12. Twelve

12

TWELVE

I felt like crap when I woke up the next morning. That was probably because my dreams were plagued by visions of Olivia running around naked. Not that I was interested or anything. I’d just been surprised … and scarred for life.

Sure, she looked good naked— like really, really good —but she was still my best friend’s sister. That meant she was my defacto baby sister. You’re not supposed to see your baby sister naked.

She’s not your sister.

The little voice inside my head was persistent when reminding me of that. Over and over again.

She’s not your sister.

She’s not your sister.

She’s your wife.

You’re allowed to see your wife naked.

She wasn’t that sort of wife, though. She was the sort of wife I could sit on the couch with—a respectful empty cushion between us—and binge watch Stranger Things . I could tease her about her romance books. I could have dinner with her and talk about the various people who had irritated me throughout the day. I could not, however, see her naked. The first time had been an accident, a fluke really.

The second time, though, that had been something else entirely. The way she’d held my gaze when she stripped out of her clothes. The way her chest had heaved. Her breasts weren’t big by any stretch of the imagination, but my hands itched to touch them because I believed they would be the perfect fit for my palms. Actually, everything about her had been perfect. Just absolutely perfect.

She was still off limits.

She’s not your sister.

I made a growling noise and rolled out of bed, my eyes flicking to the clock on the nightstand. I was one of the few people who still used a regular clock. It was one of the standard issue ones we kept in the hotel. It said five o’clock on it. That was a full hour and a half before I had to get up to ensure I could make it to work on time.

Apparently, it was going to be a long day.

I headed toward the shower first. I spent a long time in there reminding myself that Olivia was off limits—even though she really wasn’t my sister—and by the time I emerged in the main part of the penthouse, it was a little after six o’clock. Yeah, I’d spent a lot of time in the shower trying to relax. Not that I would ever admit it to anybody or anything.

To my utter surprise, Olivia was up and drinking coffee at one of the counter stools when I emerged. “What are you doing up?” I complained. I hadn’t talked to her since the day before, when she’d stormed into her room—yes, naked—and slammed the door. It had been radio silence since. Sure, I’d heard her shuffling around in her bedroom—had she still been naked on the other side of that door? I had no idea—but I hadn’t seen her in almost fourteen hours.

It was maddening that I suddenly realized I’d missed seeing her in that time.

“Oh, there he is,” Olivia drawled in her driest tone. “The love of my life. My husband. My Snookums.”

“Stop calling me that,” I hissed as I crossed to the refrigerator. I wasn’t hungry and yet if I left without talking to her, I knew I would regret it. That meant faking breakfast. “Why are you up so early? Are you going to be proactive today?” I put emphasis on the word even though I knew it was likely to set her off.

“Maybe I’m going to start my new career,” she said darkly. “I mean … apparently, you have to be a dancer to care about other dancers.”

It took me a moment to realize what she was suggesting. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m trying to help. According to you, I have no business helping because I don’t have a dog in the fight. Perhaps it’s time to change that.”

“Oh, well, sure. Do you need help getting into your pasties? I have twenty minutes before I have to head downstairs.” I had more time than that, but I figured twenty minutes was all the sparring I could take.

She glared at me. “You don’t think I could be a dancer,” she said out of the blue. “I could be, though. Just because I’m not … you know.” She moved her hands in front of her breasts, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what she was suggesting.

“Your breasts are fine,” I countered, speaking before I could think better of it. “I don’t even like really big breasts. Yours are actually pretty solid. Actually, they’re nice. They kept me up all last night they were so nice.”

I didn’t realize what I’d said until her mouth fell open.

“What did you just say?” she sputtered.

I had to run the words back through my head. I blamed her for my lack of filter. I was one of those guys who needed a solid eight hours or he was practically useless. She was the reason I didn’t sleep. This was all on her.

“I should probably be going,” I said as I darted a longing look toward the door. “You know … early bird gets the worm and all that.”

She didn’t respond. She just stared.

I grabbed a juice out of the refrigerator and started toward the door. “I’ll be in meetings all day. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to wait for me for dinner. Instead, I did the opposite. “I’ll try to get back at a decent time so we can eat together.”

Where had that come from? I hadn’t even realized I was going to say it until the words were already out of my mouth.

She seemed as surprised as me. “Okay.” Her voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear the response. “Um … okay.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” I couldn’t look at her, so I slipped through the door, not allowing myself to breathe until it fell shut and she was safely locked away on the other side.

Just what in the hell was wrong with me?

