CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tabby
My hands felt clammy. The knot in my stomach that had formed last night was now more like a swollen balloon waiting to burst. I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them, but they were already out there in the universe, hanging between Owen and me. He was so reserved about anything related to The Club that I couldn’t imagine he was willing to address the assertion, and I was sure my bringing it up was going to be one of the last things I did with him.
It didn’t matter, though. I needed to know, and if he wasn’t willing to reveal any secrets I needed to know that too. Sure, there was the possibility I’d return to Chicago sooner than I’d anticipated with a crushed soul, but such was life. There would be others, men who were willing to share themselves completely with me. Not like Owen, but there was no one like Owen.
Then, to my complete and utter shock, he rested his forearms on the table’s edge, leaned in nearer to me, and said, “I know you have questions. Ask.”
There it was… permission to pull back the curtains and peer into the life of the world’s biggest mystery man. I should’ve jumped at the opportunity and started plowing him with queries, but I was stunned into speechlessness. My brain was screaming at me, begging me to ask something before he changed his mind and shut down again, but my mouth had gone dry and I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Who was this man with the jeans and the Honda and the willingness to share?
Was it possible he cared how I perceived him?
I didn’t have time to relearn how my tongue worked before we were interrupted. The waiter was a man who appeared to be in his forties and looked as Cajun as gumbo, and I could tell immediately that he knew Owen. Hands clasped behind his back, he bowed slightly. “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight!” he exclaimed.
“I had to make sure my money was well-spent,” Owen joked. He then reached for my hand. “I’d like you to meet my date, Tabby Rickard. Tabby, this is Sam.”
“A pleasure to meet you, miss!” Sam cried. He was boisterous and exuberant, and he emitted a jolliness I could only equate to my childhood imaginings of Santa. There wasn’t an ounce of falsity in his demeanor.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I replied with a genuine smile.
Owen was grinning at me from across the table. I raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively, but he didn’t give me any indication of the reason behind his grin and instead asked Sam, “How’s Patty? Is her boutique doing well?”
“Oh, she’s just great! Just great!” Sam gushed, throwing his head back with a haphazard shake as he said it. “I couldn’t be more blessed to have her, and she knows it too!”
The three of us simultaneously chuckled appreciatively. “What about Kel? Is he looking forward to going back to school?”
“He was stir-crazy the day after he got home,” Sam told us with the same head-tossing movement. “I told him, ‘Son, take advantage of your vacation now because once you graduate you’ll never relax again!’”
I laughed and Owen raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Ain’t that the truth,” he remarked. “Well, I’m glad to hear things are going well for you, Sam.”
“Ah, they are, they are. What about you, sir? How is business?”
As Owen and Sam engaged in a brief conversation about Owen’s career, I watched with fascination. There seemed to be a very real friendship between the two men, not the type of friendship that included going to movies and grabbing drinks together, but the type that was sown from honest interest in the other’s well-being. It was a relationship of purity and good-heartedness and humanity. I was intrigued. It was the first time I’d seen Owen interacting on a level deeper than basic courtesies with an employee anywhere — perhaps excluding Stephan — though I knew they were friendly not by what they said to each other but by what they didn’t.
Sam took our drink orders, then bowed his head and strode away, leaving Owen and me alone again. I was still worried the opportunity to ask him all my questions had gone over the time lapse, but I was also wrapped up in the heartwarming exchange I’d just witnessed.
“How long have you known him?” I inquired once Sam disappeared.
“About three weeks.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “He’d been hired right before you came to New Orleans for your cousin’s wedding, actually.”
“Wow. It seemed like you’ve known each other for years.”
Owen smiled vaguely, but he didn’t offer any explanation. My fear of a missed opportunity returned in full force, but it was for naught. “So, you have questions?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly. I was inclined to start slow and easy, but that would just waste time and I needed to get to the bottom of things, so I dove in headfirst. “What did Pippa mean last night?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I bid on Pippa the first time she came to The Club, and a few times after that. She seemed harmless at the time. I’ve since learned she’s extremely jealous and impressively manipulative. For whatever reason, she doesn’t take kindly to other women on my arm, and she seems to be under the misimpression that I’d choose her if all other options were taken away. What really gets her steamed is when I’m with a woman who wasn’t in the auction because she is sought after only when she’s up on that stage. The times she’s made an appearance at The Club without participating, she’s left alone while other women are scooped up like hot commodities, and it infuriates her. Last night, you were one of those women and you were with me, so she was determined to find a way to make me look bad, thus extinguishing your interest and her competition.”
