“Glen Scotia. Thirty-year-old.”
She stares at me long enough I think I spoke Greek. But finally, she bends under the bar and retrieves a bottle.
“It’s two hundred,” she says as she pours.
“I’m celebrating.”
“Anything in particular?”
“Faith in mankind.”
I click into my messages and fire off a text.
Harrison King might not be finished with me, but we’re in my territory now.
I can handle myself. For a moment in Ibiza, I questioned it, and that was my mistake. Not trusting him, but failing to trust myself.
Rae: I have a DJ who might work for your opening. But she’s expensive.
My phone rings, and I answer, straining to hear over the music.
“Expensive is my favorite price.”
God, he’s arrogant. The British accent only makes him sound more elitist. But damn if I don’t love the sound of his voice over the line.
“You want me working for you again?”
“I enjoy you under me. I think of little else.”
Heat blazes down my spine, settling into an ache knowing he replays our too-short night together as much as I do.
“Meet me tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll send you directions.”
4
Rae
My GPS announces I’ve arrived, but the single nondescript rectangular building on my right makes me frown. It’s not a club—it’s a warehouse, and I’m already regretting agreeing to meet.
The building is massive, and I park in the lot next to a row of construction vehicles and turn to the mutt in the passenger seat. “Let’s go, Ernie.”
I round to the passenger side and lift Beck’s pet out of the car, careful of the stitches from his surgery.
“For a dog, you’ve got the princess act down,” I comment as I set him on the pavement, fastening his leash as he cocks his head up at me.
We head for the door nearest the parking lot, which is propped open with a two by four. The moment I enter, I’m astounded by the sheer size of the place.
“What do you think?” Leni calls from the other end.
“It looks like an empty Target,” I point out as she approaches.
Two dozen workers are bustling, alone and in groups, many on ladders and scaffolding.
“Try tellinghimthat. We’re insulating the walls,” Leni supplies. “Floors are next. Anything we can upgrade as a ‘warehouse’”—she makes air quotes—“until we get the rezoning approved.”
I stop halfway across the huge room, and she bends to scratch the dog on the head.
“New man. You traded up.”