The Will (Magdalene #1)(136)

“He is,” Jake agreed. “But no purpose in draggin’ everybody down, especially Ethan. He needs me, he knows I’m there. But only choice he’s got is to keep on keepin’ on. He knows that. He’ll get over it. He knows that too. We just gotta cut him some slack and let him handle it the way he sees fit.”

This seemed a sound strategy so I nodded.

Then I informed him, “The men in your employ walk into the dancers’ dressing room without knocking.”

He stared at me only a second before he shook his head and murmured, “Little shits.”

“I’m uncertain from Paulette’s recounting of this that she really cares. However, she does feel it’s sweet you show that respect.”

“I’ll have a word with the boys”—he paused— “again. But it’ll be a stronger word this time.”

I leaned into him and repeated, “I daresay she doesn’t care, Jake. But—”

Jake interrupted me. “They got a job, they do it. Onstage. That doesn’t make them free-for-alls. Back there is their space. They feel safe in it. They decide who they show themselves to, not my boys. She might not give a shit but I do. If my boys who work with them can’t show respect, how do I communicate the customers should?”

“An excellent point,” I stated.

Jake grinned.

I inquired, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You can ask me anything, Slick.”

I nodded again.

Then I wondered if I should do what I was going to do.

I looked into Jake’s eyes that were looking right into mine and thought of all he’d shared with me in a very short period of time. He didn’t hold back. He didn’t hide. He didn’t prevaricate. He wanted me to know him and he set about doing that from the start.

Thus I felt safe in feeling there was nothing between us except what we hadn’t yet gotten around to sharing.

And I was relatively certain (relatively) that he wanted nothing between us.

That said, in making it so nothing was between us, I would have to “handle” it.

And do it wisely.

“Okay, then, as a hypothetical,” I started carefully, held his eyes but licked my lips for a different reason this time, then went on. “Say something happened that I knew you would not like. If that should occur, is it better not to tell you, since I know you wouldn’t like it? Or should I tell you because you’re quite candid and wish for that to be returned?”

When I finished speaking, his bearing had not changed but it had.

Tremendously.

And not in a good way.

Apparently, I wasn’t doing very well in “handling” this.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice terse.

“I’m talking hypothetical,” I reminded him and I was.

I also wasn’t.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“Jake—” I started but got nothing more out.

His fingers disappeared from my waistband and wrapped around my hand. Then I was off the barstool and being dragged though the club.

The door to his office was at the side of the club and he took me directly there. There was a keypad that unlocked the door and when we arrived, without delay, he lifted his finger so he could jab in the numbers.

The keypad screen went green and Jake pushed open the door.

We’d been in there earlier and I’d noted his office was rather roomy and also quite nice. There was a thick rug on the floor with an attractive pattern on it in blues, blacks and beiges but mostly reds. A plush black leather couch against one wall. Midnight blue leather chairs in front of his large but not too large wooden desk.

There weren’t a lot of accoutrements, it was clear he didn’t spend a great deal of time there, and when he did, it was for business only, and thus he didn’t bother with the décor. But he had still made it a nice space.

It was also four steps up so that the large one-way window that faced the club had an elevated view so it would not be obstructed by patrons.

It was further mostly soundproofed. Not entirely, the music could be heard, but once the door closed, it was significantly muted.

This was what happened right then. The door latched behind us, the music was drowned out, and Jake pulled me up the stairs and across the rug to the front of his desk. He positioned me there facing it, and dropped my hand so he could stand in front of me, back to his desk, and cross his arms on his chest.

When he’d done that, he repeated, “What happened?”

“You left our drinks at the bar, Jake,” I told him and I had to admit it was to buy time. He was making me somewhat anxious.

“What…happened?” he again repeated.

I studied him a long moment (buying more time, it must be said) then began, “First, can I just say that Alyssa told me that I shouldn’t—”

Jake interrupted me. “Babe, what works for Alyssa, and I’m guessin’ the way this is goin’, Alyssa and how things are with her and Junior, is not us. We are not Alyssa and Junior. You really f**kin’ aren’t Alyssa. And how I am with you is not what Junior gives Alyssa.”

“But they seem to have a very strong, healthy relationship,” I noted.

“They do. But Alyssa’s got a good family who’s all living, love her like crazy, have her back and always did. Then she got Junior and got a lot more of that. You had Lydie. That’s all you had. Until you got me. But you got me when you lost her. So shit goes down for Alyssa, she’s had a lifetime of having a solid foundation and she can take it. Or she’s got a lot of folks she can go to to give it to if she can’t. You only got me.”