Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(14)

Even at “just a touch,” I felt my shoulders get tight. But I didn’t want to expose my reaction, give him something to read about me, make him think I was afraid or protecting myself, especially after what he knew happened to me and the fool I’d made of myself at Wash Park.

And as we walked down the hall, into the club, and toward the stairs that led up to Smithie’s office, my tension at being touched became something else as the feel of the touch penetrated.

He wasn’t pushing me. He wasn’t guiding me.

He was a gentleman walking a lady through a strip club the way a gentleman should, regardless it was a strip club in which she was a stripper.

I started feeling funny again.

His touch left me as we climbed the stairs and I was embarrassingly aware that I was still slightly stiff from what had happened to me, not to mention my ass might be in line with his eyes.

I motored right through that and stopped at the top landing outside the door, looking down as he climbed the last two steps.

He put his hand right to the handle and murmured, “Smithie isn’t here.”

He pushed the door open but didn’t move.

He waited there and did it with his eyes on me.

It was then I realized he wanted me to go in before him.

He’d opened the door.

For me.

I started feeling funnier and quickly walked into the office.

I didn’t go far, stopping in the middle and turning to him.

He didn’t go far either, but oddly, he stepped away from the door and moved across the space.

In other words, he wasn’t barring me in. If I wanted to leave, I had a straight shot. He wasn’t in my way.

Oh my.

“We have plans.”

I focused on him and not my thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“Lunch. Today. You. And me. We have plans.” The words were short. Impatient. But even so, not unkind.

I didn’t know how he pulled that off but I didn’t put too much thought into it.

I had to get this done. He was my boss (kind of). He was also an important man. I didn’t know that outside of the fact I knew that and I couldn’t forget it for a second.

So if he wanted “a word,” I had to give it to him.

And then get away.

“No we don’t.”

“Our last meeting didn’t go as I’d hoped but I had thought I’d made my intentions clear,” he replied.

I didn’t know how to respond to that because he had, I just didn’t get it nor did I want it.

All of a sudden, a change came over him, and even though it softened his features, warmed the cynicism clean out of his eyes, I still felt the tension in my shoulders increase.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Uh, yeah,” I answered normally.

For some reason he looked to the floor, beyond me, then again to me.

“You’re here.” Now his voice wasn’t quiet, it was soft with inquiry and concern.

Here.

Where, out back, I’d been raped just over a week ago.

God, I needed to get away from this man.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m here.”

“Should you be?”

“Chardonnay had a wardrobe question,” I explained.

And again his expression changed. This time it didn’t hide he thought I had a screw loose.

“I’m sorry?”

“Chardonnay. She had a wardrobe question,” I repeated. “And her roommates are bitches. Totally judgey about the stripper thing so she couldn’t model at her place because she has to show me her moves in her new getup and they’re there. She couldn’t come to mine. So we’re here.”

“Why couldn’t she come to yours?”

I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him it was because the place was filled with daisies and I didn’t want to answer the questions that might bring. I didn’t want to tell Chardonnay or anyone not only where those daisies were coming from but that, in my worst moments, their bright, happy beauty was the only thing that was seeing me through.

So I didn’t say anything.

“Does she know what happened to you?” he asked gently.

I nodded.

His mouth grew hard, and probably because of that, his words were terse. “She should be more sensitive.”

“I’m okay, Mr.—”

“Marcus,” he clipped.

“Right. Marcus. Sorry,” I muttered.

“Smithie isn’t here,” he informed me.

He’d already shared this intel so I didn’t know why he was repeating this to me.

“Okay,” I replied.

“This means you’re not here for any reason unless Smithie or Lenny are here, and if you need to be here and neither of them is available to be with you at all times, you call me. I’ll put a man on you.”

At all times?

He’d put a man on me?

I stared at him.

He reached into the pocket inside his suit jacket, took out a silver card case, flipped it open, and extracted a card. He flipped it shut, returned it, and walked to me, stopping not close (thankfully).

He held the card up between us, offering it to me with two fingers extended.

Lord, this man was fine. Even offering a business card!