“What exactly do you think I do for a living? This isn’t a male strip club. We don’t need a giant dildo here.”
His eyes widen as he glances between me and the so-called sculpture. “This is nota dildo! It’s abullet.” He clicks his tongue, pulling theduh!face. “A nitro express bullet, to be precise. They are mostly used—”
“In large-bore hunting rifles,” I say. “Don’t teach your grandma how to suck eggs.” I inhale a calming breath. A glass of whiskey would work faster. A clip of my gun emptied into the ceiling even quicker, but it’d delay the re-opening. “Whyis it here?”
“It’ll make for an interesting feature and add character to the...” he scrunches his nose, “...blandspace.”
Hold me, or I’ll gut the guy.
The main entrance opens behind my back before I have a chance to comprehend the gibberish and word a reply.
“Wow, someone’s been busy!” Jackson’s words echo in the empty space. He turns his head in all directions so fast I think his head might come off the hinges. “When are we opening?”
The decorator rolls his eyes with a sigh, mocking the hopeful note in Jackson’s voice.
“I didn’t ask for permission,” I say, watching her plump lips.
She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, sending a wave of desire traveling throughout my nervous system. I’ve been here for ten seconds. She hadn’t even opened her mouth yet, but I’m already so fucking hooked on this girl. The bartender sets a tall glass in front of her, and she holds out her money, eyes fixed on the guy.
Little Miss Independent.
I like her attitude, and I hope it’s not just an act.
“Will you introduce yourself, or will you just gawk at me all night?” she clips, closing her full lips on the straw.
God, where the hell was this girl all my life?
A low blow to my ribs brings me back from Layla land.
“Did you hear me?” Jackson asks, eyeing the bullet with one eyebrow pulled into a question mark. “Man, what do you need a huge dildo for?”
Mic drop.
“It’s a bullet, not a dildo,” the decorator retorts.
“I don’t know where you buy your bullets, but this one doesn’t look like any of those I use.”
I smirk under my breath when the guy turns pale at the sight of the gun tucked in the holster under Jackson’s jacket. “Get this out of here.” I motion at the sculpture. “Have you seen pictures of this room from before the fire?”
“I wouldn’t call the previous interior design classy...” He examines his fingernails and smacks his lips before lifting his gaze to meet mine. Has he any idea how much he gets on my nerves? “I can’t picture any VIPs gracing this place with their presence. No finesse, no glamor.”
“You’d be surprised what kind of VIPs this club’s hosted over the years. Nevertheless, this is a club for the masses, not just selected individuals. Recheck the photos and get to work. I want Delta to look exactly like it used to, and I want it ready by Friday morning.”
His mouth falls open in an exaggerated manifestation of deep shock. “But that’s three days away!”
“Yes, I can count. We’re opening on Friday.” I emphasize each word. “Now, get out of my face.”
He blushes, lifts the dildo with visible strain, and leaves as instructed. Such a good boy. I light a cigarette, pointing my chin to the rolled-up papers in Jackson’s hand.
“Ah, right.” He smacks them into my chest. “Grace’s profile. She’s alright. Nothing out of the ordinary. Deceased father, an alcoholic mother, and a two-year-old brother. She’s been working at the cleaning company for three months.”
I know all that. She told me about the car crash her father died in and the years of her mother’s downward spiral into the addiction. She also told me she’s been sofa-surfing at her friends’ houses for months, saving every last cent for a deposit to rent a flat. I hired her to clean my house every day, so I could get to know her better.She’s punctual, well-organized, and thorough.
Layla left a massive hole in my life. The burning desire to care for someone almost fucking chokes me every day. There’s something about Grace—and I pretend not to have the slightest idea what—that stops me from turning a blind eye and leaving her in the swamp she found herself in.
Thatsomethingis vulnerability.
The same kind Layla sported: a helpless kitten aura hidden under a mask of self-sufficiency.