3

Lexi

I camp out on a barstool near the corner where the cocktail waitresses put their orders in and get their drinks made. I have no business being here considering every dollar I earned cutting hair this week needs to go to the rent on both my apartment and the salon, but it’s Friday night, and I deserve a little fun. I need it. I’m at Swank, the nightclub where my best friend Gina works as a cocktail waitress.

“I just got a hundred-dollar tip.” Gina appears at my elbow and moves the glasses from her tray onto the bar. The bartender swiftly takes them and loads them into a dish rack below the bar.

“Are you serious? Damn, that’s good money. They’re not hiring now, right?”

The bartender, Stan, overhears and shakes his head as his hands fly mixing drinks.

“Do you think you could put in a word for me next time there’s an opening here? I could use a few tips like that.”

Gina hands Stan a ticket with her drink orders and flashes me a sympathetic look. She knows I'm in dire straits financially. A car accident this past year left me with a pile of medical bills, and for two months I couldn't work because I couldn’t stand. I've been scrambling to catch up ever since without much luck. I'm currently three full months behind on rent at both my apartment and at the salon.

“You already work your ass off at the salon,” Gina says. “You don't need a second job. What you need is a sugar daddy.”

The guy standing near me–the one who has been moving closer and acting like he's going to strike up a conversation but hasn't worked up the nerve yet–gives a little scoff. I ignore him and roll my eyes at Gina. “I don't think that exists.”

“Oh, it exists,” she says with total conviction. She tips her head toward the back room, the private area where the owners hang out. I know who she means. Swank is owned by the mafia.

“Those guys?” There's no way I'm getting involved with that crazy stuff. “No thanks.”

“You should just let me introduce you. There's one guy in particular who might be perfect for you.”

“The heavy tipper?” I don't know why I'm even asking. I am not interested in this idea of hers. Not at all.

“Yes–the heavy tipper. He's hot and plays sugar daddy.”

I sense the guy beside me wanting to insert himself in the conversation again, but I continue to ignore him.

“You better be careful, if Leo hears you say another guy is hot, he'll tear the guy’s head off.” Leo is her heavily-tattooed and muscled boyfriend who works as a bouncer at Swank.

He’s crazy about Gina but also possessive and jealous when it comes to her attention.

“Well, not this guy, but yeah. He’d want to.” Her gaze automatically goes across the club to where Leo’s standing by the door looking every inch the beefy badass bouncer. He catches her looking, and they share a smile. Her expression momentarily goes mooney. It's very cute. I have to admit sometimes I'm jealous of what they have.

The bartender finishes making all Gina's drinks, and she loads them onto her tray and leaves.

“Can I buy you a drink?” The guy next to me asks.

I was going to refuse when I felt his interest earlier because he’s not my type, but what the hell? I am literally sipping sparkling ice water because every dollar in my purse is earmarked for rent. I have an eviction notice posted on my apartment door that I need to take care of before the time runs out and I’m out on the street. After my conversation with Gina, it seems like maybe I should let a guy treat me for once.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll have a Moscow mule.”

He flags down the bartender, and I get served right away because the guy knows I’m Gina’s friend.

“What’s your name?” He has to shout over the music which has been turned up as the club transitions from lounge to nightclub with the later hour.

“Lexi,” I tell him.

“I’m Jayden.” He holds his hand out, and I shake it. It’s sweaty, and the handshake is awkward.

Ugh. I’m already regretting accepting the drink if it means I’m stuck making weird small talk with a stranger for the rest of my time here.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a hairstylist.” I look around to see where Gina might be. How long before she can come over and rescue me. But the place is filling up. She’s busy working the tables along the walls that are filled with new customers. She probably won’t get much time to hang out with me tonight. “How about you?”

“I’m in sales.”

Sales could mean anything at all. He could be a sign spinner on the corner. I doubt he’s selling anything too spectacular based on the way he’s dressed and carries himself. I’m not judging, just observing. I’m not one to poke holes in anyone else’s financial situation when mine is so shitty. Still, this guy does nothing at all for me. I struggle through the chit chat while I suck down my drink which is mostly ice, anyway, and set it on the bar.

Jayden waves at the bartender to get me one more, but I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.” I slide off the barstool I was camped on. If I don’t move from this spot, I won’t be able to shake this guy.

“Thank you for the drink. I’m going to head out.”

“What? You can’t leave now, things are just warming up here.”

I pull a mock mournful face. “I know, but I’m working tomorrow. Have to get my beauty rest.”

He catches my arm. I grit my teeth to keep from shaking off his touch. “One more drink,” he wheedles.

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you, though. It was nice talking to you.”

