Chapter 2

two

Wrenlee

The staff room shares a wall with the room Addy lets the bands use on the nights they perform at the club. It’s usually loud on the other side of the wall, as the jazzed-up performers share drinks and plan to take home women.

Right now, I’m not focused on the sound of the celebratory hoots of a successful show. I’m focused on next week’s schedule.

The schedule that shows I only have three shifts—all during the week.

Where the hell are my weekend shifts? Why is the new girl taking over what I’ve worked since I was hired?

Heart in my throat, I hurry from the staff room to the club, which is mostly empty now save a few staff members and the cleaning crew Addy employs every night. It’s not normal for the band to still be hanging around at close, but the crowd had been so into the show, Addy had asked them to work overtime tonight and Devils Heartbreak agreed.

I find Addy sitting at the tall table closest to the bar, doing the cash out. She has an office—a big, plush, super nice office—but she rarely uses it. Most nights she can be found exactly where she is, sipping on her double vodka cran.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask, sliding on the stool opposite her.

“Ah, shit.” She sits back, swiping her drink and taking a long gulp. “Let me have it.”

“The schedule.” She nods, like she’s expecting this. I knot my hands nervously. “I’m hardly on it.”

“I know.”

My brows rise. “You know?”

“Wren—” She shrugs her shoulders, shoots back the rest of her drink and hops off her stool. “I’ve been dropping hint after hint for weeks, girl.” Fresh ice falls into her glass, followed by two shots of vodka—unmeasured, topped with juice. “Love you, I do. But this is business, and honey, I’m not sure you’re cut out for this kind of business.”

I blink at her, stunned. “Jeez, Addy, I’ll buy some lipstick.”

She stands back to appraise me. Even though she’s pushing fifty-five, Addy is all punk-rocker. “You’ve got the classic girl-next-door thing going on.” Dark purple painted nails point at my face. “Big green eyes and all that hair. I don’t even want to mention your body, but girl, you’ve got a great body. All curves, tiny waist. The thing men find in Playboy and want to fuckin’ play with.” She sighs as she shoots back another healthy gulp, ignoring—or oblivious to the red in my cheeks. “Thought you’d work all that sweet you’ve got, but—shit, Wren, you suck at serving. You don’t know how to flirt, and hell if I don’t know you don’t use what God gave ya.” She shakes her head sadly. “Can’t do it, honey. I’ve gotta give the money-making shifts to the girls who work it, you get me?”

I want to cry. As it is, I can feel the panic building in my chest. It’s not easy to find work in New York—at least, it wasn’t for me.

“I need this job, Addy.”

“You’ve still got it. Three nights a week.”

I shake my head. “I won’t make my rent. How am I supposed to pay my tuition?”

Addy finishes her drink and twists to make another. It’s her thing. After shift, she shoots back three doubles before she waltzes upstairs to her apartment to sleep until noon. “You’ve got that other job, no?”

“Oh my God, Addy, please don’t do this.”

“How much did you make in tips tonight?” She turns to face me, new drink in hand. Her eyes aren’t even glassy.

If I dared to slam back three doubles in less than half an hour, I’d be kissing the floor. Hell, I’m not convinced I could slam just one double and still be walking upright in a straight line.

“Ninety-five dollars.” It’s one of the best nights I’ve had in tips since I started. I’m proud of that, and I sit up a little straighter.

“Layla made four twenty-five.”

My stomach flips and I wince. “Four dollars and twenty-five cents?”

“Four hundred and twenty-five dollars. She’s been here less than three weeks.” She leans back against the bar to land another heartless blow to my so very fragile ego. “You’ve been here for three months.”

“I won’t be able to afford to live in this city if I don’t have this job.” The words drip with desperation, and I feel sick to my stomach. I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to keep my tears back much longer.

Please, don’t cry in front of her. Please…

“This is business, girl. It’s not personal. I care about you, I do, but I’ve been around long enough to know pretty girls come and they go. I can’t sacrifice the bottom line for anyone.”

“I can do better.”

Her brows rise. “Better than Layla?”

Layla is beautiful. She’s one of those girls who is bursting at the seams with life and youth and fun. She has a great body that she not only doesn’t mind showing but enjoys showing.

I was raised by a man. A single man who never, not once, brought a woman home. My early explorations with makeup were messy and scaring. I prefer t-shirts and jeans or leggings and sweaters to sexy tops plastered in sequins and skin-tight skirts. I don’t have the confidence to wear even half the outfits I’ve seen Layla in.

I swallow. It burns. “I’ll try.”

“Not good enough. Schedule stays as it is.” She slides back onto the stool. “You’ve got the next month to prove to me that you can pull in tips and entertain the patrons, or you’re gone.” When I gasp in horror, she tells me again, “Business, Wren. You moved to one of the most cut-throat cities in America, and this is just business.”

I know I’ve been dismissed when she waves her hand, her attention back to the cash-out on the table.

