“I know enough to know that you wouldn’t cope with men leering at you and pawing you while you served them drinks.”
“You might be surprised. I’ve met some assholes in my time and I’ve put them in their place.”
“I’m sure you have, but the answer’s still no. I don’t need to be worrying about you all the time.”
“No-one asked you to worry about me.”
“Christ, do you ever take no for an answer?” I asked; irritation battling with a slight sense of respect.
“No. So give me the damn job already.”
Amy drew her breath in and Nash stepped forward and touched Harlow on the arm. “Sweet thing, I think he’s made himself clear.”
“Yeah, I’ve made myself really fucking clear,” I growled.
Harlow shook him off, and stepped closer to me, her green eyes hard. “I don’t get you. I need a job, you need staff, it’s a no brainer. All I’m asking for is an interview...”
“Are you fucking finished?” I roared, fury dripping from my words.
She stiffened, and moved her hand to her throat. Those greens of hers widened for a second before she narrowed them and replied, “Yes.”
She made a move to step away from me but I reached out and grabbed her hard by the wrist to stop her. “I don’t owe you a fucking explanation but you’re going to get one anyway. I do need staff but I would prefer experienced staff. And staff who are suited to working in a strip club. When I say I don’t have a job for you, it’s because I don’t believe you’d enjoy it and I don’t think it would be a good fit for you.” I let her go, and said to Amy, “Can you make sure these two get in a cab?”
Amy nodded. “Sure.”
Giving Harlow one last look, I said, “You don’t belong in a place like this. Go home, sleep those drinks off and find a nice job, far away from here.”
I left them all standing there and stalked to the office. My mind was overwhelmed. Between my father, Indigo, Blade, Black Deeds and other Storm business, I was buckling under the pressure. Harlow prancing in here with her fucking curves, attitude and inclination to challenge me at all stops was something I was unable to deal with tonight.
And fuck it, I still wanted a taste of her.
Chapter 8
Harlow
Was that a jackhammer? The noise coming from outside my house was so freaking loud that I thought my skull might explode. I slowly opened my eyes and pain tore through my head as the light was allowed in. Scrunching them shut again, I prayed for the pain to end. It didn’t; it only intensified.
Bloody hell, I was never, ever drinking again.
The noise from outside sounded again, along with a, “Harlow!”
I sat up in bed, the pain ricocheting from side to side at my sudden movement. That sounded like Scott. I threw the sheet off me and slowly got out of bed. My hand flew to my head to try and hold it; if I could keep it still it wouldn’t hurt as much. That was my theory anyway. Hangovers weren’t something I often dealt with; I’m sure that made it feel worse.
On second thoughts, maybe I should drink more often.
“Harlow! You in there?” Yep, definitely Scott.
I made my way to the front door because I was sure he would keep banging and yelling until I did. When I finally opened the door, the sun smacked me in the face and I winced as I tried to cover my eyes with my hand.
“Fuck,” Scott muttered, and I parted two fingers so I could peer at him through the slit. His eyes were focused on my legs and then they lazily moved up to my face, lingering on my breasts as they went. A jolt of electricity shot through me. Scott Cole’s eyes undressing me made me wet. His hands ripping my clothes off would surely make me scream.
“Do you always answer your door wearing nothing?” he demanded roughly, stepping into my house and moving me out of the way so that he could shut the door behind us.
I looked down at what I was wearing. Bloody hell, he was right. I was only wearing my thong and a tiny tank. Swallowing my mortification, I carried on as if this was a normal occurrence even though it was as far from my usual behavior as you could get.
“Do you always wake people up by banging on their door and yelling at them? Especially when you know that they would have a hangover and need complete silence to get through the day?”
He smirked, so I smacked him in the arm, and then sashayed my way down the hall; making sure to give him an eyeful of my bare ass. I figured I may as well work with the situation at hand even if it wasn’t what I would have chosen. The noise he made as he sucked in a breath was almost enough to make up for my embarrassment.
When I reached the end of the hall, I pointed left towards the kitchen. “You go in there and I’ll be with you in a minute.” Turning right, I hurried to my bedroom so I could put some clothes on. My head was hammering, I felt queasy, and I was still annoyed at the way he spoke to me last night, but I couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling through me that Scott was in my house.
A couple of minutes later, dressed more appropriately in shorts, a t-shirt and a bra, I found him with his head in the fridge. He heard me and stuck his head out, looking at me, body still bent over. “You got any cold water in here?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t drink cold water.”
“Juice?”
“No.”
He shut the fridge, grabbed a glass out of the dish rack, filled it with water from the tap and brought it to me. Then he walked back to the kitchen bench where he’d put his keys. I sat at the table, wondering what he was doing, but as my brain was very slow this morning, the answer wasn’t coming to me fast. Picking up his keys, he said, “I’ll be back with juice.”
I guzzled some water; the coolness of it against my dry throat felt so good. Without really raising my lips from the glass, I nodded and said, “Thanks, that’d be good.” I was struggling, and forming words into sentences was too freaking hard; our conversation was going to be limited today but so far he didn’t seem to care.
While he was gone, I contemplated trying to make myself look better. I even went so far as to drag myself into the bathroom and brush my hair and teeth. However, that was the extent of my effort. I had no doubt I’d regret this when I was feeling better.
Ten minutes later he strode through my front door with bags of groceries and a determined look on his face.
“I thought you were just getting juice.”
“Babe, you need more than juice,” he stated as he handed me a banana, “Eat this, and then I’ve got some Gatorade for you to drink.”
“I don’t think I could stomach a banana, Scott.”
“Eat it, it’ll help get rid of your headache.”
Oh, so bossy.
I watched him as I peeled the banana. He moved around my kitchen like it was his own, putting drinks in the fridge and adding more bananas to the fruit bowl. Not only had he bought me Gatorade and bananas, he’d also stocked me up on juice and coconut water.
“How the heck does a man like you know these things?” It could have just been my fried brain, but Scott didn’t strike me as someone who would know what foods and drinks helped with sickness. There he was, dressed in jeans, big black boots, a tight black t-shirt, and his biker jacket. He had tattoos all over his arms and chunky silver rings on his fingers; he had that scary hot look about him. It was the kind of look that blazed a warning to me to stay away for the safety of my heart. Why, oh why, did God bring hot, sexy men into my life that were clearly not made for me?