“So, there was no truth behind it?” I asked doubtfully. “You’re telling me she just made something up and threw it out there, hoping it would stick?”
“I’ve paid for my women before, if you can call the auction paying for women,” he said unflinchingly. “Not nearly as often as Pippa made it sound, but it’s happened. She was one of the few who always received a check — for her charity of choice, of course.”
“But you haven’t bought hookers off the street?” I pressed.
Owen chortled and shook his head calmly. “No.”
Relief pooled in my belly, disintegrating the balloon-knot. I was fired up now. He was answering my questions without so much as a sidestep, and I had a boatload. Scooting forward on my chair, I lowered my voice and asked boldly, “What are Howie’s interests?”
He eyed me for a moment, then the corners of his mouth edged up in a grin of amusement. “Are you asking because you want to use deductive reasoning to find out my interests or because you actually want to know Howie’s?”
“Both.”
He continued studying me for a long moment before I saw the relent in his face. “Howie likes to be hurt.”
I stared at him. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “Hurt?”
“Yes. Whipped, flayed, smacked, kicked, spanked, choked. He craves pain.”
“Oh my god,” I muttered. I’d heard of such things before, dominatrixes and all that, but I’d never met anyone into that sort of thing — at least, I’d never known if I had. “So… you like to hurt others, then?”
Owen furrowed his brow and asked, “What makes you think that?”
“Because you said Howie’s interest and yours are opposites. If he likes to get pain, you like to give it. Right?”
I wasn’t sure how I was hoping he’d answer. Thus far, he hadn’t exhibited any signs that he wanted to make me cry or leave welts all over my body, but he could’ve been repressing the desire for the sake of his secret. Admittedly, I was mildly enticed by the idea for the sheer novelty of it. The temptation was well shadowed behind fear, however, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t into receiving pain the way he might’ve wanted me to be.
“No.” The word was a tonic to my soul, and I instantly relaxed. The mystery about his own interests still lingered, but it suddenly didn’t feel quite as important. Just knowing he didn’t want to spank me sore or whip me bloody was a relief to know in itself. It must have shown on my face because he was watching me with the same expression one would watch a funny TV show. “I’m more complex than that.”
“How?”
It was at that moment Sam reappeared with two drinks in hand. “I’ve come bearing libations!” he crowed, placing them down before us. He then stepped back, looked between us, and asked, “Have you had enough time to peruse the menu?”
I hadn’t even glanced at the menu, nor had Owen, but he answered, “I hear Nikolai wants to test run the fondue prix fixe.”
“Oh, yes, and you’ll be the first to give it a try,” Sam said jubilantly.
“Excellent. We’ll have that.” Owen collected my menu from in front of me, stacked it atop his own, and handed them both to Sam. “By the way, is Rafael working?”
The Cajun waiter shook his head. “Not tonight, sir. His wife is due any day now, you know.”
“That’s what he told me when I saw him last Wednesday,” Owen nodded. “Give him my best next time he’s in, won’t you? And let him know that basket I sent was prewrapped, so I’m not responsible if the contents are crap.”
“I will,” Sam laughed.
When he departed with our menus and our order, I cocked my head at Owen and repeated, “Basket?”
“Rafael is one of the bartenders here. I helped get him the job, actually. He used to mix drinks at The Club on and off. He’s having his first kid, so I had my assistant send him one of those cheesy baby baskets with the diapers and the bottles and whatnot,” he explained.
I’d known Owen was a man of surprises from the beginning, but this night was taking the cake. Just when I’d thought I was starting to figure him out, he’d pulled out this completely new side for me to discover. To be honest, I was finding this new side just as sexy as the other one.
“You seem to really care about people who work for you,” I noted in admiration. “I mean, I’m not sure if they work for you, exactly, but you get my drift.”
“Sweetheart, if there’s one thing I learned early on in my career, it was that one can only feel wanted, needed, and happy when those around you feel wanted, needed and happy,” he said sagely. “And that doesn’t just apply to work, either.”