Chapter 12

Faye

Penny drafts and country music are what brings most people from around the county to Bottom of the Barrel, but it’s the way I know these southern boys could move a person around the barrel wood dance floor that had me anxious to come here on a Saturday night.

The weatherman’s promise of a good dusting of snow throughout the entire county didn’t keep anyone from driving here tonight. The place is packed and overflowed all the way into the church’s lot across the street. I stomp off my boots when I hit the landing and smile at the bouncer. Even though he’s easily ten years younger than me, I flash him my ID, then head straight for the bar.

It only took me a few minutes to shower and find something to wear. My clothes were thrown around my makeshift bedroom, but I had organized it into a system of sorts. Tonight called for a flirty skirt with some movement and my favorite pair of purple suede cowgirl boots. Any combination of those two things is like a uniform when coming to a place like this. And I wanted to fit in.

I haven’t seen Maggie since I left Foxx Distillery, which is fine by me. I’m not interested in running into her again today. We both said enough to each other. As far as I’m concerned, she didn’t deserve any sort of asshole beating her up, but if she wants to keep playing whatever games she has been and dancing in the same circles that had gotten her into trouble, I’m sure as hell not going to stop her.

I lean up against the oak bar and smile at the bartender. Her pretty tattoos cover both arms and wrap around her neck in a way that screams confidence. I love women who have no problem showing off the parts they’re proud of—clean skin or decorated in ink. Anybody who works in a bar or club would tell you that the more skin on display, the better the tips, and people who balk at that clearly haven’t done that kind of work before.

“Hey there, what’re you having?” she asks me.

“Just water for now.”

She nods and pulls a glass, filling it with water and propping a lemon on the rim.

My phone buzzes. Another text from Blackstone.

BLACKSTONE

To my disappointment, Rosie Gold isn’t at Midnight Proof tonight. I thought you liked me, but I’m not feeling very special lately.

I send him a picture of the outfit I’m wearing. Maybe that’ll hold him off. But a few seconds later, he responds.

BLACKSTONE

Pretty. But I’m getting tired of just pictures, Rosie...

Dammit . Dirty pictures and suggestive text messages are only going to satisfy someone for so long, and now he’s getting impatient. Blackstone might have every aspect of the creep-factor, but I need to deliver more.

“You’re going to be a cheap date, I see,” Cortez says as he slides in beside me.

“This is business, Cortez. You know that.” I give him a flirtatious smile, thinking about how at one time I wouldn’t have minded if he’d called this a date.

He leans in, looking at the text exchange. “Looks like someone is getting demanding.”

“I can handle keeping him occupied if you tell me what the end game looks like.”

Cortez just looks at me for a minute, without giving me an answer. “Alright. Let’s talk, then.” He nods toward the crowd. “Come on, I’ve got a high-top closer to the dance floor.”

The bartender cracks a fresh Corona for him in exchange for his empty bottle before he lifts my drink as well and carries it to the massive dance floor that’s flowing with people all lined up and moving in time with some combination of a two-step shuffle.

“They made the dance floor bigger,” I say as he pulls out my chair for me and holds my hand as I hop up.

Cortez points at the far back as he tells me, “They bought the movie theater next door, blew out the back side of this place, doubling its size. Maybe even more than double.”

I look at the left side of the room that’s buzzing with the energy of a full band playing. At the back of the dance floor, there are industrial-sized garage doors opened. Despite the cooler air outside, with this many bodies moving in here, it’s plenty warm. Shrugging off my jacket as I glance around, my eye catches on a Foxx, sans glasses as he moves a curvy little brunette around the floor. It’s like I can’t escape him. And who the hell is that? My stomach swoops and sinks like I’m on a damn rollercoaster ride. I really don’t need a Foxx-sized distraction right now.

“Shit,” I whisper.

Cortez follows what just caught my eye. I know the minute he sees Lincoln. Without looking back at me, he says, “There’s not something going on between you and Foxx, is there?”

My eyebrow quirks as he meets my gaze. “Wouldn’t need to know that information even if there was, would you, Cortez?”

He smiles against the mouth of his beer and then takes a swig. “You can see how I might be concerned about you rubbing elbows”—he glances down at the cleavage I know is peeking out of my jean vest—“or other things with one of the Foxx brothers.”

I raise my eyebrows. Ballsy thing to say, but I try to school my reaction to it. He can think whatever he’d like. I’m more interested in doing this job and coming out of it in one piece. “You know I’m going to need more details if you think I plan on setting foot inside of that private event.”

Nodding, he leans in a bit closer so he doesn’t have to yell over the band. The music shifts from something bluegrass to a cover of Dolly’s “9 to 5 . ”

“We knew that Blackstone was heading to Fiasco, but the fact that he’s got some kind of connection to Foxx Bourbon...Let’s just say, that isn’t the businessman I had expected him to be dealing with while he’s here. I can’t give you everything on this one, Faye. You can know what we need you to, but beyond that, my hands are tied.”

My phone buzzes next to me, just as Cortez signals the waitress.

UNKNOWN

Are you on a date?

For some reason, instead of nerves, a whirl in my chest has me looking toward the dance floor where Lincoln was just dancing. He’s not there any longer . Where did he go? I scan the space. Instead, he’s off to the side, leaning on the railing, and staring right back at me with a curious smile.

FAYE

Wrong number.

I look back up and give him a tight-lipped sarcastic smile.

UNKNOWN

Interesting choice. Cortez. FBI. Seems dangerous considering the little secret I know about you.

FAYE

Like I said . . . wrong number.

UNKNOWN

Unless that’s not really a date. Want to tell me what you’re really doing back in Fiasco, Peach?

I swallow my nerves and try to think on my feet about what I could possibly say that’ll keep Lincoln from running with that thought.

“I’ll have two shots of tequila with two limes and a club soda,” I say to the waitress, just before she’s out of earshot.

Cortez chuckles. “Do I want to know what just changed from I’ll just have water to a bachelorette party-level order?”

My saccharine smile masks what I’m saying for anyone who might be looking. “I don’t think you do. But I am going to be very clear with you.”

We have a stand-off of silence until the waitress comes back with our drink order. I don’t waste any time taking the first shot, and then squeezing the lime into the club soda. Taking a sip, I let the bubbles coat my tongue. I hate that I’m rattled. The tart lime levels out the bite of the tequila and I pocket my phone trying to play off that whoever was on the other end of my messages didn’t just drive me to take out my aggression with a side of tequila.

Cortez leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his beer as he watches me.

“I’m not going to be some expendable pawn in this case with Blackstone.” I kick back the second shot. “And respectfully, fuck you for thinking I’m going to walk into a situation where I don’t know the entire story. Your hands are tied?”

“Faye, that’s not the agreement we have. You?—”

“If you want me to keep Blackstone interested so I can walk into his private event, then you’ll amend our agreement.”

He rests his head on his hand, looking at me for a beat too long. “Please tell me you’re not single, or I’m seriously going to try to marry the shit out of you, Faye Calloway.”

Rolling my eyes, I shift my attention for a brief second back to Lincoln, who has moved on from watching me to spinning Hadley around their section of the dance floor.

“You’re deflecting. My relationship status is not up for discussion, Cortez. And the only thing I want from you is answers.” I glance back at him with a tilt of my head. “And a dance.”