Bending Bethany (7 page)

Just then Brock started squirming. “Let’s play again!”
 

Bethany set him down, and he powered off across the lawn, kicking the soccer ball as he went. He was all boy that was for sure.
 

“What about Juliette?” My wife looked up, her eyes sparkling with love and tenderness.
 

“I love Juliette.” I grinned, feeling my heart grow wider and deeper for the little person I hadn’t even met yet. If she was anything like her mom, she would be a beautiful, smart, independent little thing.
 

The very first moment I’d met Bethany, she’d given me a gift, and I hadn’t even known it. She’d taught me what passion was, what striving for love was, instead of always striving for the game.
 

I’d been thrilled when all the studying had finally paid off, and she’d graduated with honors to move on to get her sports medicine degree. She’d been assisting the team these last few years, and it’d been a dream having my little family travel with me, cheering me on from the sidelines. But now with the little princess on the way and the little guy in school, I wanted roots. I wanted to settle down.
 

I wanted the hectic schedule to end so I could focus on what matters most: my family.
 

“I see that faraway look in your eyes, Jenson Abbott. Don’t even think about it.” She tapped me on the chin and planted a kiss there. “Over my dead body you’re retiring. We’ll make this work. We can hire a tutor for Brock, and you know Taylor loves tagging along for away games to play nanny.”
 

“It doesn’t help when she and Luc are sneaking off every damn time I look around,” I grunted.
 

“You sound like an old man.” Bethany wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me close. “You’re not ready to retire. You love soccer.”

“The only thing I love more is you and our family.”

“And you’re lucky enough to have us both.” She pressed up on her tiptoes and took my lips in a long, sweet kiss.
 

It’d taken me a while to bend Bethany, but once she’d come around, there’d been no looking back for us.
 

From the start, she’d stolen my heart, and she’d owned every beat of it ever since.
 

THE END.

Flip the page for an excerpt of Dani Wyatt’s
Where She Belongs!

WHERE SHE BELONGS

Dani Wyatt

Chapter 1

Decker

“It was just a handjob.” Claudia rolls her eyes like this is a joke. “That’s barely even anything. I didn’t even kiss him, for chrissake.”

She’s looking everywhere but at me as if avoiding my eyes is going to change the outcome for her. “You know the rules,” I say.

Believe it or not, it hurts me every time this happens. I want to help them all, but in the end, they have to help themselves too. I can’t do it for them.

“I’m
great
at handjobs. I got him off in like
twenty seconds
. I mean,” Claudia attempts to look pitiful, “it’s almost like shaking someone’s hand. Would you fire Allister for shaking hands with one of the guys?”

Allister, my right hand man, pipes up. “Congratulations on your skill set.
 
And no, it is not like shaking hands.” His sarcastic answer doesn’t hide his own disappointment. His voice has always been low, but when he’s disappointed it takes on extra weight, extra gravity. It’s a bit like if a bass drum was suddenly able to speak.

He’s more pissed off this time than usual, and he hates firing girls as much as I do. It’s because he’s the one that talked me into hiring her – even when I expressed my doubts that she would take the opportunity seriously. Looks like I was right, but I don’t take any pleasure in that.

It’s too bright in here. The light and the situation drives ball-peen hammers into my temples and I rub them with my middle finger.

I look at the file open on my desk, then glance around the room. I can’t make an exception for her. The rules are the rules, that’s why we’re all in here. It’s my job to deliver the bad news.

I’m momentarily distracted by the surroundings of my office. They’re far from interesting. White gloss, cool air. Actually, the temperature in here is fine, but it feels cold. My office at the back of the club needs some warming up and organizing. I despise disorder.

The white gloss paint is there because that’s what I like. Clean, pure and without blemish.
 
Neatly stacked pillars of white boxes, labeled with their contents and color coded by unpacking priority, line one wall. My new office furniture was delivered last week – at least it got me out from behind the folding banquet table which had been my temporary desk for a month. The place needs artwork and some other touches, but I just haven’t had the time.
 

Seems that’s a theme with me because my house looks the same way and I’ve lived there for five years.

I listen as Allister heaves a deep breath in and out.
 

Allister is my General Manager. He’s also my best friend. If you saw him on the street, you’d probably cross to the other side. But he’s one of the best people I know. Heart of gold and the size of Texas.

He’s shaking his bald head, running a hand back and forth over it while he stares at Claudia. It’s unusual for him to step in, to try to persuade me to take on a girl against my better judgement. But I guess he took pity on her – early twenties, brunette, streetwise attitude. Maybe she reminded him of someone, I don’t know. I didn’t push it.

As for her, she’s glaring back and forth between us like she can’t understand what she’s done wrong. And that is exactly her problem.

But this is my club and I have to work damned hard to keep it.

It’s one in a chain that I own. Monarch night clubs. They are a mash-up of trendy, urban bar with a side order of gentleman’s club. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not seedy at all. I’ve made my name in this industry by keeping the seedy element away and that’s the way I intend it to stay. Which is why I have to be strict with the girls. Today it’s a handjob, tomorrow a blowjob. Once you start down that road there’s no turning back.

I suppose “gentleman’s club” isn’t really the right label. I mean, I do have dancers, but they don’t take their clothes off. They don’t wear a whole lot to begin with, but they also don’t take anything off.

They dance, and they do it well enough that they don’t need to show their bodies. Are they sexy?
 
Yep. Do the men in the clubs wish they were dropping clothing? Of course. But while they work for me it’s not happening.

