Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (6 page)

“You won’t make it to the railing,” Ash warned with a feral smile, reading her mind.

She nodded toward his hoochie, who was probably younger than she was. “Nice date, big brother. A bit young for you, though, isn’t she?” And because she was hurt that Beckett took off, and because she was embarrassed that Ash knew it, Hope struck below the belt. “I know I used to tell you I wanted a little sister,” she gestured toward the clueless girl, “but you know what, Ash? I really liked the sister-in-law I had.”

He barely flinched at the dig, but his eyes narrowed slightly and she felt the guilt set in instantly. Olivia was off limits. Bringing her up now, no matter how desperate or justified Hope felt, wasn’t fighting fair.

“I’m more concerned with your date for the evening than mine,” he replied. “Who is he, Hope? And where did he go?”

In her mind, she said, “Well, his first name is Beckett, or maybe that’s his last name because as it turns out, I’m not really sure. I do know that when he’s naked, he looks like a Greek God and he has mad skills in the bedroom. Worked me over real good, if you know what I’m sayin’, but he can’t carry on a conversation for shit. As far as where he went, I’ve got no clue, but you probably know the answer to that anyway, since you two are chummy and all.”

But what she actually said was, “I really hate it when you get overbearing. I’m an adult.”

“Well, that’s a shame, Hope, since I really love you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hoochie’s jaw drop comically, her mouth stopping mid bubble as she stared at him. Poor girl. Probably astonished to hear the self-contained, emotionally unavailable man use the word love. The truth was, so was Hope.

He continued, ignoring both their stunned reactions. “And even though you were doing a very adult thing in here, you’re still my little sister.”

That was true. She was his little sister. And in a city with over a million and a half people, spanning nearly four hundred square miles, they hadn’t crossed paths in over a year. Sure, he sent her periodic texts asking if she was okay. If she needed anything. If they could meet for dinner. Hope had given him the answers she assumed he wanted. Yes, no and maybe.

Asher Coleson was a lot of things. He was the all American boy turned wounded war hero. He was the sole male heir to a celebrated family winery that he wanted jack shit to do with. He was the boy she’d looked up to as a little girl—both before and after he’d been outed as her half brother. And he was the singular reason why Marshall Coleson had gone from a strict but loving father to a bitter, manipulative old man.

And yet, Hope still sought his approval. Marshall’s, too.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, her face flaming as even more mortification set in. “How did you know I was in here? Did you follow me?”

Oh, my fucking God. Did he see their impersonal exchange when Beckett charmingly tossed her a cheap plastic keycard? Had he witnessed him hotfoot it out of the room, his walk of shame obvious to anyone looking? And if he had, why was he bothering to ask her about him?

Ash looked affronted. “I didn’t have to, Hope.”

He didn’t have to? What the hell did that mean? Was there a GPS tracking device planted in her pocketbook? Did he have somebody tailing her, reporting her whereabouts back to him? She wouldn’t put it past him to micro-chip her like the family dog just to keep tabs on her life.

Jesus, apparently she’d lost her right mind, along with her virginity.

Clutching her purse to her stomach, she looked around the room, her gaze skipping over the disheveled bed.

She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, willing to admit defeat. “Look, clearly this was a bad idea. I know it, but I can’t change it now. Nothing you say will make me feel any more or less shitty about my behavior. But at the risk of sounding childish, Ash? You’re not the boss of me.”

Pleased that she might escape with a shard of her pride intact, she turned to leave with her chin held higher than appropriate given the situation, brushing past the hoochie leaning against the doorway.

And nearly collided with Helen.

“Miss Coleson. I believe you’re out of your assigned area.” Helen’s satisfied voice echoed through the corridor and Hope knew it right then. She was doomed. “The catering staff has strict instructions to remain within the employee only areas of the hotel. Fraternizing in the guest suite wings is prohibited.” Looking over Hope’s shoulder, she glimpsed the interior of the room, her penciled on eyebrow rising in haughty disapproval. “Or inside the rooms themselves.”

The need to defend herself was inherent. “I’m off the clock, Helen. I punched out the minute my shift ended. On the dot, as you’ve instructed in the past. That was a few hours ago.”

