Ten

Dahlia

 

We walked into a small sandwich bar tucked a few blocks away from the Strip. I hadn’t been to Barny’s since I was in college. It was far enough from the campus that it felt like a break but close enough that it didn’t feel like you were crossing the entire desert for a sandwich.

Not to mention, they made the best sandwiches and subs in the entire city.

“I can afford more than a sandwich, you know.” I eyed Damien as I pulled the door open and waited.

He stared at me flatly.

“What? I can’t hold a door for you, too? Do I look like a damsel in distress at the top of her tower?”

He gripped the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening in the process. “I already agreed to let you buy lunch. Don’t take it too far.”

“How gracious of you.” I let go of the handle with a flourish and stalked inside the busy sandwich shop. “God forbid your masculinity be threatened by a woman, of all things,” I threw over my shoulder with a quick glare.

I’d barely turned my head when his hands were on my shoulders. He tugged me toward him, pulling my back flush against his toned body. My ass nestled against him, and his solid chest pressed against my shoulder blades, sending a shiver rocketing down my spine.

“I take it back,” he murmured in my ear. “Take it as far as you like. Then, maybe, you’ll see just how much my masculinity is threatened by you.”

“Your masculinity can kiss my ass.” I turned my face into his as we took a simultaneous step forward in the line. “Oh, wait. It pretty much is.”

His cock was slowly hardening against my ass, pushing firmly against his zipper.

“It’ll do more than kiss your ass, sweetheart.”

“Not if I break it off.”

“Are you gonna bite me? Seeing you choke on my cock might be worth the risk,” he rumbled in a low tone, his lips now brushing my earlobe.

The people in front of us in line stepped up to order, and I shrugged myself out of his grip. No doubt, he could have kept me there against him if he really wanted to, but he let me go anyway.

What was with this newfound inability to have a conversation in person without it turning sexual?

He wasn’t deprived, that much was sure. Handsome, rich, and charismatic, there was no doubt in my mind that he had sex virtually on tap. Thirty minutes in a bar would guarantee him company for the night. Yet, here he was, all up in my business with his dirty words all the damn time.

He couldn’t be that hard-up.

Well.

Considering I’d felt his erection plenty of times, he was certainly able to get up and hard, but still.

I placed my order for a BLT with extra cheese and then, on no more than a complete whim, I pulled a Damien.

I ordered for him.

I handed over my credit card before he could protest. I’d ordered him exactly the same as mine, because who didn’t like that? But, still, I could almost feel the annoyance as it radiated off of him. It was almost radioactive as he gripped the edge of the counter, leaning a little too close to me.

He stayed there, perfectly still, seethingly silent until our sandwiches were wrapped and handed to me. I took one in each hand and swept around him, turning toward the door. If he thought he was going to run the rest of this lunch, he had a thought or ten coming his way.

I tucked both sandwiches against me in one arm and opened the door. This time, I didn’t even wait for him to walk through or grab it. I stalked outside without him and turned away from the car.

“Where are you going?”

I ignored his question and kept walking. More than anything, I was giving the man a taste of his own medicine. He’d done nothing but dictate to me since I’d met him, and he hadn’t stopped for a second to actually realize something very important.

I wasn’t the kind of woman you dictated to.

I followed rules well. I could take orders.

Demands were a whole other ball game.

I wove through the few blocks until I reached the small area of grass that was the park I’d spent a lot of my childhood in. And by childhood, I mean teenage years and evenings drinking vodka disguised inside Coca-Cola bottles.

“Oh, cute. A picnic,” Damien muttered when I sat down not far from a flowerbed.

I glared and held out his sandwich. “You’re not the only one who can assume and be a dick about it.”

He sat down next to me and took the wrapped BLT from me. The paper crinkled as he gripped it, and he spared me a glance before he unwrapped it. “Is this how you feel when I picked Barny’s without asking you?”

I said nothing. I simply unwrapped my sandwich and took a small bite out of the end without looking at him. Instead, I gazed out at the children’s playground I’d been in so many times before, where so many of my youngest years had been spent with my parents pushing me on swings and catching me at the bottom of the slide.

He sighed.

I kept up my firm ignorance as the crinkling of his wrapper reached my ears. I didn’t know if he looked at me—I didn’t care to know. I wanted to make my point. Make the point that he couldn’t keep steamrolling over me. It didn’t matter how hard or how far he pushed me, I’d push right back, even if my back was against the wall and my arms were tied behind me.

I was Dahlia Freakin’ Lloyd.

I submitted to nobody.

Sexually or otherwise.

I was, at the very least, an equal to everyone I crossed, because I was a goddamn human being. Very few things could push me off that pedestal of being equal to another person. Damien Fox’s ego was not one of those things.

And damn it, I would take him down a peg or two. Even if it was only so nobody else had to put up with this shit.

I popped the last bite of my lunch into my mouth and crumpled up the wrapper. He was mere inches from me, and neither of us had spoken for at least ten minutes. Strangely, though, neither of us really needed to. My point was made. I didn’t need to say anything else for that, but I did want him to realize something important.

That I wasn’t just something he could play with.

