He doesn’t try to answer, and I get my car unlocked and am inside before he can even stand up. With my doors locked, I peel out, spraying dust, sand, and pebbles in his face.
Adrenaline courses through me as I head back into the city, the music up loud as gangster rap blares from my speakers. I sing along with it, rapping like a typical white girl with no skills in that department, and I don’t care because it’s fun.
Today has been a day all about me. I have dealt with my feelings, let go of a lot of pent-up anxiety, and decided I am strong enough to face obstacles head-on. When I go into work next, I will do and be whatever I feel like doing and being, and the only person I’m going to worry about pleasing is myself.
I know my friends will be supportive if they have figured out what happened, so I’m not worried about that at all, even though it is a little embarrassing. Still, I will embrace it. Did I fuck Hunter? Yes, I did. Did it end badly for me? Yes, it did. Would I do it again? Fuck no. But it’s over now, and I can’t change it. So…I am now the new and improved Meghan, impossible to fuck over, impossible to bring down. And anytime someone starts to get on my last nerve, I will think of the ocean, calm my nerves, and then unleash the power of the tides that dwells within me.
And then I’ll knee them in the crotch and drive away with a smile on my face.
CHAPTER21
HUNTER
My fists grind into the bag at the gym, and I am working up a sweat, trying to get the angst out of my mind. So many things have fucking gone wrong lately that all I want to do is punch the living shit out of this bag until it either disintegrates or my arms fall off.
I’m whaling on it, giving it everything I’ve got, trying not to think about Meg and how I haven’t seen her since that day she walked out of my office, and I followed her to her apartment with the intention of making things right and only managed to make things worse. I’m trying to forget how perfect her body felt wrapped around mine or what it sounded like when she moaned my name.
I’m trying to forget that Jonathan stole from me, and I didn’t have the patience to interrogate him long enough to get the clues I needed to find the fucking money. It would’ve been wise to let him live long enough to tell me at least something to help me find it, but I was confident I could track it down.
Now I’ve used all of my resources and haven’t gotten an inch closer to finding it. It’s like the money just disappeared off the face of the earth, like a big hole opened up and swallowed it.
Much the same way that Jonathan disappeared from the face of the earth.
The final straw for me was getting a phone call from the Raven, fucking Velasco, asking me about the terms we’d “negotiated” the other night at the club. He seems to have forgotten that we never actually agreed to anything and that I was pretty adamant about not wanting to give him what he wanted.
He wants to come back and try again, and I don’t want to see him, especially not since I know Marco will be in town soon. That asshole is going to stir up all kinds of trouble, and I don’t want that for Leah or for my operation.
Leah has not busted my balls at all about Meg, and I think that’s odd. Either she actually doesn’t know, which is shocking because I figure everyone at work is gossiping about us, as people tend to do, or she just doesn’t want to upset me. Since I’ve never known Leah to let something like this go, I think it has to be the former. Which makes me grateful to my staff. I consider bringing them all something nice, like ice cream sundaes, but then I remember that they’re not twelve and ice cream melts.
Gift cards would probably be a smarter option… I let loose another round of aggravation on the bag, but it refuses to die, so I punch harder.
“Hey, there! Someone seems to be having a bad day,” I hear a male voice say over my shoulder.
I turn to see Ryan, the guy I sparred with not too long ago, strolling toward me, taping up his gloves. “Hey,” I mutter, but I’m not in a friendly mood, so I decide to save all of the social energy I have left for when I head to the club in a bit.
“Don’t let me interrupt you now,” he says, still using that teasing tone. “It’s best just to let it all out on the bag.”
“Yep.” That’s all I’ve got, and since it seems like the guy can’t take the hint that I don’t want to be spoken to, I decide it’s time to call it a night. “See ya,” I call to him, and then I head to the showers.
I manage to rinse off the sweat, but I can’t rinse away the thoughts in my head, how I have fucked up more times than a whore on a pogo stick lately, and if I don’t get my head out of my ass and start making better decisions, I’m going to have all kinds of issues.
When I’m done, I get out and dry off, thinking I need to get my priorities straight. As long as I have this issue going on between Meg and me, I’m never going to be able to concentrate on anything else. So I decide that as soon as I get back to the club, I’m going to straighten it out.
Assuming she’s even there.
As I get dressed, the possibility that I may have already blown it crosses my mind. What if she decides she can’t work for me anymore? If she thinks I’m such an asshole she won’t be able to come in and cover her shift with me there, what will I do then? I can’t even think about it. The idea of not seeing her anymore, of not ever looking out across the dance floor and seeing her beautiful smile, her red hair cascading down her back, makes me want to take a match to the club and burn the whole thing to the ground.
No, I’ve got to find a way to fix things with her.
Still thinking about what I need to say to her, I head back to the club and pull my SUV into my regular spot. When I look over and see her shitty deathtrap of a car in one of the parking spots, a sigh of relief exits my lungs.
But with the next inhale, I am fully aware of the fact that this means I have to figure out what to say to her. I am still her boss, after all. I can’t just avoid her like she doesn’t exist when I am in charge of making sure she has everything she needs in order to do her job. It’s also my responsibility to make sure she does her job correctly so that our patrons are happy. How can I do that if I pretend not to know who she is?
I will have to figure out some way to speak to her, to say something that makes sense.
Heading in the back door, I walk through the lounge and see Carter looking in the mirror as usual. I’m about to shout at him to do his primping on his own time, but before I get the words out of my mouth, I check the time and see he’s got a couple of more minutes before he’s on the clock. The other bartender is on duty alone at the moment as they switch between who has the long shift and who has the short one.
I’m glad I bit my tongue on that one, but I have a short fuse tonight, and I can feel that it’s about to blow.