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I see her cheeks pink at the point I scored, and she huffs.
“Not if you were the last man on earth.”
“How could you possibly know that since you’re so…” I let my gaze slide over her in slow perusal loving the way her body responds seemingly against her wishes, “innocent.”
Her eyes flash to mine and I see mild panic as she freezes as if waiting for the ax to fall. She gets jolted by another barmaid, and it seems to snap her out of her trance.
“Trust me, I know.”
Her words sound like a challenge, and I smile. She seems to have forgotten that I never back down from a challenge and the woman in front of me is the sexiest I’ve had in a long time. “That sounds like a challenge, Lottie.” I quirk a brow at her and she pales.
Spinning, she begins grabbing different liquors and I watch as she measures and pours, adding ice before she shakes the cocktail shaker like it’s someone’s neck she’s wringing and by the vigor she puts into it, I think it’s mine she’s imagining.
When she finally pours the bright blue liquid through a sieve over a glass full of ice, I wonder what the hell, kind of poison she’s trying to give me.
“There you go, Mr. Coldwell.”
I glare at the drink with apprehension.
“This is a Liquid Viagra?”
“No, I changed my mind. It’s an Adios Motherfucker.”
With that, she smirks, turns on her heel, and moves to serve the next customer at the crowded bar. I’m left with a feeling in my chest that’s almost happy, a smile trying to force its way past my lips.
After the exchange with Lottie,I take my drink to the office we share with Harrison and find it thankfully empty, which is a blessing. Logging into the Club Ruin system, I find the file I’m looking for and skim over the other applicants’ details before I get to the one that I’m truly here for.
Violet Miller.
I wrinkle my nose at her address, hating that she’s living in such a dangerous part of the city I love. My eyes scan the details, looking for information and insight into the woman who is equal parts intriguing and infuriating to me.
Age, height, weight, all mundane things, and then I get to the part where it asks about her dating history and why she wants to do this. Beck insisted on these questions as we need to know if we’ll be facing any jealous boyfriends and also what the motivation was for selling something so personal.
A frisson of delight lights up in my chest to see she doesn’t have a boyfriend and she hasn’t for the last two years. For some reason the thought of Lottie with another man makes me seethe with anger and possessiveness. I know it’s a holdover from when we dated as teenagers, but I’m a very demanding person and with Lottie it’s different. She was the first and only person to break my heart and that experience shaped me and made it so I never made the mistake of letting a woman close to me again.
I slam the laptop closed in anger, wondering what the hell I’m doing. I don’t want Lottie or care about her so why am I obsessing over her? Is it just a nostalgic trip down memory lane, to a time when life was simpler? Yes, that must be it, that, and the fact I haven’t gotten laid in months.
Standing, I decide to head home. My phone rings in my hand and I glance at the screen to see my mom is calling. I hesitate, debating whether to answer or not, but I’ve sent her last three calls to voicemail, and she’ll be banging on my door in the next twenty-four hours if I don’t answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Darling, you finally answered my call.”
I scrub my hand over my face, guilt weaving a heavy shroud over my shoulders. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy with work.”
“You work too hard. You need to get out and have more fun in your life.”
This is the same conversation we always have, my mother worries, as is her right according to her. “I have fun.”
“When was the last time you smiled?”
“Tonight, actually,” I answer with delight at the fact I don’t have to lie to her.
“Oh, tell me more?”
I hear the glee in her tone and want to keep that joy from dissipating. My mother, despite her luxurious life and the ladies she lunches with regularly, is lonely. I see it when she thinks I’m not looking. My father is a faithless pig who doesn’t deserve her and, more and more, he leaves my mother alone so he can run around with his floozies. I have no clue as to why she puts up with it, and I’ve given up trying to get her to leave him.
“I saw Violet Miller earlier in passing and we chatted.” I have no idea why I said that and regret it the moment the words fall from my lips.
“Oh, my little Violet. How is she?”