That The Scarlet Letter was more than my business.

That I was a person who had a heart and feelings and who could be hurt.

“I used to come here as a kid,” I said softly, still staring at the playground. One of the old swings creaked lightly as it swung seemingly by itself, but my eyes followed the young girl who’d just left it and was running toward her father’s open arms.

Something tugged at my heart. Something strong and heavy.

I knew it well: it was grief.

“Really?” Damien’s voice was just as quiet as mine.

I nodded. “Before my mom died. The last time I came here was the morning before…” I trailed off. She was shot. The morning before someone shot her.

It was obvious I’d left the sentence unfinished, but to my relief, he glossed over it. “What made you come back today?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I didn’t really think about it. All I knew was that I wanted to show you that some things like lunch meetings are agreed between two people, not dictated by one.”

“Fair enough.” He fisted the wrapper into a ball. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that you’re…” Now, he’d trailed off.

I wasn’t going to let it go.

I turned my face until I was looking at his strong profile. At his thick brow and slightly-bumped nose and squared jaw. At the two-inch-long scar that glinted iridescently in the sunlight. “That I’m not the people you’re used to associating with? That I’m not the pushover you’d prefer me to be? That I’m not the woman who’d sit and let you order dinner for her just to get the date over with?”

“Simply, yes. Although I’m glad you’re not a pushover.”

“Why? Because you’d be bored of me by now?”

His answer was a slow, slight smile as he turned and met my eyes. “Maybe, I would be. Maybe I’d have no reason to spend time with you if you were a pushover. I’d own your bar right now if you weren’t you.”

“You don’t sound annoyed by that.”

“How can I be? You love The Scarlet Letter. I think you’re wrong for not selling to me, but at this point, my last hope is to keep bugging you enough until you give in just to make me leave you alone.”

Despite my best effort, a laugh bubbled out of me. “I suppose I can appreciate your honesty.”

That slight smile grew wider, reaching his eyes, and he nudged me with his elbow. “You’re not laughing for no reason.”

“Fine!” I let the laugh go and shoved him back. “Your honesty is, for once, refreshing. At least I know I need to get a lawyer on retainer to prepare a case for a restraining order.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have told you my plans, should I?”

“No way. I need a heads up. How else will I know who’s throwing stones at my bedroom window?”

“You even know my next idea.”

“I’ve watched a lot of movies.” I shrugged a shoulder, grinning. “And for the record, yes. How you felt when I ordered for you was how I felt when you picked Barny’s without asking me. The presumptuous acts are rude and unappreciated.”

He rubbed his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “For what it’s worth, that was a damn good sandwich.”

“And I didn’t really care that you picked Barny’s.”

“But the principle is, it sucks,” he finished the dual line of thought. “All right, all right. Next time, you can pick, as an apology.”

“You assume I’ll eat with you again.”

“You will.” Damien stood and offered me his hand. I raised an eyebrow but took it. He pulled me up and with a smirk, said, “Otherwise I’ll keep throwing stones at your window until you agree.”

I burst out laughing, stepping back from him. “I’m tempted to try that just to see if you will. I’d like to see you work out my bedroom window, first.”

“I have my ways.”

“Which are?”

He shrugged, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Throw stones at every window until I get a response.”

Don’t smile again. Don’t smile again.

Damn it.

I smiled.

“Apparently, you’ve seen your own fair share of movies,” I said.

“Only the ones where the guy always gets the girl.”

“Ah, now it makes sense. You’re talking about porn.”

He blinked at me. Then, a chuckle escaped his full, smiling lips. “Not really, but it’s not wrong. Do you have to go back to work yet?”

“What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “One-thirty-five.”

“I have a little time. Why?” I tucked my purse against my side, righting the strap on my shoulder, and looked up at him.

He motioned to the park before crossing his arms over his chest. “I want to show you something. Come back to the bar.”

I narrowed my eyes. What was it? Did I trust him enough?

“You’ll be back before you know it. It’s only a couple minutes away. Please?”

I studied his face. His eyes almost pleaded with me, and I took a deep breath in.

Then, I agreed.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

Foxies.

Anyone that knew anything about the Fox family knew that Foxies was their—aptly named—first strip club. It had, at one point, been the most popular strip club in the entire city. Hell, probably the state, if not the entire coast.

Most of how the club had opened was urban legend. Damien’s father had appeared from nowhere with money coming out of his asshole, snapped up the building, and in three months, was a millionaire. Word had it that he had personal knowledge of the abilities of the girls who worked there. And by personal, I meant personal.

My dad had once told me that all the clubs under the business had been scouted and part of an undercover mission to locate brothels in the city, but despite the cops’ best effort, the Fox clubs could never be linked to anything.

What I didn’t know was why Damien had brought me here. What reason did he have? I wasn’t a stripper. Hell, I could barely do the Macarena without falling on my ass. I was the furthest thing from a dancer in existence today.

“Foxies?” I asked him, standing beside him on the sidewalk.

