Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(22)

I’d actually managed to keep him off my mind for a little while too. Not long, granted, but focusing on the marketing for his club as opposed to his mouth on mine had done me some good. I’d tried to call Allie, but she was already working. Lucie was visiting her parents, and if I called Jaz before noon on her day off, I’d be cursed out of the country.

This had been the best choice in hindsight, even if I was now back to thinking about last night. And not just the kiss—all of it.

He’d said that he didn’t have fun much. That was kind of sad. I was a serious person, but even I made enough time to have fun, whether it was vegging out in front of the TV with takeout or hitting a bar with the girls. I wondered if West Rykman was the kind of man who worked, worked, worked, and that was it.

I was wondering about him again.

Did he have family nearby? What did he do when he wasn’t working? How old was he? How had he come to get a strip club? What other businesses did he own in Las Vegas? Just clubs, or restaurants too? Maybe a regular bar or two? A casino?

I had no place wondering it, but my curious personality demanded I did. Then again, my curious personality was also the reason for fifty million heartbreaks in my life, so what did it know?

Nothing. That’s right. Big, fat nothing. Liar.

I just wanted to complete this contract without a hitch. Was that too much to ask? I didn’t want any more kisses or touches or words whispered in my ear. I was tired of it. I wanted to do my job, and that was it, but he was...

Jesus, he was so goddamn irresistible. If I had to compare him, he’d be a hot bath at the end of a long day, fluffy socks in winter, and—no. I had it.

West Rykman was as irresistible as the undeniable, glorious sensation of whipping your bra off when you walk through your front door.

I sighed. Yep. I was screwed if I was comparing him to that. I’d compared men to many things—pigs, f*ckers, slugs, *s—but never whipping a bra off.

I had to marvel over the coincidence of this though. Of all the places in the US—in Vegas alone—it had to be his club. I wondered now if he had known that it was me when Michelle had called and told him I’d be there in her stead. If he had, why had he allowed it to happen?

It wasn’t for the sex, that was for sure. He’d gotten at least one number last night and all he had done was buy drinks.

I was bugged about that. If he remembered our night so well, surely the name “Mia” would have rung a bell or two. He would have checked his records and seen that I was there that night and that it was me.

I smiled at the girl when she brought my card back. Then I slipped it into my wallet and stuffed it into my purse. There was no use in my going to Rock Solid when I was frustrated. It was the perfect time to work—I needed to work on branding for the club. I loved the design aspect of my job. It wasn’t required, but I had the skills, so I utilized them. It saved us having to hire out someone else. I regularly did it for my coworkers too, and maybe that was it.

Design was calming to me. As long as any one of my Adobe products felt like cooperating.

That was my plan. I would work all day, and then tomorrow, when I was calmer, I’d go and talk with West.



Turned out working and sleeping on it wasn’t the key to calming down.

I was still as pissed as before. Not even drafting three new logos and typing up everything I’d found, not to mention coming up with new ideas, had helped. The idea that he had known who I was and still let me come annoyed me.

It was why I was stalking through the doors of Rock Solid at ten in the morning, dressed in my business best. I hoped that the tight, red skirt and white blouse complete with black heels would draw a line that’d been crossed when I had been wearing jeans and a loose shirt.

“Hi, Ms. O’Halloran. Are you looking for Mr. Rykman?” Vicky looked up from the glass she was polishing, as bubbly and friendly as she had been before.

“Hey, Vicky! Call me Mia, please. And yes—I am. Is he here?”

“I think so.” She paused in her cleaning. “I think he’s upstairs. Let me call up.” She put the glass and the cloth down and turned to get the phone. She punched in a few numbers then held it to her. “Hi, West... Yes, I know, but Mia O’Halloran is here to see you... Yes... Mhmm... Okay... Sure.” She hung up and turned to me. “He’s not in a great mood, but he said to send you up.” She waved over her shoulder as she walked to the door at the end of the bar.

I sneaked around the end of the bar and caught the door before it could swing shut.

“If you go down the hall, you’ll find the stairs on your right. The entire floor is an office, so you’ll find him right there.”

“Perfect. Thank you so much, Vicky.”

“You’re welcome.” She beamed and bounced back through the door to the bar.

Damn. I wanted what she had eaten for breakfast.

I held the handrail as I headed upstairs. This time, I was armed with my laptop as well as a file. If he liked any of the logos or branding but wanted some changes, I’d wanted to be able to do it with him in real time.

It was also heavier to hit him over the back of his cocky head with, but nobody else needed to know that.

When I reached the top, the door was slightly ajar, so I knocked lightly. “Hello?”

“Mia? Is that you?” West’s voice traveled through the air.