“Vistancia employees are expected to act with proper decorum at all times, young lady, whether you’re on duty or not, as long as you’re on the property. Clearly, you’ve violated this policy and I would be remiss if I didn’t address it with appropriate disciplinary action.”

Fine, Hope thought. She’d be peeling and chopping bushels of fingerling potatoes for the next month, listening to Val tease her incessantly about the repercussions of being a dick hound. She just wanted to get the confrontation with Helen over with so she could go home and cry herself to sleep.

“Your employment has been terminated, effective immediately. Your final paycheck will be cut and mailed to you promptly. Please return any uniforms you have to the laundry attendant at once and quickly see yourself off the property. I can contact security to escort you, if necessary.”

Hope could only stare at her, the words bouncing around in her brain like fragmented letters, their meaning undecipherable. Terminated? Did she just get fired? “But—”

“No buts, my dear,” she said, her twinkling eyes darting toward a watchful Ash, before adding, “and I don’t care who your Daddy is or how much of this hotel he might own. Rules apply to everyone and we must all abide by them.”

And with that cryptic statement, she turned on her orthopedic shoes and briskly walked away, the sound of sandpaper echoing off the corridor walls as her pantyhose covered thighs rubbed together.

Staring down at the jewel toned floral carpeting covering the wide hallway, Hope tried to breathe. Terminated. Fired. Canned. From a job she was sure she’d gotten on her own, without her father’s influence. No wonder Helen was always on her case, riding her about every little thing under the sun. Marshall’s reach was longer than she’d realized.

“I can give you a job, Hope. You weren’t gonna survive serving cake for minimum wage much longer, anyway.” Ash’s quietly spoken offer answered her earlier questions.

He knew where she worked and how much money she made. And that she wasn’t taking any from Marshall. He really was keeping tabs on her. Might have gotten her this low paying job to begin with. He might have gotten her fired from it, too. There was no other explanation as to why Helen would’ve shown up here. The resort was far too large for this encounter to be coincidental and her chest tightened at the betrayal.

Ash had always rebelled against Marshall, ultimately leading him to sever ties with both the old man and the winery altogether. Hope wasn’t privy to all the reasons why, she only knew that Olivia had been a casualty in the war between father and son. Maybe she’d been one, too. After Ash directly disobeyed their father to join the Army, leaving only Rosa to buffer a young Hope from Marshall’s redirected attention, he’d still looked out for her. Often out of the country, he’d maintained a passive presence in her life, albeit long distance. When she’d turned eighteen and left the vineyard, their contact had been minimal at best, mostly due to Hope’s need for freedom, not Ash’s lack of trying.

But if her assumptions were true and he’d gotten her first hired then fired, he was more like Marshall than he realized. And for the second time tonight, the weight of not being good enough threatened to take her down.

Rejection from two men in one night? That had to be a record.

She pasted on a false smile, choosing to believe that his job offer came from a place of love and not guilt. “Thanks, but I don’t need a babysitter.” Praying he would stay put, she told her feet to move and somehow, they did.

“Stay in touch, Hope. Don’t ignore my calls,” he warned, but didn’t try to stop her.

Blessed silence was the only thing following her as she made the long trek toward her car.

Just when she’d managed to rid herself of one stubborn problem keeping her from living life to the fullest—her silly virginity—another one popped up. And suddenly the disappearance of Mr. Man Candy, along with the odd appearance of her brother, wasn’t her biggest predicament.

She didn’t have a job anymore.

Holy hell, what could possibly go wrong next? The only thing that could make this night worse was if she ran over a litter of adorably speckled puppies on her way home.

Or, if once she got there, there was a florescent orange poster nailed to the front door of her dumpy furnished apartment, the
Notice Of Eviction
highlighted in bold, black font. Fair warning to all the other poor suckers living in the rundown complex. Apparently, her landlord was taking a firm stance on timely rent payments. He and Helen were a match made in rule enforcing hell.

The good news was, she had three whole days to pack up her toothbrush and move on to greener pastures. And since she was no longer gainfully employed, her commute time had just been slashed to zero. Any other dump in the city of San Diego would do.

