerton anymore, Brooke. The cozy, little life you had is gone. Dead. If you want to go back, then be prepared to be humiliated some more by the people who were supposed to love and protect you. Do me a favor and watch your back, because I guarantee that you’ll be seen as a joke by people who you thought were your friends. I won’t stop you, if that’s what you want.” Hope perches herself on the corner of the large desk and sighs. “Or you can take a chance and see what life has to offer here. Stop questioning everything. Jake and the guys want to help you. It’s what they do, help the people who need helping, save the people that need saving. I trust them with my life. These guys saved me, Brooke. They picked me up when I was down, they dusted me off, helped me find a home, and gave me a job. They’re the good guys, but I’m warning you now, they won’t appreciate you sticking your nose in their business. If the guys want you to know, you’ll know.”
“Know what?” We both let out a little shriek at the sound of Jake’s voice. I turn to see him leaning against the door. I hadn’t heard him come in.
“Jake!” Hope looks like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear you defend my honor.” He gives me a shit eating grin as he walks past and takes a seat behind the desk. “So, Brooke, like Hope told you, what we do is one hundred percent legal. That’s all you need to know right now. As for how I can afford this shit”—he leans back in the chair, placing his feet on the desk—“I came into some money and I like art.”
Hope tries to muffle her laughter.
“I can see.” I look at the tattoos that adorn his arms, then up at his face. He’s changed his clothes since we got out of the car, now wearing a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and a vest. “Is that what you’re wearing for tonight? Very Christian Grey. What do you do? Have a bed on stage, tie your victim to it, and whip the shit out of her?”
“Believe me, the women we have on stage are anything but victims.” Jake’s smile is warm. “I like the idea though. I don’t think we’ve done a Fifty Shades routine.” He looks at Hope. “Why haven’t we ever done one?” Hope makes a face and shrugs. “Could you start working on something for the guys? Have a talk with Zane or Niall, see if they have any ideas. In fact go do that now. Brooke will be safe here with me.”
“You okay with that, Brooke? I won’t be too long.”
“Yes.” I hear myself say, which is exactly the opposite of what I’m thinking.
“Cool.” She flashes me a grin and disappears through the door.
“Soooo.” I look back to Jake and see that he’s now perched on the same corner of the desk as Hope was a few moments ago. “Now I have you all alone.” His tone is low, seductive. His eyes are full of heat. I start walking backward in the direction of the door.
“Uh…Umm…I…”
“Where are you going?” he asks, stalking toward me.
“To find Hope.” As my back hits the door, I start to fumble around for the handle. Why can’t I find the handle?
“I’ll ask again. Where do you think you’re going?” I cringe as Jake places his arms on either side of my head, boxing me in. For a moment I’m lost in his deep blue eyes, paralyzed with inaction. I feel a maelstrom of emotions—fear, loathing…longing? He seems to sense my confusion, using it to his advantage as he leans forward as if to kiss me, which brings me to my senses.
“Not so fast, buddy.” I put my hand on his face, pushing him back as I duck out from under his arms and move as far away from him as possible. Jake remains in the same position with his head down. “I don’t know what you think you were doing, but whatever it was, I’m not interested.” I seethe. “I’ve just broken up with my fiancé, not my choice by the way, and the last thing I want to do is make a mistake by jumping into bed with the first guy who shows me some attention. That’s not who I am. Now, I’m hurting, Jake, I’m hurting real bad. I’ve left behind my whole life, and what I can do with is a friend right now. Hope said that I can trust you, but from your actions just now, I’m not sure that I can.” Jake doesn’t respond to my words, instead he stays standing in the same position as when he tried to kiss me. Well now I have my answer—Hope was wrong, Jake’s an asshole, and I’ve had my fill of them. “You know what? I think I made a mistake coming here. It was nice to have met you. Now please, move out of my way.”
“Good.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, good.”
“Am I missing something here? What’s good? The fact that you tried to kiss me and I turned you down, or that I gave you a big, long speech and not once did you have the decency to look at me?”