Unfortunately, the bartender arrives with my drink, not catching or ignoring that I didn’t want it.

“He already brought your drink. Now you have to stay.” He flashes a smile that I’m sure is supposed to be charming.

I suck at situations like this. I really do. I was raised to be a good girl. Always be nice and polite. Never hurt anyone’s feelings or insult them. Always smile. It makes it hard to figure out how to say no when someone’s being pushy.

So I lie. “Yeah, okay. I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” I say. Call me a chicken. It’s true. “I'll be right back.”

I walk toward the back of the club and pop into the women's room–that part wasn’t a lie. Just the coming back part. I exit and head toward the back door. It's an emergency-only exit, but I can probably talk the bouncer stationed there into opening it for me since I'm Gina's friend, and I know Leo.

Except I’m stopped when fingers close around my arm, and Jayden yanks me backward.

“Ouch!” I glare at my unwanted suitor who apparently thinks he has a right to be pissed off now.

“Where are you going?” he demands, like I just screwed him out of five hundred bucks or a trip to Paris or something.

I open and shut my mouth trying to figure out if I'm going to tell the truth or fib again. I guess the jig is up.

I try to pull my arm away from him, but he hangs on. “I really have to go.”

“I bought you two drinks,” he accuses. Apparently, I owe him my firstborn child now.

“That was your choice. I didn’t ask you to. In fact, I tried to refuse the second one. Now let go.” I yank harder. This guy is going to leave finger bruises on my arm.

“Bullshit, I heard you telling your friend you wanted a sugar daddy.”

I’m not having this conversation. “Let go of me.”

If anything, he squeezes tighter. I’m about to make a scene in hopes the bouncer at the door will notice and throw this guy out when a different hero shows up to save the day. A very well-dressed Italian hero.

“Let go of her.” The guy seizes Jayden by the throat and shoves him up against the wall. Jayden lets go and stays pinned there, the side of his face mashed against the plaster.

“This guy bothering you?” my rescuer growls in a gruff, gravelly rumble. He’s an extremely hot, older man with a commanding presence. One of the owners, then.

A mob boss.

The good girl, the nice girl in me would say no. Because complaining about people isn’t polite. But I’m way too pissed. I rub the red marks on my arm where he held me. “Yeah.”

My rescuer turns his attention to Jayden. “When a woman says no, you back the fuck off. Capisce?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Manghini?” Now the bouncer appears. He’s just as beefy and tattooed as Leo, but it’s the mob boss–Mr. Manghini–who still seems to be the most dangerous man in the room.

“You need me to give you a lesson in manners?” Mr. Manghini asks. When Jayden doesn’t answer, he shakes him by the throat. “Huh?”

“No.” Jayden still sounds petulant, but his face is turning red from lack of oxygen, so I do think he’s getting the message.

Mr. Manghini snorts and releases my stalker, shoving him at the bouncer. “Throw him out. He was assaulting a customer.” Then he holds up a hand and looks to me. “Unless you want to file charges?”

I’m shaky all over, but other than bruises on my arm, fine. “No.” I start to say, “It’s okay,” but bite my tongue. It’s not okay. Why would I even say that?

The bouncer hauls Jayden away and throws him out the back door, and Mr. Manghini gently slides his palm over the skin I’m rubbing. His fingers are large. They look strong. I’ll bet he could’ve choked the life out of Jayden with just that one hand if he wanted.

For some reason, I find myself wondering what else he can do with those hands. What it would be like to have those commanding hands on my body in an altogether different way.

“You’re hurt.” His warm brown gaze circles my face. He smells like scotch and cigars, but it’s not unpleasant. “And you’re shaking. I’m sorry that happened to you here. Let me get you a drink to calm your nerves.”

You’d think after what just happened, I’d never let another man buy me a drink, but there’s something completely different about this guy’s vibes. Somehow I’m sure that he wouldn’t be douchy enough to think a drink buys him sex, and he obviously believes no means no. “Thanks, I…” I nod my head. “I’d like that.”

“I’m Bobby.” He extends a hand.

“Lexi.” I place my hand in his, which is warm and strong. In fact, that’s the energy he radiates–warm strength. To me, anyway. To Jayden, it was hard and cold. Ruthless, even. Bobby stands at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders perfectly draped in an Armani suit. I would guess him to be in his mid to late forties, with a strong jaw and aquiline nose. Dark eyes with lashes that curl.

He lightly touches my back to guide me back toward the bar.

The door that leads to the private lounge swings open. “Bobby, you coming back?” another man in a suit calls from the door.

“No.” Bobby doesn’t look away from me when he says it.

