Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
II
“I was never really insane, except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
Seventeen
Fawn
It had taken exactly thirty minutes before Silas appeared in the Monte Cristo Lounge to inform me I was being permanently transferred to Winchester Parlor. He followed me from the Monte Cristo to the Winchester, glancing at me nervously. I wasn’t sure what it was about, but I would bet it had something to do with Garrett. When we reached the door to the Winchester, Silas cleared his throat and adjusted his bow tie.
“One more thing,” he added, his eyes flickering toward the door, then back to me.
“Yes?” I encouraged since it seemed that he needed it.
What had Garrett said to him? That had to be the only reason for this behavior toward my moving rooms.
“It, uh, seems that you will only be serving Mr. Hughes from now on. While you are in there, if he isn’t present, then you are to”—he rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me—“stay in his private space.”
I frowned. “He said that? He wants me to just sit in his lair and do nothing?”
I wasn’t going to do that, and Garrett had to know that. The man was being ridiculous with such a demand.
“Yes, it seems that we shouldn’t expect you on the nights he won’t be visiting. I’m to take you off the schedule.”
My hands clenched, and I took a deep breath to calm myself before I lost my temper. “Well, you can rest assured that will not be the case. I’ll speak with Gar—Mr. Hughes tonight. Please don’t take me off the schedule just yet. I need this job and the money.”
Silas paled. “You shouldn’t make him angry. Just do what he says.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Uh, no. The rest of the world might cower to his domineering ass, but I’m not going to be bossed around. He doesn’t own me!”
Silas looked as if he might throw up as his gaze flickered over my shoulder nervously, and his shoulders literally curved in as he backed away slowly. I opened my mouth to assure him he wouldn’t be reprimanded for this when a large hand pressed against my lower back and the scent of cigar and cinnamon wafted over me.
“If you’ll come with me, Fawn.” Garrett’s deep voice made sure there was no mistaking that this was a demand, not a request.
I considered turning now and dealing with this, but as angry as I was with him, I didn’t want to cause a scene. The thought of disrespecting his authority in his establishment bothered me. I simply nodded and let him lead me into the Winchester Parlor. He spoke to several members that addressed him as we passed, but his hand never left my back.
I glanced over at the bar and saw Leo watching us as he dried a glass. His eyebrows shot up when we made eye contact, but then he quickly dropped his gaze. Garrett scared everyone. Except me, apparently. When we made it to his corner, he dropped his hand from my back, then walked over to take the remote that closed off his space, making it private.
I placed my hands on my hips, ready to do battle with this ego-driven man and win. He was not going to tell me when and how I was going to do my job. Garrett turned to look at me, and he smirked at my stance. Damn him for being so sexy. Even when he was being a controlling ass.
“We’re private now. Please, feel free to proceed with the tongue-lashing you want to give me,” he said as he made his way over to the cigars. “I expected as much. We might as well get it over with.”
God! He was so damn full of himself.
“I need this job. I need the hours. You know that.” I seethed, hating that part of me wanted to go run my hands up his arms and press against him.
He opened the case and glanced back at me. “My allowing you to still work at all is unlike me. You don’t need a job. I want all your time, and I take care of what is mine.”
What was this, the 1950s? Take care of what was his? UGH, this man!
“I’m not yours, and I’m also not a prostitute. I will provide for myself and my daughter.”
Garrett turned back around, and the scowl crinkling his brow was distracting. I wanted to smooth it with my fingers. I needed to be slapped. I was arguing here, not thinking about touching him.
Focus, Fawn. FOCUS!
“If I ever hear yourself speak the word prostitute again, I’ll put you over my knee and spank your ass until you can’t walk. Is that clear?”
I shivered. Not because his threat scared me, but because it made my body tingle with the thought of him putting me over his knee. How did he do that? What voodoo did this man have that made me crave his brutality? It wasn’t healthy. If I could afford counseling, I’d go get some. Was this because of my past? Was Garrett’s domineering behavior a turn-on for me because I had daddy issues?