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I wonder if Janie likes to fish? She doesn’t seem the type, but then again she doesn’t seem like the sort of person who cares for hard work in general and yet there Red Hall stands, right? She’s not the sort of girl you can judge by her appearance. Those fitted dresses and sharp heels, that mane of thick hair that frames her face just right, those lips…
Dozens of women, and not one of them catches my interest for even long enough to get me to a hotel room or, hell, even the back of the Maserati I drove here for a blow job. None of them are Janie Hall.
It’s got to be that old classic, right? Every guy wants what he can’t have. I don’t remember the last time a woman played hard to get with me. I’ve been in the public eye so long now—since I was ten—that there’s never been a girl in my life who didn’t start out knowing who I was. Even Janie knew. But Janie didn’t try to sink her hooks into me.
I had my father to thank for that. And I suppose, myself. If I had just said no, for once… who knows what might have been?
Chapter 10
Janie
“I can’t stop myself from waiting for the other shoe to drop,” I tell my best friend, Sahara, over the phone while I pace the plush rug in my living room. Over the last three years, it’s developed a slightly faded track near the edges. It’s a good rug for pacing on, and I pace a lot. That’s pretty much how I choose a rug.
Sahara takes the sudden table turn between us in stride, God bless her; normally she’s the one calling me, bitching and moaning about one boy or another and the tiny things about them that bother her—or the major things that bother her, sometimes. It’s like my own personal ringside seat to the longest reality dating show in history.
“Girl, I know you are not in a panic right now,” Sahara says.
I can almost see her face. No one has been a more vocal supporter of me that Sahara since we were roommates in college. She literally thinks I can do anything. I used to think that too, but… it’s slipping. That’s why I called.
“This isn’t just a dip in business,” I insist. “This is someone intentionally out to get me. I knew that, but… I mean, did you see the piece that just came out?”
“I saw it. You think it was about Reginald Ferry?”
“And his son, Jake. That rat bastard walked right into Red Hall and asked me to dance, Sahara.” I scoff and shut down the image of Jake’s smile in my mind. “To dance. Well, we’re certainly dancing now.”
“That article is getting hard press. Want me to go comment on a bunch of the reposts pointing fingers? I’ll do it.”
“I know you would,” I say. And for all I know it would help. But… “Leave it. I don’t want to play his game. That’s not what I want to be known for, and if it got back that my best friend was commenting it would look like I asked you to sling mud on my account, and… that’s just as bad as doing it myself. But, what am I going to do? I don’t have any idea.”
“Listen to me,” Sahara says, putting on the big girl panties I must have taken off at some point, “this is nothing. A busted pipe is not going to ruin your bu
siness. Not with everything going on right now. It’ll be forgotten about in a week once you’re open again. You’re too good a person to be broken down by this complete nonsense, okay?”
“I hope you’re right,” I mutter. My throat is a little tight. “I wish you were here.”
“I know you do,” she says. “Trust that I am hugging you through the Force day and night, okay?”
I chuckle. “Nerd.”
“Always.” She sighs. “Keep your head up. You’ve got something neither of the Ferry jerks have, baby and that’s dignity. Capital D on that.”
“And all they’ve got is billions of dollars, and, I suspect, some kind of criminal network of spies and saboteurs.”
“Stop it,” she warns me. “Just stop. You know what you need? A day off. The plumber doesn’t come until Thursday, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But I need to help bring in the new inventory and—”
She makes a rude noise over the phone. “Nope. I forbid you to work tomorrow. Take a day off, Janie. Go to the spa. Treat yo’ self, woman. Or I will order strippers and naughty massage therapists and send them to your apartment one after the other until you are relaxed and packed to the gills with sweaty, sexy, gyrating men.”
I don’t doubt for even a moment that she would do it, too.
Saying the words is like pushing against some kind of latex wall; I can feel the tension resisting as I push through it and make the decision and very nearly get bounced right back. But if I can just say the words, it’ll start to be real. “I… guess…” Deep breath. “Chester could probably handle inventory with Lacey’s help. Gloria is almost useless, but she can at least write numbers down.”
“How many people does this job take?”
“I normally do it myself but—”
“Good Lord, Janie,” Sahara groans. “Give it to Chester and Lacey, then. You said they’re on board for the ride, right? You trust them?”