MY DAY GOT OFF TO A ROUGH START when I checked my emails and found out that two of my pre-lunch meetings had been shifted to my father to clear my schedule for another meeting. Apparently the stripper—er, the dancer—situation had gotten bad enough that owners from almost all of the big casinos were sending representatives to meet with the group representing the dancers. My father didn’t want to be bothered—no surprise there—and he was insisting that I be the one to meet with them.

Well, that was just … not good.

I pouted through the morning. I was an absolute bear. Technically, I knew it wasn’t anybody’s fault—I really did believe the dancers deserved fair pay—but I was cursing Olivia’s name under my breath when I left the casino and headed toward the tunnel beneath the Eiffel Towel. The meeting was going to be held in a bar there.

Only in Vegas were bars considered acceptable negotiation locations. It wasn’t surprising that they’d picked a location they could rope off. The tunnel was actually one of my favorite places in the city—the little shops that looked like a Parisian street, the painted ceiling, the twinkle lights all made for an inviting ambiance—but I was sour about having to negotiate something I had no power to change.

I grabbed another coffee on the way. I wasn’t much of a napper, but my lack of sleep the previous evening was starting to wear on me. The first person I saw when I approached the bar was Kellen Carpenter. He’d inherited one of the clubs just off the strip from his father a few years back.

He didn’t look happy.

“Hey,” I said for lack of anything better to say.

“Hey.” Kellen already had a cocktail clutched in his hand. The lack of windows pretty much everywhere allowed people to pretend it was later in the day than it usually was.

“Drinking already? That doesn’t bode well for you, does it?” I was going for levity, but the glare he sent me suggested it had fallen flat. “Sorry,” I said automatically. “I just … wasn’t expecting to be sent to this.”

“Join the club.” He took a healthy swig of his drink. It smelled like whiskey. “This is just the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. I mean … they’re strippers. It’s not a corporate gig.”

I didn’t like his tone. In truth, there was very little about Kellen I liked. I’d been in his club—Tit for Tat—a few times, but it wasn’t a place I frequented on the regular. Seedy was a word that got thrown around a little too often in Vegas. It wasn’t always accurate.

It was the exact right word to describe Tit for Tat, though. It was the sort of place where your shoes stuck to the floor and you wanted to delouse yourself after five minutes in the smoky environment.

Rather than argue with him—it wasn’t good to show my hand—I opted to be careful. “Any idea what it is exactly that they want?” I sipped my coffee and tried to keep my expression neutral.

“I’m pretty sure they want to be crowned or something,” Kellen replied. “It’s absolute nonsense. They actually want benefits. Like 401Ks and stuff.”

I considered it. “Well, it sort of makes sense,” I hedged after a bit, internally cringing when he swiveled his annoyed eyes to me. “They have limited career opportunities,” I said. “Like … they age out. They need to be able to set up a soft landing for themselves as they transition into another job.”

“Are you their PR person or something?” he challenged.

“Not last time I checked.”

“Why are you even here?”

“Because our whales go to your club,” I replied, opting for honesty. “If they have no clubs to go to, they’re angry. Angry whales don’t spend money. If we don’t have whales, you don’t have a business. It’s kind of circular.”

Kellen blinked. “I’m not giving those whores 401Ks.” He drank half of his cocktail in a single gulp. “It’s not happening. It’s not as if they’re skilled workers.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” I argued. If Kellen was going to dig his heels in, a lot of the other club owners would probably do the same. That would make for a protracted stalemate, not a solution. “It’s not as if you can pluck random women off the street and throw them on a pole.”

Kellen snorted. “Some of my girls can’t even keep a beat. I only keep them around because they have big knockers and the clientele likes to knock things.” When he smiled, he showed he had a gold tooth. It made me want to punch him.

“Well, that’s?—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish what I was going to say because the dancers picked that moment to arrive. There were five of them, and they weren’t alone. They had somebody else with them.

Olivia stood at the center of things with Halley. She was dressed in a business suit—why did she have to look good in everything she wore?—and she had a pencil behind her ear. She’d even found glasses somewhere—did she wear reading glasses?—and she looked like a really sexy librarian.

“Is everybody here?” she asked, glancing around. Her gaze landed on me, lingered, and then she smiled at the other assembled individuals, most of whom were men.

Brian Keats, the chief operating officer of one of the bigger casinos on the strip, regarded Olivia—my freaking wife—with an interested look. “And you are?”

“Olivia Carter,” she replied. “I’m something of a liaison for the group.”

“I see.” Brian was a no-nonsense guy. “And what is it you hope to accomplish here?”

“Well, for starters…” Olivia opened her notebook.

“Hold up.” Brian raised his hand. “Don’t you think you guys need a lawyer? I mean … if we’re negotiating here, it always helps to have somebody who knows what they’re doing at the table.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, and my stomach constricted. Things were about to get ugly.