Jake pushes himself upright, turns and stalks past me.
“Do you want a beer or something?” he asks, opening up a cupboard door beneath the coffee machine to reveal a fully stocked refrigerator. “Or I have water, wine, cola, juice, some girly cocktail shit that your sister likes…”
“What?”
“I’ll put it in simple terms. Do you want a drink?”
“Are you crazy? I just told you…You just tried to…”
“Beer it is,” he says, grabbing a hold of two bottles, and placing one in front of me before he sits down at his desk and opens his.
“I’m just going to go,” I say, ignoring the beer and heading straight to the door.
“I’m not by the way.”
“Huh?” My hand stills on the door knob, and I twist my body so that I’m facing him.
“Not crazy. We’ll maybe a little bit.” Jake shrugs before taking a long draw of his beer.
“You are not making any sense right now, and I’m going.” I grimace.
“Wait. Please.”
“Look, Jake, I don’t know you from Adam. I don’t owe you anything. I’m confused as hell and, to be honest, just a tiny bit freaked out right now.”
He puts the bottle down on the desk and leans back in his chair. His dark blue eyes travel over my body. “Brooke, I’m not going to tell you that I’m not interested, because that would be a lie, but you’re vulnerable right now...”
“You just tried to kiss me!”
“Look, I know the feeling is mutual, but I just don’t do rebound flings. Sorry, babe.”
“B—”
“I know…I know. Don’t take it too personally. Maybe we can hook up in the future.”
“You can go fuck yourself, you…you psycho.” I rage as I press down the handle.
“Now, now, that’s no way to speak to your new boss.”
“You’re unbelievable!”
“No, I’m your boss,” he states calmly, while I seethe with rage.
“I don’t remember agreeing to work for you, asshat.”
“That’s one strike right there.”
“And I don’t find you attractive, you narcissistic bastard…”
“Strike two.” While his tone is bored, his face is smug. “Be aware that we operate a three strikes and you’re out policy here.” His smug smile grows bigger as he leans further back in his chair, placing his feet on his desk.
I’m seriously wondering if it’ll be worth the jail time just to wipe that smile off the douchebag’s face.
“But,” he says, placing both hands behind his head, “I’m willing to let you off with a warning this time.”
“I. Don’t. Work. For. You. Douchenozzle.” I grind out through gritted teeth.
“You do as of”—he takes his feet off the table and leans forward on the desk—“now. You see I need people I can trust to work for me. I also need people who won’t put up with my bullshit, and I need someone who doesn’t want to jump into bed with me. Do you know how hard it is to find someone like that?” I’m too stunned to answer. “I mean look at me. Anyway, you passed the test. Congratulations. Welcome aboard. You’re hired.”
“What if I don’t want to work for you?”
“You will. I’m a good boss, pay well, and you get all your benefits paid. I’ll find an apartment in the complex for you, that’ll come with the job.”
“Hang on. How can you afford that? From what I’ve seen, those apartments looked pretty pricy to me.”
“I own the apartment complex, all my employees live there. Officially I have a house in the swanky part of town.” He flashes me a brilliant smile. “I have a lot of money, Brooke. A lot of money, so you won’t need to worry about anything. I’m willing to offer you all that, if you come and work for me doing bookkeeping and shit. Hope told me you can do that stuff.”
“You could hire an accountant.”
“Nah, I’ve already got a few of those. I want you to work on my charity projects.”
“Like the Derek Zoolander School for Kids Who Can’t Read Good?”
“Snarky and feisty. I knew I’d like you. Plus admit it, you think I’m totally hot.”
“I think you’re an idiot.”
“So what do you say?” he says, ignoring my comment.
“I suppose I could work for you for a while.”
“Excellent.” Jake claps his hands together and springs to his feet. “Let me show you around the place.” He puts his arm around my shoulders and guides me out of his office. “You know, I think this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’ve made you forget about the shit in your life though, haven’t I?”
He’s right. I’ve not once thought of Brody.