“What did they say?”
“Who?”
“The fire department.” It’s taking all my control to rein in my temper—incompetent asshats.
“They fined the club for the smoking. The fine and paperwork are in your office.”
I huff out in frustration and stalk to my office. I’m grabbing this shit and getting back to Bailey. We’re going to forget this entire night once I’m buried inside her.
I throw my office door open and stop dead in my tracks. Sitting on my desk in nothing but thigh highs and fuck-me heels is Monica.
What. The. Fuck?
“Where have you been? I’ve been sitting here waiting forever, lover.” Monica’s whiny voice grates on my already fragile nerves. Once upon a time, this scene would have been enough to make my cock throb. Tonight, I just want her to get the fuck out of my office.
“Monica, get the fuck off my desk and get dressed.” I go to grab her clothes off the floor, and the next thing I know, she has her legs wrapped around my head. I drop to my knees in front of my desk with this skank’s legs literally choking me, her bare skin staring me in the face.
I remove her legs from around my shoulders and stand, lifting her off my desk to save my papers from any more contamination.
“Drew. Play with me.” She runs her long red nails down my arm, and I shudder.
“I’m tired, and this isn’t happening. It’s never happening. Get dressed, leave your key, and get the hell out of my office. I’m done. I tried to fucking be the bigger man because I know you need the money, but I am fucking done. You’re fired. After your shift tonight, I never want to see you again.” I know I should tell her to leave now, but we are seriously short-staffed right now, and I need someone at the bar in VIP.
I go to step back and make for the door when she grabs me and slams her mouth to mine. At the same time I’m registering what the hell is happening, I hear someone gasp behind me. My body locks up. I know that sound. I know all her sounds.
Bailey.
I push Monica back and whirl around to chase after Bailey as she makes her way hastily down the stairs. The club is packed. Even if I did call out her name, she wouldn’t hear me over the commotion. I’m ready to commit murder.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I annunciate each word nice and clear so there is no question as to the seriousness of my words. By the glower on her face, I see that she’s getting the memo.
“I don’t get you, Drew. You used to be so much fun, and now that little bitch has you wrapped around her finger. Lame.”
I throw her dress at her. “Leave the key. After your shift, you come around here again, and I’ll have a restraining order on your ass so fast.”
She pouts the whole time she’s getting dressed. I have my back turned to her, but I’m not leaving this office until I know she’s gone for good. Finally, she pushes past me and flies down the stairs. Once again, she leaves with the key. Fuck. I’ll call the locksmith in the morning. I don’t trust that she hasn’t made copies. She’s that crazy.
I lock up and head out of the club doors to find Bailey. Hopefully, she’s back at her place so we won’t have an unnecessary scene.
41
Bailey
I can’t breathe. I trusted him, and he broke me. I knew he would, but I let him anyway.
Monica wasn’t lying. I’m such an idiot. I shake with the need to escape. A part of me long since buried the cravings to lose myself for the night. But tonight, those cravings call to me.
I crave the euphoric burn only a drink will bring.
I need one shot. Just one. The taste will make everything around me—all the betrayal—fade away. The devil on my right shoulder fights with the angel on my left.
My head shakes back and forth.
No.
I’m not that person anymore. It won’t solve anything to drink. As much as I want it, I’m better than that.
But still . . .
Just one.
I need to forget what I saw, even if only for now. Tomorrow I can move past it, but tonight, I need to forget.
I need a drink. If I can find someone to drink with, maybe I can pace myself.
Lies.
As if I conjured him, Reese appears out of nowhere.
His eyes blink when he sees me. “Chwaer?” There’s a look in his eyes I know too well. He looks lost in his own nightmare too. His pain is palpable, like mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask, realizing the irony that I, of all people, might need to help him forget something.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “What are you doing?”