To my surprise, Halley raised her hand. “I’ll be serving in that capacity,” she replied.

Brian opened his mouth, then shut it. He seemed to be struggling with exactly what to say. “A real lawyer,” he said finally. “You guys need one.”

Halley smirked. “I was third in my class at William S. Boyd School of Law,” she replied. “I’m licensed. I’ve passed the Bar. I have every intention of practicing law in about ten years or so. I’m just doing this first.”

Surprise registered on Brian’s face. “You’re a lawyer?”

I cringed at his tone. If “dubious” was a person, it was Brian at present. “He didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” I said automatically. “It’s great that you’re an attorney.”

Halley’s lips swished.

“Yes, who wouldn’t want a stripper standing next to them in front of a judge?” Kellen replied dryly. “That will strike fear in the prosecution. Will you wear a thong to help sway the jurors?”

I wanted to smack him. Hard. I managed to refrain, though. Olivia was another story.

“Could you be any more condescending?” she challenged.

“Yes. I can be way more condescending,” he confirmed.

She glared at him. “And who are you?”

“He’s the owner of Tit for Tat,” Halley replied. “He’s a mouth breather extraordinaire.”

“He also scratches his balls in public,” one of the other women with Olivia and Halley volunteered. “It doesn’t take him long.”

Kellen glowered at her. “Thank you so much for your input, Ariel,” he growled.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, her smile growing broader.

I held up my hand to stop things before they got out of control. “Maybe we should take a breath. It would help if we had a written list of your demands.” The statement was barely out of my mouth before Olivia slipped out a folder from the briefcase she was carrying and dumped a stack of papers on the table.

“There’s your list of demands,” Olivia replied. She sent me a sunny smile. “That was a great idea.”

A growl erupted, but I managed to tamp it down fast. “Thank you.” I grabbed one of the sheets of paper and read it. I almost choked when I got to the third line. “You want a tribunal to censure club owners who don’t follow the agreed upon rules?” I was officially dumbfounded.

“This whole exercise is a master class on futility if there are no consequences for misbehaving,” Halley replied. “There are repercussions if someone gets handsy with a cocktail waitress. There are bonuses for showgirls if they go above and beyond. We want the same options afforded to us.”

I scanned the bullet items on the sheet. Regulated pay that wasn’t based solely on tips seemed fair. A monetary scale for women who had been in the business for years didn’t seem like much of a stretch. Paid sick leave should’ve been a given. The last item on the list had me raising an eyebrow.

“You want childcare rooms put in the clubs?” I was flabbergasted.

Halley smirked. “That one is negotiable. However, childcare is expensive. If certain allowances were made?—”

“You can’t have toddlers in a strip club,” Brian practically exploded. “There’s no whale who is going to want to party it up with a child screaming in the next room.”

“We’re not suggesting that the childcare rooms be open for anybody to see,” Olivia countered. “Most of these clubs have room in the back for daycare. It seems like a decent option for breaks.”

“Oh, right.” Kellen rolled his eyes. “I’m not agreeing to any of this.”

“Then I guess you’ve made your decision.” Olivia moved to stand. She didn’t look surprised by Kellen’s refusal to play the games. “You should take this as your notification that the dancers in the city are going on strike. Your clubs will be without entertainment—your whales unhappy—until you come to the negotiating table with more than just eye rolls and snickers.”

Halley nodded in agreement.

“We’ll just bus in new strippers,” Brian said. “I mean … there are plenty of wannabe starlets in Los Angeles. If we pay them, they’ll strip to make a few bucks.”

“Good luck with that.” Halley showed her teeth when she let loose a feral smile. “You guys think we do nothing but hang onto a pole and shake our asses. You’re about to find out that we do a lot more than that.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the exit.

I watched her go, a sense of helplessness clawing through me. The assembled casino and bar representatives exploded, shouting expletives at one another—mostly Brian and Kellen—instead of the bargaining team. I used their distraction as cover to give chase.

“Livvie.” I grabbed her wrist before she could disappear outside. “What are you doing?” I was plaintive.

“I believe in their cause,” she replied, lifting a shoulder. “I want to help them.”

“But you’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not.” She shook her head. “I’m fighting for what’s right.” She hesitated a beat before finishing it out. “I’m sorry if this makes things more difficult for you—I honestly wasn’t expecting to see you here—but I have to do what I feel is right. Please understand that. This isn’t about you.”

It felt as if it was about me. “This is going to get ugly, Livvie.”

She nodded. “I know. Some things are worth fighting for, though.” With that, she followed her group out of the tunnel and into the bright light of day.

If I thought things were bad before, I recognized they were about to get way worse. This was not good.