It’s a weird feeling to have someone’s full and complete attention. I try to sort out why it seems different from the attention Jayden gave me back at the bar. Jayden’s attention felt intrusive, whereas this guy’s makes me tingle all over. Like my cells are coming alive just from being in his presence.

“Are you the owner?” I ask as he escorts me through the clogged hallway that leads to the bar area.

“Nah, it’s my cousin’s place. My company built the building, though.”

“Ah. Too bad, I was going to ask for a job.” I adjust my purse strap on my shoulder.

His brows pop. “Yeah? You need a job, doll?” Again his scrutiny is intense. It’s not sexual, but my body responds sexually. Heat pools between my legs. My nipples harden and tingle.

“A second job,” I admit. “I have a day job, but I’d love to pick up a few evening or weekend shifts to get by.”

Stan comes over. “Another mule?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I left that last one.”

“What can I get you, Mr. Manghini?”

“Glen Livet on the rocks,” Gina answers for him, appearing beside us. “This is the guy I was telling you about.” She bumps my hips with hers, and I want the earth to open up and swallow me.

“Yeah?” Bobby searches my face, then hers. “What did you say?”

“I just wanted you two to meet.” Gina’s smile is mischievous. I imagine she thinks of herself as the Sugar Daddy Cupid.

Is there such a thing? There totally should be.

“I feel like you two might hit it off.”

Clearly, Bobby doesn’t fall for bullshit because he narrows his eyes and cocks his head. “No, really.”

“Lexi needs a sugar daddy.”

“Oh my God.” I clap a hand over my eyes like if I can’t see Bobby, he can’t see me. “I’m going to go jump off a tall building.”

Bobby pries my fingers off my face. “You want a sugar daddy?” He looks amused.

“I didn’t say that. This is all Gina’s fantasy. I asked for a job–remember?”

His smile is warm. “I might be in the market for that situation.”

Situation. I gasp when I suddenly realize what this is. “Oh no.” I shake my head and take a step back. “I don’t date married guys.”

He holds up the back of his left hand to show me there’s no ring. “Not married. I did that once. I’m not doing it again.”

“Oh.” I’m breathing hard like we’re walking fast, even though we’re standing still. “I’m not a prostitute,” I blurt the next fear that comes to my mind.

His lips quirk. “I didn’t think you were.” He hands me my drink when it arrives. He’s still considering me. “Sounds like you just need someone to spoil you a little. Is that right, doll?”

Spoil me.

Literally, no one has ever spoiled me in my entire life. I’ve dated players and cheaters. They cared more about themselves and what I could do for them than vice versa.

I’m not saying I’ve bought into this idea of Gina’s to pimp myself out for a sugar daddy, but the idea is definitely growing on me. Especially, or maybe only, because Bobby is the man in question.

Not that I think he would even want me. I mean, I don’t know how this works. Is there a sign-up sheet somewhere? A way to put my name in for the position? Maybe he requires a resume outlining my best features. Recommendations, perhaps, from a past lover. Something like, Gives great head, but a little needy.

I realize he’s waiting for an answer. I lick my lips. “Yeah, maybe,” I admit. Oh God. I must be blushing. My face feels about fifty degrees too hot.

“That’s definitely what she needs,” Gina vouches for me. Way to lay it right out there, girl. She sure isn’t one to beat around the bush.

“And Lexi’s amazing. A good person. No drama. Would do anything for a friend. She’s a very talented hairstylist, too.”

“I’m not sure those are the qualities he’s looking for in, um, his…whatever,” I mumble.

Bobby chuckles.

He pulls a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and offers it to the person who has taken the bar stool I occupied earlier. “Your drinks are on me if you give the lady your seat,” he says.

I try to deny how pleasurable it is to have this guy focused on taking care of me. How long has it been since someone–anyone–has looked after me?

Oh yeah, never. My mom worked twelve-hour shifts as a nurse when I was growing up, so my sister and I were latch-key kids. My dad lived in Pittsburgh, so we weren’t with him all that much, and even then, he lived with his girlfriend and her kids, so his focus was on them.

The guy grabs the twenty and vacates the seat, and Bobby puts his hands on my waist and lifts me onto it. When I’m settled, he keeps his hands there and gives me a wink. I feel it in my core, my belly fluttering, the muscles of my pelvic floor lifting. Okay, wow. I’m definitely feeling a connection.

Gina takes her tray of drinks and disappears with a smirk.

Bobby’s gaze snags on the reddened marks on my arm from Jayden’s fingers, and he scowls, brushing the backs of his fingers over my skin again. “I should’ve killed that guy for touching you.”

A shiver runs across my skin because I suspect he means it. That he’s murdered before.

I should be scared. Or at least put-off. Civilized men don’t resort to violence.

But I’m not.

I’m turned on.