“Jake!” I faintly hear a muffled voice urgently yell from what seems a million miles away. Something hits me in the face, and I mumble something. The voice speaks up again, this time closer. “Jake, wake up.”

I let out a groan, my head pounding like that time I decided to do keg stands in college and lost my balance, hitting my head on the way down. I feel someone shaking me violently, but it's a chore to open my eyes.

“Jake, what happened?” the voice says, and I can finally identify who it is. That Bronx accent is pretty much unmistakable.

Still, even if I recognize Nathan’s voice, it's a struggle to open my eyes. I finally force them open, but when I do, all I see is a blur.

“Fuck,” I groan. “You get the number on that truck?”

“Jake, you’re fucking smashed, man,” Nathan says, and I swallow thickly, my mouth feeling both swollen and somehow dry at the same time. “Damn, I haven’t seen you like this before.”

I feel like my chest has been cast in concrete and like my limbs are weighed down by stone. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to focus, but it takes several moments for me to see Nathan clearly. He’s standing over me, staring at me with disbelief, concern, and yeah, a little amusement.

“Where is she?” I mumble, my words sounding like a jumbled mess. I'm trying to get my bearings, remember what’s going on. Some things are a little hazy, but her . . . I can’t forget her. Her lush body in my hands, those sweet lips . . . fuck.

Nathan frowns. “Huh? I don't understand you.”

I realize I'm not going to get anywhere for at least several minutes with the brain fog that is filling my mind. “Water,” I rasp, trying to imitate drinking motions. “Get me some water.”

Nathan looks like he’s about to make a wiseass comment but instead goes to the corner of the room and grabs a water out of the small refrigerator, bringing it over to me. I'm barely able to take it from his hands, but he plucks it out of my weakened fingers and opens it for me. Taking it, I chug some, the water churning in my stomach, but at least I’ve got something to focus on besides the jackhammer between my ears.

“Damn, dude,” Nathan continues, “What the hell is going on? You disappear and now I find you back here passed out, looking fucked up as all hell. How much did you drink?”

“Not drunk,” I say slowly, focusing on every syllable to make sure I’m understood. I remember throwing back that one beer, my second drink for the night. The champagne was the other, and it was a half glass.

“Not drunk?” Nathan demands, his face twisted in confusion. “Jake, you know damn well we can’t be having drugs in . . .”

“Drugged,” I say, not knowing if I’m thinking clearly enough. That had to be it. The beer. It had to be. It just doesn’t make sense any other way.

Nathan looks shocked. “What?”

“I was drugged,” I manage in a froglike croak. “I don’t know how or why, but someone spiked my drink.”

“It was that fucking tramp I ran into on the way here!” Nathan half yells, jumping to his own conclusion. “I knew there was something fishy about that broad being back here!”

“Roxy?” I ask, remembering her flirty dimple-filled smile. I don’t consider myself naive, but I don’t think my angel is responsible.

“That’s her name?” Nathan snarls, turning away. “I’m gonna go out there, find her, and call the cops . . .”

I hold out my hand and tried to stand, but I collapse back onto the bed, my head pounding. “Wait!”

Nathan turns back, scowling.

I shake my head weakly. “Don’t call,” I rasp. “Seriously.”

“Why the fuck not? If we let this type of shit happen, we’re going to be finished.”

“You’re usually more levelheaded than this. Think about it. I’m the one fucked up and I’m thinking more clearly. If you call the cops, that’s all everyone’s going to be talking about. We don’t need the negative press. Let’s just look at the security tapes and figure out what to do.”

The rage flees his face and his shoulders relax. “Shit, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

I nod. “And there’s no need to call the ambulance. I just need a little time and some fluids. I can already feel the effects wearing off a little bit.”

Nathan runs his fingers through his hair. “What were you thinking, bringing her back here . . .” His voice trails off as if he suddenly seems to notice that I’m sitting on the bed. “Shit, did you at least hit it?”

I shake my head. “Was about to.”

“Man, what the fuck? All your talk about being on the straight and narrow, but you're bringing sluts to the back room on our grand opening night—”

“She’s not a slut,” I cut in.

“Really? Then what the fuck is she?” Nathan asks.

Nathan shakes his head when I can’t answer. “She probably robbed your ass blind.”

I pat my pockets and realize my wallet is missing. “Fuck me!”

Nathan is staring at me incredulously. “See? What did I tell you? Why else would she drug you if not to rob your ass!”

Anger tightens my stomach. Fuck, how could I be so stupid? “I’ll call and cancel all my cards. She won't be able to get shit off them. Listen, my head can’t take much more of this shit right now. Leave me be for a bit and go check the tapes.”

I’m glad when Nathan leaves without an argument, and I can’t help but see Roxy in my mind. That sweet, angelic smile and her irresistible laugh.

But no matter how hard I try to reason things, the fact of the matter is that my wallet is gone. Which leaves me with only one explanation.

My little angel is a thief.

* * *

“Roll the footage,” Nathan orders Andre, our head security guy.

I’d sat in the bedroom for twenty minutes, trying to gather myself before Nathan came back and helped me through the back to the security room. I can stand on my own, but the world’s still spinning a little, and I know I probably sound drunk as hell. Still, I’ve got my wits about me, more or less.

“That’s her!” I half-slur, pointing as I get up. I grab the edge of the desk as a wave of dizziness washes over me. On the video, Roxy is approached by some guy, and I recognize him. He was there when I approached her. He orders her a beer, and she never touches it, but when she looks away, you can see as clear as day that he slips something in the bottle.

“Son of a bitch,” Nathan breathes. “That bastard slipped something in her drink!”

I grab the edge of the security desk in a white-knuckled grip, my lip curling as I stare at the image on the screen, searing the man’s face into my memory. If I ever see him again, he’s going to get a beating. “Find him.”

Andre clears his throat. “I’ll get on the radio to the floor guys, and I’ll keep checking footage here. Trust me, if that asshole shows up again, he’s gonna catch a beatdown.”

“Okay, maybe I was wrong about the girl,” Nathan admits as we leave. I’m angry and would love nothing more than to go track this guy down, but the drug’s effect is too strong for me. “But it still doesn’t explain the wallet.”

“I’m going to go with it was an accident.” It’s the only alternative to she stole it and the one I want to believe most. Even an angel makes mistakes.

“Either way, we got a huge problem on our hands if this motherfucker is going around doin’ this shit. We have to catch him. I just don't know if we should call the police now or after we catch him,” Nathan says while I recover. “This type of shit is bad for business.”

“No cops for now,” I half growl, pissed off. “I want to teach this guy a lesson first.”