He nodded, not answering me. He pushed open the front door and held it for me to pass through. When I did, I was only mildly surprised to see girls already at poles and men—and a couple women—sitting at the tables by the podiums. Pints of beer were already in front of those customers, and numerous dollar bills already dotted both the straps on the dancer’s legs and the stage on which they danced.

“I’m confused,” I said, leaning into him as we walked through the bar. “Why did you bring me here?”

He touched his hand to my lower back, but this time, I didn’t shake him off. The music was too loud and in-your-face for this early in the day, and I was thankful when he took me out to the back rooms and away from the noise and the men.

He didn’t release me until we were firmly inside the office. “Sit down.” He motioned to a high-back leather chair behind a desk.

I raised an eyebrow, but I took the seat as he’d silently asked me to. I couldn’t think why he’d brought me here, especially to the back rooms—an office, no less. “I have fifteen minutes to get back to work,” I reminded him.

We’d had to take a detour thanks to the idiot who decided to wrap the front of their car around a streetlight.

Dark eyes surveyed me for a moment. “I’ve lost my damn mind.”

“I’d argue you lost it before I ever met you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d argue back you’re the reason I’ve lost it.”

I raised my eyebrow.

“I need your help.” He sighed after a moment of silence. “I have business and marketing plans my father doesn’t agree with.”

Picking up a pen from the desk, I twirled it between my fingers. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I told you, I want your help.” Damien perched on the edge of the desk and looked back at me. “A…what would you do, if you will.”

I stared at him. His expression was flat—his jaw was a little tight, but other than that, his features were schooled into the perfect mask of uncaring, plain simplicity. He gained nothing from telling me this, so why was he?

I didn’t understand this man. Not in the slightest.

“Why are you asking me? Mia is the marketing guru. I’m still remembering to get up with my alarm because nobody else will,” I admitted. It wasn’t exactly willingly, but hey, if he could admit he was having issues in his business, the least I could do was admit I struggled to wake up in the morning.

“You have a Masters in Business.”

“That you said to me just a few days ago doesn’t run a business.”

He held his hands up. “I stand by that. It doesn’t run a business, but you have a theoretical knowledge I might lack.”

Was he admitting I knew more than him? “Are you admitting I know more than you?”

He scowled. “Don’t push it.”

“Fine, fine. You’ll admit it one day.” I paused, enjoying the dark flash of annoyance that danced through his eyes. “Spit it out. You’re wasting time.”

“One of our clubs is on the downward spiral. We have another that has never been one of our better ones, and I believe the staff could be better used in the failing club and others. They’re too good to be stuck in one of the mediocre clubs, and the one that’s losing its draw has staff openings.” Damien paused, undoing a button on his shirt. “He isn’t sure. The club falling down is one of his, not mine, and I think he’s stuck in the years he ran this business.”

I glanced around the office. “Foxies is falling apart, huh?”

He sat up straight.

“Oh, please. You bring me here for this story? Something we could have discussed in the park or even at Scarlet?” I rolled my eyes. Men. Damien was sexy but dense. Like the guys who sent unsolicited dick pics. “I’m not surprised. It felt like I was in the nineties walking through there just then. It’s outdated, Damien. I’ve seen grocery stores more stylish than this place.”

“You’re like a human Band-Aid, aren’t you?”

“Ripping off the truth, one clear-cut statement at a time.” I flashed him a grin. “If you’re asking me if you think you would be better off bringing your staff to Foxies, the answer is yes. It’s like your company’s iconic club, right? But you have to update it or it’s not going to make a difference. You can fix it if you play it right.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“You don’t wanna hear my personal one.”

He stopped for a moment. Then, he burst out laughing. I struggled to contain my own smile as he stood up and held a hand to me for the second time today.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll get you back to work now.”

I placed my hand in his and let him pull me up. “This was a completely pointless conversation, you understand that, don’t you?”

“Not entirely. I figured out that you and I agree on something else: what I should tell my father.”

I twisted my lips to the side. “But why did you ask me? It’s just an opinion. Not all opinions are right.”

Damien pulled me closer to him, keeping his fingers wrapped cozily around my own. Our bodies were perilously close, and my gaze briefly dipped to the light smattering of chest hair that peeked out from just above the open buttons of his shirt.

“Because,” he said, his lips bare centimeters from mine, “for some peculiar reason, I trust you.”

“Why?”

“I’m easily waylaid by a pretty face.”

I laughed, stepping back from him. His body emanated a warmth that seeped into my skin, that made me hyper aware of everything he was. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know. Dinner? Tomorrow?”

I met his eyes. “Are you asking me?”

With a nod, he said, “Yes. At my place. I’ll pick you up, and you can leave whenever you want.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why are you asking?” I tilted my head to the side, picking up my purse from the desk. “That sounds a lot like a date to me.”

“Maybe it is.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, seeming a lot younger than his thirty years, even as his dark eyes hinted desire. “Maybe I just want you all to myself for a couple of hours.”

I stared at him.

“Seven?” he continued, his voice softer. “I’ll pick you up at your place.”

I didn’t answer.

“Please?”

That undid me.

“Fine. But there better be wine if I’m going to spend an entire evening at your house.”

His lips curled to the side. “There’ll be wine.”