I say nothing else as I slip off the stool and hurry to the hall that will lead me to the staff room. I’m so focused on finding privacy before I break down into a puddle of tears, that I don’t see him. I swear, his gigantic black boot comes out of nowhere and I trip, hurdling face first for the booze sticky floor as if I need a busted nose on top of the pile of crap that is my night. Seconds before I connect with the floor, a fist curls in the fabric of my plain, but I thought low cut white t-shirt.

The guy hauls me back up to my feet, and I sniffle as my eyes take in the black leather jacket open over a hard chest covered in a black t-shirt. My eyes continue up over a thick, corded neck—guy works out. When they finally land on his face, my heart does a quick stutter-step in my chest.

Cash Jagger.

I shoulda stuck with the broken nose.

He peers down at me with a cool edge that almost makes me shiver. With pure stubbornness, I fight the shiver and lift my chin. He doesn’t crack a grin.

Sucking in air, I mutter, “Thanks.” Then, burning eyes pinned forward, I make to move away.

He catches me by the back of the shirt again, pulling me back. I stumble, because who wouldn’t? “Quit that!” I hiss, slapping at his arm. “It’s rude and you’re going to wreck my shirt.”

“You good?” The way he asks isn’t just a simple ask. It’s a demand for full transparent exposure I have no intention of giving.

No. Bloody. Chance.

“I’m fine,” I snap. And, okay, it’s rude in a way I try not to be rude. But my head is starting to pound, the guy has tripped me once and grabbed my shirt twice, and I’ve only just saved myself from the chopping block. I’m exhausted, because nothing drains an introvert quite like working all night in a club full of wild people determined to let loose to the sound of a rough rock band. And—I’m still on the verge of tears because I have no idea how I’m going to make my rent this month if I’m not working weekends.

“Touchy.”

Is he grinning?I don’t care. “Not in the mood.”

In the dark shadows of the hall, he raises one dark brow. Then he pushes off the wall he’d been leaning lazily against to swagger toward me. When he gets close, I expect, like a normal person, he’ll stop moving. Only, he doesn’t. He keeps crowding in, crowding closer, forcing me to take a stumbling step back. He catches me a third time, his big hand in my belly as it pushes me back into the wall.

I gasp, shocked stupid by his invasive maneuver as I tip my head back, gaping up at him. My palms connect with his big, hard chest, forcing him to keep his distance.

Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? This man could snap my arms in two if the desire struck him. Next to him, I’m a twig.

“Look at you,” he rumbles roughly. For a moment, I want to ask how many packs of smokes he sucks back a day. One doesn’t get his voice by being good to their lungs, do they? “All claws and teeth.” He dips his head to growl that husky low voice against my ear. “You know, you could have just tossed me your panties.”

My brows snap high as my breaths begin to race—in anger.

Who does this guy think he is? “My what?”

“Panties. Saw the way you rolled your eyes when that chick threw me hers.” I tense when he leans in even closer, crowding me with the scent of man and cigar and whiskey and sweet sweat. I push harder into his chest. “I’d have kept yours. Shown you a good time for your effort, too.”

“You’re disgusting,” I manage through my shock. “Is this seriously how you pick up women?” I shove harder into the brick wall of him. “Fuck off.”

He studies me through clear, uninfused with alcohol, eyes.

This man is dangerous. I sense it suddenly, surely as a rabbit senses its impending demise in the sightline of a wolf. He’s an alpha, and I’m just the prey.

“You want to be picked up? Want me to pretend I’m a gentleman before I fuck your pretty little brains out?”

“Oh. My. God.” I twist my head to the side, so I won’t have to look at him. Thankfully, I’m not close to tears anymore. Now, I’m all anger. “You’re a pig, and I’m so far from interested in spending any time with you, I don’t even have words.”

“You sure? I can give you things. Orgasms that’ll blow your goddamned mind. Good times. Connections into this city’s entertainment world.” His eyes sweep my face. “You want to be an actress?”

What. The. Actual. Hell?

“No. All I want from you is to escape.” I grit my teeth and give another good shove. “Now, back off.”

He pulls back suddenly, the shock of his quick absence alarming as I slump against the wall, my eyes still guarded for whatever freak stunt this asshole thinks to pull next.

“I had to be sure.”

What?I shake my head, confusion and annoyance plastered clear on my face. Still, I decide I don’t want to continue doing—whatever we’re doing—as I push off the wall. “I’m done. Find someone else for,” I wave my hand between us. “Whatever this is.”

“There’s no one else.” His words stop me, and I twist to glare back at him. He moves in close again, but he doesn’t crowd me against the wall as he says, “You don’t want to fuck me. Won’t try to make plays for a heart I can’t give you. You’re perfect.”

I don’t know what he thinks I’m perfect for, but whatever it is, I don’t want it. “No.”

“I need a girlfriend.”

My brows slam together. “What-now?”

He shoves his hand into the thick mess of his dark, so dark it’s almost black, hair. “I need a girlfriend.”

