Diary of a Bad Boy(20)

“In a nightclub?” I ask, my voice borderline hysterical.

“Yup, it’s where I met him first. I cater to my clients and how they like to conduct business.”

“We’re going to a nightclub, for business?” An hour at the most I figure. A meeting can’t go much longer, especially in an environment like that.

“Of course not. I never go to a nightclub for just a meeting. You’re going to be my wingwoman tonight, Sutton.”

Oh hell no.





“You know, that bouncer could have been nicer,” I say over the loud music that’s thumping in the center of my chest, shaking every bone in my body.

Roark gives me a once-over. “To him, you look like a nun.”

“Because I’m wearing a jacket and scarf? I’m sorry for not wanting to be cold.”

“I don’t think he accepts your apology,” Roark says, his mouth close to my ear, his hand on the small of my back as he guides me through the nightclub to the very back, past a curtain and into a roped-off space.

The music isn’t as loud where I feel like my eardrums are about to rupture, but loud enough that if you wanted to dance, you wouldn’t feel like a fool.

And believe me, I won’t be dancing.

I give the space a once-over while Roark quickly pours himself a drink. “So, this is what a nightclub is like, huh?” I run a finger over the black leather couch. “Fancy.”

Tumbler head close to his mouth, Roark peers at me. “Wait, you’ve never been in a nightclub?”

“No, never found a reason to be in one. I’m the good girl, and nightclubs aren’t my thing. I’ve always found them very intimidating.” He walks closer. “It’s why I put it on my New Year’s resolution list, because it scared me. I put all the things that scared me on there.”

His brow lifts, and he scoots in even closer. “New Year’s resolutions, huh? What else is on there?”

Feeling a little crowded, I take a step back. “That is none of your business.”

“Let me guess, is one of them skinny dip?”

“No, Mr. Wise Ass. It’s not.”

He sips his drink, eyes still trained on me. “That’s surprising. You seem like one of those bubbly, cotton-candy girls who would have that on a bucket list or something. Let me guess”—he scratches the side of his jaw—“one of your resolutions is trying anal?”

“Oh my God. No. What is wrong with you?”

He grins. “From your reaction, I’m going to guess you’ve never tried it.”

“Yeah, and I plan on never giving it a second thought. That’s not for me.”

He nods, looking me up and down, then turns away. Has he had anal before? Honestly, I would be surprised if he hasn’t from the way he seems so . . . seasoned. The mere thought of it skyrockets the heat in my body, forcing me to take off my jacket and scarf.

I set my belongings on the couch and eye the space. He catches my perusal and waves toward the decked-out tables full of freshly prepared food including shrimp cocktail and sliders, as well as the immaculate display of alcohol. “Help yourself, we’re going to be here for a while.”

“What do you mean a while?”

His back is toward me, his shoulders tightening the fabric of his shirt as he leans down and grips the short wall in front of him. He doesn’t answer right away. I watch him survey the club and the partiers who seem to have started early. If there is one thing I know about nightclubs—which I know pretty much nothing—is nine o’clock is too early for people to start getting drunk and dancing. Which means . . . a while very well might be three hours.

Crap.

Finally, he turns around, sipping from his tumbler. Smacking his lips, he looks at me and says, “No idea when my client is going to get here.”

“Wait, didn’t you give him a time?”

He slowly nods, almost in a condescending way. “You can give them all the timeframes you want, but until they decide to show up, your meeting doesn’t start.”

Defeated, I lean against a pole and say, “You’ve got to be kidding me. This has been the most exhausting day of my life.”

“Exhausting?” His brow creases. “You took a two-hour nap and drooled on a floor, so explain to me how that’s exhausting.”

“Mentally exhausting,” I snap. “This is mentally exhausting. If you’d just met me that first morning, all of this could have been avoided.”

“Why? Are you not having fun?” He smirks.

“No. I’m not. How is this fun? Parading around the city with you has not been my ideal day.”

“And here I thought you were having a good time, lass.”

“How did you get that impression?”

He shrugs and then quickly glances at my chest. “Your nipples have been hard all day.”

I am going to murder him.

Murder. Him.





This is not how I pictured my night going. I envisioned snuggling up with Louise on my bed and watching Outlander while eating my favorite Thai food from the place two blocks away. I envisioned wearing one of my night shirts, fuzzy socks, and tying my hair up and out of my face. A little lavender oil on my wrists, and the familiar comfort of a fluffy feline tucked next to me. The perfect night.