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He chuckled. “Out of all that, that’s what you ask me?”
I shrugged as we got to the parking lot. He turned to me and said, “I was pretty disappointed you don’t like Rush. Seriously a great band.”
I laughed loudly as he put his arm around me, walking me back to his club.
“I have another set in about twenty minutes. Will you stay?” he asked, sounding hopeful, as we stood outside the entrance.
I almost answered yes, but didn’t want to see women ogle him. I wanted to keep the intimacy of belonging to him for just one night a bit longer.
“I have a long day tomorrow. My vacation is officially over.” I could see his disappointment, and it thrilled me.
“Hey, I never actually asked you what it is you do,” he said, taking a step forward and placing his hands on my hips.
“I cater to the wealthy. I feed their greed,” I said with disgust.
“Wow, that seems like a far shittier job than singing in a bar,” he chuckled.
I opened my mouth to apologize again, but he silenced me with his finger, then replaced it with another infuriating brush of his lips. When we separated, I was panting, and disappointed, while he wore a satisfied smirk.
“If I kiss you, Nina, I won’t be able to stop.” I looked around the busy street with an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think you would get away with that here.”
“Should I be flattered you want to kiss me, or do you want to test my theory and be fucked in the street?” he asked, smiling wickedly.
Wow.
“Goodnight, Aiden.”
“Goodnight, Nina.” He leaned in, running his hands up my back and gripping my neck with his fingers, stroking the skin softly. I was instantly warm. He did this for several seconds before leaning in one last time and giving me that same chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he said nothing and simply smiled before turning to head into the bar.
&nbs
p; I had no idea what I was expecting, but I certainly got a lot more than I bargained for.
And I wanted more.
“Greed is a fat demon with a small mouth and whatever you feed it is never enough.”
? Janwillem van de Wetering
§§
“Well, this is beautiful,” my mother noted as we stepped out of the car to make our way out onto the rooftop at The Pavilion Bar. I quickly ordered a mojito, officially declaring myself an alcoholic. I’d had a drink every day this week.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been up here,” I lied, knowing my mother had been in hiding the better part of her life. I took in her expensive designer dress and perfectly manicured hair and was happy that the latter part of her life had changed because of my success.
“Nope, not once,” she said, taking in the three hundred and sixty degree view of Charleston. We made small talk as we ordered lunch, and I was working on my fourth mojito when she decided to drop a bomb on me. “I’m glad you made time for me, honey. I wanted to talk to you.”
Shit. I just wanted to eat my salad, drink some rum then leave. Come on, Mom!
“I’m divorcing your father,” she said, staring at me as if weighing my reaction. I sat, mouth gaping, as the sun began to burn the crown of my head.
“Can we get an umbrella?” I shrieked at the empty hole in the center of our table. The waiter stared at me as if I was insane before turning to retrieve one.
“Ninabelle, listen, I haven’t been happy for some time,” she said.
“Trust me, Mom, you have made everyone aware,” I said dryly. My poor father, this would crush him.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped viciously. I simply nodded, knowing there was no winning this argument. She was the victim, always the victim. I slurped my drink, my anger building.
