There’s a fire exit at the end of that hall.
Jet staved off an attacker in that hall.
When Sadie was kidnapped, she was carried down that hall.
Now, Dorian “Ian” Walker, Smithie’s nephew, the man Smithie was grooming to take over the club, has his wide shoulders to that wall.
Even in the darkened club, I can see the collared shirt he’s wearing is pure class and pure quality.
I can also see his pecs bulging above his forearms crossed over his chest.
Hawt.
Ian isn’t watching the stage.
He also doesn’t have his eye on the crowd.
He’s looking at me.
I give him a dorky wave.
He doesn’t wave back.
He jerks up his chin.
Yeesh.
These guys.
Then I’m being led up some stairs.
When we make the top, the bouncer raps on the door three times…loudly.
“What?” I hear shouted from inside.
The bouncer opens the door and motions me in.
I go in.
Smithie is sitting behind his desk.
And he’s scowling at me.
Well, hello to you too.
“What’d I do?” I ask as I move in,
The door closes behind me.
“Now, you’re messin’ with family,” he states.
I stop behind one of the chairs in front of his desk and I’m irate.
“After all this time, are you saying you don’t trust me?” I demand.
“He’s my nephew,” he tells me something I know very well.
“And?” I snap.
Smithie sits back in his chair and the litany begins.
“Girl, first time I met you, you were busting up my club.”
I roll my eyes.
“This is after you had one of my waitresses threatened at knife point in my parking lot,” he goes on.
“That wasn’t my fault. That’s on Ray,” I remind him. “Well, not really. It’s on Slick, but only because Ray fucked shit up.”
“The place was a disaster after Eddie lost his mind on that bachelor party,” Smithie recounts.
“What can I say?” I ask on a shrug. “Eddie’s hotheaded.”
“You roofied Sadie in my club,” he reminds me.
“Well…” I say slowly, because that one was rough.
Though, it ended up pretty awesome.
“Do I have to remind you what you did to Daisy?”
I flinch.
That wasn’t awesome at all.
“And the shit Ally got into here…at my club?” he presses on.
Yikes.
“Uh…”
“And for fuck’s sake, woman, Lottie’s stalker?” he clips.
“I will admit, he was serious gross,” I mumble.
“And now you’re eyeing my nephew?” he demands.
“Dorian’s hot,” I say in my defense.
“For fuck’s sake,” Smithie repeats in a mutter to the ceiling.
“And he’s sweet. And a good listener. He’s protective. And a smartass. And he’s really sharp. Not to mention, he dresses amazing,” I go on. “I mean, I can’t not dream up something for him. Are you crazy?”
Smithie aims his eyes at me again and begs, “Please tell me she’s a sister.”
“Uh, duh,” I reply.
He seems mollified by that.
Slightly.
“I’ll tell you somethin’ for nothin’, I’m not looking forward to this,” Smithie declares.
“Smithie, my friend, people wouldn’t read it if it was boring,” I point out.
“Seen movies with couples in boats, the dude’s paddling, the woman sitting there with an umbrella, and he’s reciting poetry. Women dig that shit.”
I burst out laughing.
“I’m not joking,” he says into my laughter.
I round the chair, sit in it, pull my shit together, and say, “Do you honestly want me to put Dorian in a boat and make him recite poetry?”
Smithie’s lips hitch to the side.
“That’s what I thought,” I go on.
“Who’s the woman?” he asks.
“I’m not saying,” I don’t answer.
“Is she a dancer?”
“No.”
“Does he meet her at Fortnum’s?”
“No.”
“Is she a friend of Indy’s?”
“No.”
“Lottie’s?”
“No.”
“Daisy’s?”
“No.”
“Shirleen’s?”
“No.”
“Chaos?”
“No.”
“Ally?”
I say nothing.
Smithie’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.
There’s more bass in his tone when he asks, “She’s a private investigator?”
“Ummmmmmmmmm…” I hum, drawing it out mostly because I sense he’s about to lose it.
Smithie then loses it.
He shoots up out of his chair, shouting, “Holy fuck!”
“Smithie, relax, my man, she’s not a private investigator.”
“Then how does Ally know her?”
I try to look innocent and know I failed when Smithie asks, “Is she a cop?”
“Weeeelllll…”
He falls back into his chair, lands an elbow on the desk, and puts his head in his hand.
Yeah, he senses how much shit is going to go down.
Oh boy.
Smithie straightens on a snap and orders, “Don’t shoot her.”
“I—”
“Or shoot Ian.”
“But—”
“Or kidnap her.”
“Well—”
“Or Dorian.”
“You see—”
“Or injure either of them in any way. Or fuck with their heads. Or—”
I cut him off this time.
“I can’t promise that, Smithie. You know how it is. It happens, that being, they tell me their story, and I write it how it happens. And as you’ve learned, pretty much anything goes.”
“At least tell me this, is she something else?”
I smile big at him.
“She’s dynamite.”
Smithie studies me for a long time.
Finally, he speaks.
“Are you ever gonna be done with us?” He asks this question on a heavy sigh.
“I hope not,” I answer, meaning these words with my whole heart.
“If the results weren’t worth the pain in the ass you are, you wouldn’t leave this club,” he totally lies.
“Don’t try to feed me that, Smithie,” I say, smiling at him. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re a big softie and everyone knows it.” I whirl my hand in the air indicating our current scene. “You don’t fool anybody with this act.”