I snort. “Okay. You’re Cash Jagger, it can’t be that hard to find a willing one of those. Just…” I flutter my fingers. “Go stand outside and announce it. You’ll have a line of willing hopefuls to audition in about three seconds flat.”

I turn to walk away again when he stops me. Again. “Not a real girlfriend.”

I sigh, my shoulders falling. “Are you drunk? High? Because I’ve just had a very bad night and I’m not in the headspace to deal with all your crazy.”

He doesn’t crack a grin. Just stares at me with those eyes so dark I feel like he’s stripping me down to the very exposed, very naked, very raw soul beneath. “You’re in a bind, I heard.” He touches a hand to his hard jaw, scraping what I’m sure is calloused flesh against coarse stubble. “You need money, and I’ve got it.” My jaw falls open—because, what? “I need a girlfriend. Someone the world and my mates’ thinks is real.” He looks almost pained for a brief moment. It’s there and gone. A snap of emotion from a man who, otherwise, has all that on lockdown. He moves in close again, crowding me as he lowers his voice. “It won’t be real, but no one can know that but us. I’ve been watching you these last few weeks. You don’t sleep around, don’t flirt. You won’t cause drama, so you’re perfect for what I need. I confirmed it tonight, coming on hard and strong. Even being an asshole, so I know you’re not playin’ me. You were, you’d have taken me up on my previous offer.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes fall to my mouth when I wet my trembling lips. “You’d move in with me. I’d cover the rent and bills and food. You’d live for free but—you’d play my girlfriend whenever I need you.”

My jaw drops and I hiss, “You want me to move in with you?”

I’m in shock. Maybe I did fall when I tripped over his boot. Maybe I broke more than my nose, and this is a really messed up coma dream.

“Yes.”

“You’re insane.” I shake my head. “No.”

“It’d solve all your troubles,” he says low. “You can focus on your studies.”

“How do you know I’m in school?” I narrow my eyes on him.

“Like I said, been watching you.”

My eyes snap painfully wide and I almost shriek. “Outside the club?”

He crowds me again, his body herding me into the wall a second time. My heart flips unsteadily in my chest. My ribs ache with every sharp breath I tug into my lungs. This man is huge. He’s gotta be close to six-foot-four and I’m a pathetic five-foot-two. Not only is he tall, but he’s wide. Really wide and really built. He could crush me like a bug into this wall and no one would know.

Would anyone in this cruel city even care?

“Keep your voice down,” he warns on a rough growl. “This stays between us.”

“There is nothing between us. I’m not interested.”

“You makin’ your rent this month?” He challenges. “How long’ll it be, before you’re sleeping on the street? Winter’s coming. Days are getting shorter. Nights colder.” He dips his face closer, his voice cold and mean. “That what you want, Kitten?”

My stomach clenches. “I’ll find another job.”

“Addy’s right. You’re a shit waitress.” He proves he heard everything, and I deflate. “Won’t find another job with tips, tell you that much.” His eyes roam down to my chest, and he says, “Unless you plan on stripping. Got the body for that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a realist, baby. And this world is cold and harsh. Best learn that fast, you wanna keep breathing.”

Why did I think I could do this? Move from the safe little home I shared in the safe little town with my father, to this big, cold city? Why did I think going to a top university to bust my ass for an editorial degree would be something I’d be capable of doing alone?

Emotion stings my nose and I sniff, showing my weakness and hating myself for it. “I hate you right now.”

“Yeah. Join the club.”

“I won’t sleep with you.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

“I’ll have my own room in—in your apartment?”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. The man is stone-cold. Hard. “Yeah.”

“And you’ll pay everything?”

“That’s the deal.”

I can’t believe I’m considering this. “What do you need from me then? I need to know before I,”

“Yo! Dude, the fuck you been?” Tav, a massive half black man in leather and jean stumbles from the room at the back of the hall, catching sight of me and Cash. Or more accurately, of Cash pinning me against the wall.

With his big paw on the wall next to my head, his head crooked to crowd me, small, too-intimate inches between our bodies connecting, we don’t look innocent.

My face flames hot.

My body starts to tremble.

“Be there in a minute, Tav.” Tav is the man’s last name, but it’s the only one he goes by. I don’t even think Addy knows his first name.

Tav’s eyes move between the two of us in interest. “S’this?”

“Said I’d be there in a minute.”

Tav ignores Cash as he strolls closer, laughing. “Caught yourself a little mouse, I see.”

“Kitten,” Cash practically growls, and I can’t help but shiver. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. Eight. We’ll continue then, yeah?”

“What?” I gasp as he pushes off the wall, my head spinning. My life feels like it’s headed straight for a brick wall at full speed. I’m so confused. Spiraling out of control.

Cash claps Tav on the shoulder, shoving him back through the hall the way he came. He doesn’t look back at me once. Just like that, I’m left to process the insanity that just happened and all the ways my life is about to change if I agree and do this with him.

But what exactly is he asking me to do?