The bad news was, her best option had a troubling amount of bars covering the windows and a view of the graffiti painted dumpsters. And when she attempted to withdraw a chunk of precious education money from her savings account to pay the deposit, it was gone.

All of it. Gone.

Every last cent of her education fund. Her emergency fund. Nearly thirteen thousand dollars. And gone along with it was her architecture degree and quite possibly the face of her entire future, because there was no way she could afford to pay out of pocket for her last year of school.

She had forty-seven dollars in her checking account and a five dollar bill in her purse.

And no place to live.

CHAPTER FIVE

Strippers just didn’t get the recognition they deserved. If ever there was a group of hard working people who earned their money the old fashioned way, literally, it was them.

Sure, there were a few bad apples in the bunch, feeding into the common misconceptions that gave the entire profession in general a black eye. But from the day Hope marched into Club Kitten like she wasn’t scared shitless and applied for a job—any job—she’d been surprisingly welcomed by all the staff members, the girls included. And they were all intimidatingly beautiful. A mix of ageless women, with varying hair colors, cup sizes and degrees of tanned skin, all shaking their asses and perky, bare breasts just so they could pay the bills. The money was good, but the competition was fierce, and those boobs they were jiggling were valuable assets. Because this was no low class, smoke filled dive bar like some strip clubs were. The ones she imagined had aging and dirty, cracked out hoes attempting to do the splits on a filthy stage while random, lonely men jizzed all over the floor.

Club Kitten was just the opposite.

Yes, it was a small, relatively unknown club located in the back of a hundred-year-old, crumbling red brick building on the wrong side of downtown. And yes, there was an inconspicuous entrance off a narrow, potholed alleyway with an adjacent parking lot that was severely under lit at night. But it was a whole different story inside the club. The custom decor was modern and lavish. Unexpectedly high-end. So were the clientele.

White collar, wealthy types who were looking to have a few drinks and unwind after a stressful day at the office. Or your average Joe, hard working and loyal, heading out with the boys for a rare night away from the wife and kids. Or that adventurous couple you only read about in magazines, taking in a show together, open to where an unusually risque date night might lead them. The club still had their fair share of rowdy and drunken customers at times, but the bouncers were quick to remove them from the premises so as not to kill the buzz of other paying patrons. What mattered most was that their wallets were full when they walked in and empty when they walked out.

Underrated is what these girls were. Hope now knew that first hand.

Well, not entirely. She hadn’t actually done any stripping, despite Bubba’s relentless nagging that she do so. “The moolah’s gonna roll in for ya’, honey, and I’m talkin’ Oprah dollars,” he’d been telling her. “You’ll be stuffin’ your G-string with so much bank, your kitty cat’s gonna turn green. That face with that body is like an ATM machine ‘round here. Easy money, toots.”

Not an appealing analogy, but one that had her wheels turning.

“What can I get you guys?” she asked cheerfully, plopping a couple of black cocktail napkins in front of the two men just sitting down at the only vacant table in her station.

Thursday afternoons were notoriously busy. Bubba said it was the most convincing day of the week for a man to leave the office early, but tell the wife he was working late, all so his Saturday would be freed up to go antique shopping with her.

“Well, what are you offering, sugar tits?” The chubby one asked, a clever grin flashing across his pock marked face as he assessed her from the neck down.

Hope rolled her eyes but didn’t take the bait, flashing the wide, toothy smile she’d perfected on her first day. “Any kind of drink you want, sir. The boobs,” she nodded toward the stage, “are that way.”

“How much to see your fun bags naked?” He leered suggestively at her chest, her ample cleavage overflowing the tight, black leather corset.

Wearing the standard issue Club Kitten uniform, the corset covered her from nipples to navel, cinching her waist beautifully as long as she didn’t eat a heavy lunch. A super short, pleated leather miniskirt with thigh-high fishnets completed the look. In reality, Hope bared more skin when she spent a day at the beach, so the sexy getup wasn’t as provocative as it seemed. And luckily, she’d kept her ta-ta’s covered with only a few nipple slip near misses.