I’m just going to have to learn the hard way and take what I know and apply it to my life from now on.
I mean, am I really that stupid to fall for his manipulating qualities?
Wait a second, don’t answer that.
Then out of nowhere, an idea comes to me. I pick up my office phone and dial the Expose Club. A bored-sounding girl answers the phone.
“Hi, I need to speak to the club manager,” I state assertively.
“Hang on,” the girl drones, and I hear elevator music fill my eardrums as she transfers the call and places me on hold.
A few seconds later, I hear his voice come on the line. “Jay Fletcher.” His voice sounds impatient, like he might be in the middle of something.
“Hi, Jay, it’s Molly Quinn.”
Jay clears his throat. “Oh, hey, Molly, what’s up?”
I should probably mention here that Jay and I are on a first name basis with each other because we have to work hand in hand a great deal.
“I’m calling about Owen Wolfe,” I say.
“Oh, right.” Jay’s voice immediately cuts to an apologetic tone, which I ignore.
I’m going to keep this short and fucking sweet.
“It’s come to my attention that he is suspended from the club right now,” I begin.
“You’re correct,” Jay coughs.
I don’t elaborate on how I know this information, and Jay doesn’t press me.
“I need you to go ahead and lift that suspension,” I say firmly, knowing that Jay will want to keep my father happy, and he’ll be willing to comply for that reason alone.
“Okay, sure…” Jay says apprehensively. “Any particular reason why?”
“Nope,” I chime in a high voice. “Thanks for your help, Jay. Please notify Owen at once that he’s reinstated,” I say abruptly, and hang up before he can ask me any further questions about it.
I sigh and place my head in my hands. Well, at least one of us will be happy.
21
Owen
Victor and I are in his award-winning man-cave basement, drinking a couple of cold beers at his mini bar when the doorbell rings from upstairs.
Victor’s wife and kids are at ballet practice, so Victor has to go upstairs to answer the door. I follow him, curious to see who’s there.
When Victor opens the door, Jay from the club stands there in his signature leather jacket and a pair of jeans.
“Hey, Jay, come on in.” Victor gestures Jay inside. If he’s baffled by Expose’s manager ringing his doorbell, he doesn’t show it.
We walk back into the main living room.
“Please, take a seat,” Victor says, and both Jay and I do as he instructs.
Jay sits on the opposite couch across from Victor and me, and I gulp nervously and try to keep my breathing even. Jay isn’t in the business of making house calls, especially way out here in Connecticut, so to say I’m fucking freaking out is the fucking understatement of the year.
The three of us sit there, staring at each other like a couple of fucking chumps for a few minutes, then Jay finally breaks the ice and speaks.