First there was Kim saying they had a rocking Saturday night and raked in some serious money. Next, McKenna saying Chris’ TV show had hit an all-time high in ratings, and the network execs were talking to him about renewals. The note was followed by several exclamation points.
Then there was a message from Charlie.
Julia tensed as she opened it.
We have a big whale in town tonight. We’re moving up the game. Need to see you there by nine. There is a chance for you to get a lot closer if you can take him down.
She wrote back quickly. Can’t. I won’t be back til 11.
She set the phone down on the sink counter, finished brushing her teeth, and rinsed with a glass of water. Her phone buzzed again. Perhaps you mistook that for a request. It was not. I will see you at nine.
Anger slithered through her. Hot, black anger at Charlie, at Dillon, at all the ways she was indebted to those two. She clicked on the message and dialed Charlie’s number.
He answered on the second ring.
“I am not in town,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “I can’t be there.”
“Red, I have seen the airline schedules. I even checked for you. And there will be a ticket waiting for you on the 11 a.m. flight back. It gets you into town at two-thirty, so you will have plenty of time to make yourself beautiful and show off those lovely br**sts to help distract our high roller.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her free hand, feeling like his prostitute. Like his dirty little trick to lure them in, because that’s what she was. A woman used. “Don’t you get it?” She said in a low voice, not wanting Clay to hear, though the bathroom door was closed. “I can’t.”
“But you can. And you will. And if you don’t, I will be happy to visit your bar more frequently. After all, it may very well be my bar someday soon. How do you think your pretty little friend with the baby in her belly would like working with me? Maybe we can even put her little one to work for me soon too,” he said, and her insides churned with the thought. Images of sweet Kim and her family becoming part of Charlie’s circle of indentured servitude made her want to vomit. Not to mention hang her head further in shame. “But I haven’t decided if I will keep Cubic Z open, or if I will take great pleasure in driving it into the ground and all that money you needed for your bar will be for naught. But you will have the reminder in front of your face to never try to take my money again,” he said, and it was as if his foot were on her chest, digging in, keeping her pinned and prostrate under all his weight. “Unless you come back and you play and you win.”
If there was one thing Julia had learned in this lifetime, and in these few months being on Charlie’s very short leash, it was that whoever had the leverage won. There was no bluffing when you owed money to someone who lived on his own side of the law, who operated by his rules. Call him a mobster, call him a gangster, she didn’t care about the semantics. A real Tony Soprano but without the Italian heritage, Charlie was like Tony in the sense that he was the man, he was in charge, and you didn’t f**k with him. There was no need for a poker face for Charlie because her cards were shit. He had a royal flush. He could take what he wanted from her. She knew of his ways, had heard of all the things he’d done, how he made sure money and debts were always paid to him, and for much more than the debtor bargained for.
The interest he charged damn near killed you.
When you owed him, he owned you and that meant everyone you cared about was in line if you couldn’t pay the vig. Soon, he’d encroach further, plucking at her family, her friends, all her loved ones. She couldn’t take the risk of pissing him off. He’d hurt someone to punish her for her impudence. She had no choice but to abide by his wishes.
“Fine. I will see you tonight.”
She stabbed the end button on her screen, but it was thoroughly unsatisfying. She pushed both hands roughly through her hair, grabbing hard against her scalp, something, anything, to unleash her agitation. She wanted to shake a fist at the sky, to slam her phone onto the floor. But in the end, she’d have to do what Charlie told her to do. Come home, slide into a tight black dress, and too-high heels, and sit down at the table ready to be ogled and to win. She was his secret weapon, a one-two punch with boobs and talent.
She looked at the time. The flight he wanted her on left in two hours.
The back of her eyes burned, the start of a thick sob threatening her. She inhaled sharply, drawing her hurt back inside, sucking it down. She was a fool for thinking she could manage any sort of relationship while she was still clawing her way out of the mess her last relationship had left for her. But that’s what she was – a fool, a mark, a pawn. She’d been taken, she’d been scammed by Dillon and she had no clue it was happening until it was done. Damn him, leaving her saddled with this while he got away scot-free. Leaving her no choice but to walk away from a man she was starting to feel real things for.
But feeling more for Clay would only put him in the line of fire. She had to extricate herself before she made her problems his problems. No one wanted that kind of shit in their lives.
*****
She was stuffing her clothes in her suitcase. Clay rubbed his eyes, and covered his mouth as he yawned. Maybe he was seeing things, but it sure looked like Julia was fixing to get the hell out of Dodge. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, she was tugging the zipper closed on her suitcase.
“I thought your flight wasn’t til five,” he said, scrubbing his hand across his jaw.
She shook her head. “I got it wrong. I transposed the times. It’s 11:05, not five-elven.”
“Let’s just change it then.”
“I tried. The later flight is booked,” she said, and her voice was strained, as if she were speaking through a sieve.
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, really,” she said, but she didn’t look at him. She kept tugging and yanking at her suitcase. He got out of bed to help, kneeling down on the floor next to her. His shoulder bumped hers, and she cringed as if he’d burned her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she said, crisply as he closed the suitcase for her.
“You don’t seem fine.”
“I just need to go, that’s all. I hate being late and missing flights. It totally stresses me out,” she said, and there was a hitch in her voice, as if she were about to cry. Did she have some kind of bad childhood memory about missing a flight? Because she sure as hell seemed sadder than the moment warranted.