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Somehow I managed to get behind the wheel of my fifthhand Honda stealthily enough for him not to spot me—or he didn’t stop if he did. Later, I would wonder if maybe hehadseen me. If that was why he’d chosen to lead me through the maze of Brooklyn streets into the city at that crawling speed that almost assured I could tail him, even though my vehicle was no match power-wise for his.
If maybe he wanted me to see. To know.
Our worlds were very different. Mine was filled with culinary school applications, and Food Network marathons, and shifts at the salad joint. The bulk of the worst of my past was Mia’s burden to carry, not mine. I was a bystander in my own life.
Until that night.
He swung into an underground lot and I hurried to follow, swearing under my breath and taking the turn too fast. I nearly sped past the place to pay in my haste. I paid as swiftly as possible and sailed down the aisle I’d seen Giovanni head down last, unsurprised that his SUV had disappeared.
Where had he gone?
I tried two more aisles, dejected. About to give up, I checked out the last, then saw him idling in a spot in a far corner. His lights flicked off just as I backed into the closest free spot. Heart racing, I watched him get out and stop to glance at something in his hand. His phone. He lifted it to his ear and strode out, giving me no choice but to follow.
I’d gone this far. Why not add stalking on foot to what I’d already done by car?
He crossed the typically busy Manhattan street, dodging speeding cabs and crazy bicyclists with the ease of a longtime New Yorker. I, however, was not a longtime New Yorker, having only lived there for a few months, but I chased after him, praying loudly enough to garner more than a few stares. Not from him though. He was far enough ahead of me that I almost lost him half a dozen times. We were in the Hell’s Kitchen area, bordering Central Park, and I knew Mia wouldn’t appreciate me hanging out here this late at night.
But what my older sister didn’t know didn’t hurt me.
Full of purpose, Giovanni headed up the street and stopped in front of a club with a sign that consisted of the outline of a curvy nude girl. I hung back, more than a little shocked. Dumb. I was so frigging dumb. He was a guy in his early twenties. Why shouldn’t he throw dollars at a hot piece of ass? Mine was too much trouble, even if it was free. I officially had baggage, even if most of it wasn’t mine, and no guy looking for a good time wanted any part of that.
He strode inside after a quick conference with the stern-faced bouncer. A line of people stretched up the sidewalk, not that Giovanni had paid them any mind.
Neither would I.
Without a clue where I’d found this recent well of bravado, I ducked ahead of the line and smiled seductively at the bouncer as I lowered the zipper on my hoodie. People were protesting behind me, but I didn’t care. I was meant to be here, I just knew it.
Whatever it took, I wouldn’t end tonight on the sidelines.
“Hi there.” I leaned forward and gave the bouncer my brightest smile, well aware he wasn’t checking out my pearly whites. His current object of interest was the studded tongue on the vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt stretched tight over my breasts. “What’s a girl got to do to get in here?”
Finally, he lifted his gaze and rubbed his hand over his sandpapery jaw. “You’re not twenty-one.”
“No,” I said before sense kicked in. Then I wanted to kick myself. Who admitted they were underage when they were trying to sneak into clubs?
Girls who’d never tried to sneak into clubs before, that was who.
Naïve girls, like me.
Instead of insisting I get lost, he smiled. Lewdly. “Let me guess. You’re here for a job.”
A flush climbed up my throat. He must mean dancing. Must mean I had the body for it not to be a complete and total joke.
I nodded enthusiastically before I could overthink it. Tonight was all about following my impulses, straight into the bowels of hell if need be.
Living meant taking chances. Climbing down off my glass shelf required getting involved. And getting dirty.
Girls at a club like this wouldn’t have any problem catching the attention of a man like Giovanni Costas. They’d bring him closer with the heel of a stiletto pressed into the small of his back. Push him away once he’d outlived his usefulness and move on to the next.
There would always be a next, because men couldn’t be trusted. They never settled down for long, so it was best that a woman resigned herself to that early. Like I had.
“You only have to be eighteen to dance,” the bouncer added, as if he thought the age thing might hold me back. That was the least of my concerns.
I’d never planned on dancing at a club at eighteen or twenty-eight. I was a pretty good dancer, actually. I knew how to move. But I usually had all my clothes on, and I definitely didn’t get paid for my services.
Anyof them.
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “Good. I mean, great. Can I go in? See someone about the…job?”
