Barely Breathing(9)

“Thanks, Viv,” he said, leaning down to speak in my ear. And again, major tingles. “Let me pay you for helping me out.”

I shook my head vigorously and tipped my face up to talk in his ear. “It was fun. And last time I was here, you helped me out in a pretty big way.”

His expression softened from its usual scowl. “At least stay for dinner. Everything’s comped tonight for you and your friend.”

I leaned back and met his greenish brown eyes. “Will you join us?”

He must’ve heard me or read my lips, because his face registered surprise. “You want me to have dinner with you?”

I nodded, realizing I wanted it a lot.

“Okay,” he said, gesturing toward the stairs. “Lead the way.”

I went back to our small room, which was somewhat insulated from the noise. It only flowed in from the door that was open to the balcony.

“If the attorney thing falls through, I’ll hire you as a bartender any day of the week,” Kane said, sounding impressed.

I laughed. “Well, I’m still seventy grand in the hole for law school, so I’m hoping the attorney thing will work out.”

“What kind of lawyer are you?”

“Family law. Divorce and custody cases.”

His scowl returned. “Sounds depressing as hell.”

I shrugged. “Not really. It’s rewarding when we can resolve things amicably.”

I sat down in one chair and Kane took the other.

“You assume I know the word amicably?” he asked, amused.

“I do.” I pulled my hair up to get some air on my sweaty neck. “And you do.”

“You want me to have the temp turned down in here? Every room has its own climate control.”

“No, I think I’ll cool down now that I’m not moving around so much.”

A female server with short salt and pepper hair walked in. “Mr. Kane,” she said warmly. “How nice to see you up here. What may I bring the two of you to drink?”

“Water for me,” he said.

I cocked my head and considered. “White wine, please. Whatever kind you recommend.”

“Very good,” she said, nodding at me. “I’m Marla, by the way. Let me know of anything you’d like. Anything at all. We pride ourselves on delivering at Six.” She turned back to Kane. “Would you like to see the chef?”

He furrowed his brow. “I think we’ve got someone else joining us. Can we get another chair? And we’ll wait for her to order.”

“Yes, sir. I did bring her some sushi and hot tea earlier.”

On cue, Cara looked over from her spot on the balcony and danced into our room. “You must be Kane,” she said, her cheeks flushed from dancing. “I’m Cara.”

“Good to meet you,” he said, nodding. “You hungry?”

I gave Cara a look that I hoped said please let me have some time alone with him.

“No, I had some amazing sushi earlier. I’m dancing it off now.” She danced back toward the balcony. “Nice to meet you, though.”

“Just two, I guess,” Kane said to Marla. “What are the specials?”

She rattled off a few things and then Kane looked at me expectantly.

“The pan-seared grouper you mentioned,” I said. “That sounds really good.”

“It’s delicious,” Marla assured me, turning to Kane.

“New York strip,” he said. “Jim knows how I like it.”

“Yes, sir.” Marla smiled at both of us and disappeared from the room in an instant.

“You’re not still dating that douchebag from last weekend, are you?” Kane leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

My mouth dropped open in surprise. “No. God, no. That was a blind date gone wrong.”

“You pressed charges?”

“Of course I did.”

He nodded with approval.

“Are you a bouncer here?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. If he was, bouncers at this club were treated like royalty.

“Naw, I’m not a bouncer. I’m a little of everything, I guess. I’m part owner.”

I nodded with realization. “Of course. Makes sense. And your name . . . is Kane your first name or your last name?”

He made a grunting sound. “It’s my last name, but everyone calls me Kane.”

“So you’re like Shakira? Madonna?”

“Yeah, I’m exactly like them,” he said with a wry smile.

We talked about my work and the ins and outs of owning a club, and it seemed like no time until our food was brought in. My grouper was served with some kind of garlicky, cheesy potatoes that melted in my mouth and sautéed asparagus.

“This is amazing,” I said after finishing a bite, gesturing at my plate. “It’s really good.”

Kane nodded, eating his steak and baked potato in silence. I used the opportunity to study the lines of his biceps and chest in his black t-shirt. He was broad. All muscle. On his arms, his tattoos were works of art, coasting in and out of the ridged lines.

We’d almost finished eating when a hulking black man whose bald head matched Kane’s came into the room.

“What’s up, Rosie?” Kane asked.