My clubs have a fine dining area, a dance floor with a bar. Classy, trendy. And then there is the ‘back wall’ as it’s come to be known. The dancers are not center stage, but they are a huge draw. Somehow, I’ve managed to create a club where women and men feel comfortable coming in, but there is still an atmosphere of the upscale gentleman’s club – without the slimy element.

Monarch V is the jewel in my so-called crown of successful nightclubs, and I am obsessed with how everything is presented, from the staff to the decor. But my office could use some warming up. I love what I do, but it’s beginning to wear on me. I’m also an obsessive planner, and my plan is to work another few years, then turn everything over to Allister and see if life has anything else in store for me. I’m not old, but I’m not young either, and as much as growing this business and helping out all these girls has been my reason for getting out of bed every day for a long damn time, there has to be more, I’m just not sure what that ‘more’ is.

It took the better part of a year to get this particular club up to the zoning standards the surrounding high-brow community demanded. But, in the end, it will be worth it. Having a club on this side of town, and in this prime location, will pay off in spades. On weekends, the queue is already lined around the block and we’ve only been live a little over a month.

Guess all the pearls and bowties that live around here are just as eager for a little fun as anyone else. I see the same folks that sat on their pious high horses in the local government planning meetings, the ones who were giving me shit about putting in the club, drinking and whooping it up here every night of the week.
 

Fucking hypocrites.

But their money is as green as I need it to be, so whatever. Their two-faced bullshit is between them and God.

“So, I’m done?” Claudia juts a hip out and finally settles her vitriol on me. “You’re
firing
me? This is
total
bullshit. One handjob and one joint, that’s all it was. And now you’re firing me?
 
I didn’t even
smoke it here,
for chrissake. You can’t tell me what I can do on my own time. This place is turning into the damn Westlake Baptist Church.”

I’m holding her file in front of me. “Yep, you’re done. The rules are clear. You signed the contract: You go to school. You don’t take drugs, and you don’t drink. You certainly don’t touch the customers. You fucked up.”
 
I close up her file, shaking my head. “I don’t fire people, Claudia, they fire themselves. Get your stuff out of your locker; we’ll send you a month’s pay to give you time to get on your feet. Allister will walk you out. I wish you the best.” I lean back in my chair.
 
My temples are still pounding and my stomach is curling over on itself.
 

I entwine my fingers as I rest them on my mid-section. My stomach lets out a low rumble, reminding me that once again I’ve put the girls and the club before my own basic human needs.

It’s already one in the morning and I don’t remember eating anything since I’d arrived here at noon.

“You can suck my ass!” Claudia gives me one final single-finger salute before she trudges out the office door, Allister rolling his eyes at me as he walks behind her.

As much as I try, I can’t save them all – that’s what I have to keep reminding myself.
 

The irony is I don’t even care much for nightclubs. I don’t drink and never went in for strip clubs at all. Just didn’t do a damn thing for me. But, these places evolved after I retired from the Marines. Sixteen years of service and I’m damn proud of it, but it was time to move on. These clubs are the way I make a living – and a very good one at that. And, at the same time, I have some unique rules for my staff and try to give back where I can.

The low vibration of the bass from the club floor comes through the open office door. I’m usually gone by midnight, but between dealing with Claudia and sticking around to interview a few new dancers, I’m beat. Tuesday nights, the club is quiet and we do our Men’s Only night. We also do a thing called, ‘Open Tryout Night.’
 
Similar to open mic night at comedy clubs or the like, but we let girls who aspire to dance or work here come in, strut their stuff and show us what they’ve got. So I usually stick around to see if there are any worthy applicants coming through the door.

After a few minutes, Allister steps back into the office as I twist my head around on my neck, trying to relieve the pressure.

“All set?” I ask.

“Yeah. That girl is… colorful. Had some unique parting words for you.” He licks his lips, then adds, “And me.”

I shrug. Insults don’t mean a thing to me. “Yeah? I wish her well. It’s a shame.” My stomach roars again, and I push my chair back and stand up.

“You done for tonight?” Allister shoves his hands down into his front pockets, regarding me with a wry smile.

“I think so. I’m going to go have the kitchen make me something to go. Anyone else coming in tonight?” I straighten up the loose papers on my desk into a stack and file them in my drawer. I put my Dunhill pen in my top drawer too, remembering when the staff gave it to me at Christmas. I’m a hard fuck to buy for; I don’t want for anything and don’t want much in general.
 

But I do appreciate quality and rarity, and they all chipped in and bought me that pen. Probably the best fucking pen in the world. I exhale louder than I expect. I guess I’m just a little tired of all this. I finish by brushing dust off the walnut top of my desk until everything looks in order.

“A few gals are still here to try out.” Allister reaches for his back pocket and pulls out three Polaroids, starts flipping through them. Then he looks at my face with mock concern. “You get some ice on that?”

“It’s fine.”
 

“Uh huh. You’re not twenty anymore. Next time call for back up.”

There is a low throb coming from under my left eye where I took a punch earlier. It will be purple by morning, but right now it’s just an irritation.

“I got the job done.” My voice sounds gruff. I hate fucking fighting, but I also don’t back down when the situation calls for me to get physical. And when someone lays a hand on one of my girls, the situation calls for it.

“You know we hire bouncers for that shit. You take on three at a time, old man, just at least let me stand behind you. Got it?”

“I haven’t lost a fight yet, have I? Who got carried out of here calling for their mommy? Me? Nope.” I’m pissed because if the bouncers were
doing their job
, I wouldn’t have to jump in when I see that shit going on. “New subject.”