Body of Work (25 page)

“Eat all the fucking bars you want. After tonight, it won’t matter to me.”

“Oh shit. Man, you’ve got that look in your eye.” Sam knew better than to put a hand on him right now, but there it was, around his elbow.

“Watch the desk for me. And let go of my arm before I break your hand.”

“You do not want to follow your boss and beat the hell out of him in front of Cassie.” The hand lifted, landing on Brian’s shoulder in a subtler gesture of restraint. “At least wait ’til later tonight when it’s dark, he’s alone and you’ve had a chance to hunt down a ski mask.”

Some of the urgency to maim subsided. Hard not to relax around Sam—he had that effect on people. “What’s with you being the voice of reason all of the sudden?”

“Guess I’m going soft in my old age.”

“You’re twenty-eight.”

“Exactly.” He gave Brian a good-natured shove that didn’t move his buddy an inch. “And I’d rather not celebrate the next ten birthdays by visiting you in the pen.”

Brian snorted. “I’d get more than ten for what I have in mind.”

“Listen. Whatever’s going on with Cassie and this timeout she called, I doubt it involves getting naked with that asshole. Trust her to have a business dinner and walk away. Plus, watching her turn Trevor down in the middle of Barolo around seven o’clock could be fun, right?”

What the hell? His eyes snapped to Sam’s face, now sporting a wide, pearly grin. “Hack his phone or his email?”

“Email, which happens to be synced with his planner. You’re welcome.”

* * * * *

Seven bucks for a domestic beer. Plus tip. Fucking robbery, yet the place was packed. Forget health and fitness, he was going into the restaurant business. Brian lifted the bottle to his lips and let the icy lager cool his throat. No amount of overpriced brew would cool his head. Not while Cassie was with Trevor.

From his position in the crowded bar area, Brian could see every move and gesture Trevor made. Not so with Cassie—she sat facing away. Probably for the best. With his nonstop staring, she’d have spotted him for sure.

He couldn’t help himself. The sleeveless black dress hugged her body. When she swiveled to lift her bag from the chair, he caught a glimpse of her front. A long chain with some sort of oversized charm drew his attention to the low-cut neckline. She wore more makeup than normal—she didn’t need it, but he’d bet that up close, the shimmery stuff brought out the blue in her beautiful eyes. Her hair had its usual adorably mussed style, the front pieces held back by shiny barrettes. She looked amazing.

Clearly Trevor agreed. The prick kept touching her—on the arm, covering her hand. When he reached over and made as if he were brushing something from the strap of Cassie’s dress, Brian had to force his feet to stay where planted. If Cassie had protested in any way, he would’ve knocked everyone aside to get to her. She hadn’t. By the smile on Trevor’s face, the way she didn’t flinch while his fingers made a slow descent down her arm, she didn’t mind the contact. Or was it all an act—could she be doing this for him, because of Trevor’s threats about his job? That didn’t explain her shutting him out. None of it added up.

Trevor snagged a passing waitress. Whatever he said made Cassie stiffen. Twenty-five feet away and Brian knew something was wrong, but the idiot across from her didn’t appear to have a clue.

Brian shifted on his barstool, angled to track the waitress as she headed for the kitchen. She reemerged a couple minutes later, and she wasn’t alone. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Fucking hell—the Italian from Cassie’s driveway. No wonder she’d gone board-straight in her chair. Or maybe the guy smiling as he stopped to chat with patrons was the reason she’d dressed up tonight. Christ, what the fuck?

The man oozed pride and authority. The owner, maybe. Manager, at minimum. Both Trevor and Cassie stood to greet him. Trevor got a solid-looking handshake. The Italian then gave his full attention to Cassie. He cupped her elbow, kissed her cheek and spoke near her ear. Familiarity, oh hell yeah. The waitress hovering nearby collected their drinks and transferred them to a fancier table that stood alone, near the open-concept portion of the kitchen. Trevor’s face reeked of victory. Not Cassie’s. Her shoulders slumped the second his hand touched her back, propelling her forward.

She and Trevor had barely taken their seats when Cassie leaned in, smiled and excused herself. Brian darted a look at the Italian, then to Cassie, hot on his heels as he turned down a small hallway that probably led to restrooms or offices. He stopped for her. Listened to whatever words poured from her mouth, staring at her intently. Cassie’s tiny hands covered her face. Still, the guy just stood there.

Enough of whatever bullshit was going on here. She’d requested space and Brian had respected her wish, but he refused to sit on his ass while two men who didn’t deserve her caused obvious anguish. Fuck that.

He put the empty bottle on the bar and abandoned his seat. Using his bulk to push through the clogged bar area, he strode directly toward that hall. Cassie’s back was to him and the Italian didn’t toss him so much as a glance. He was about ten feet away when their conversation came into earshot. Not quite an argument, but intense.

“You have to tell him,” the Italian said.

“I can’t, Paulo, there are other people involved.”

“I know, I’m one of them.” The Italian—Paulo, his name was—put his hands on Cassie’s upper arms, prompting her to look up at him. “If you don’t, I will tell him.”

“You can’t. Please—don’t.”

Brian stepped behind Cassie, jumping onto both their radars. “Take your hands off the lady. And I’m not saying please.”

“This is a private conversation.” Paulo met Brian’s eyes with polite reserve. “Thank you for your concern, but you can go about your business.”

“Fine by me.” He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just drew his arm back, then gifted the guy with knuckles to the jaw. “Cassie
is
my business.”

“Oh my god, Brian…” She shoved at his chest, then spun away. “Paulo, I’m so sorry. Oh no, you’re bleeding.”

“Just a split lip. It’s fine.” Paulo wiped it with his fingers, then waved away the people who’d flocked to the end of the hall to gawk. “Everything’s fine. Please, go back to your tables and enjoy your evening.”

One by one, they filed away—except for Trevor, who leaned on the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Brian, Brian. Stalking my date, punching her client… How’d you know we’d be here, anyway?” At this, Trevor’s eyes drifted to Cassie.

“She didn’t tell me. She’s not even speaking to me.” He needed to get Trevor out of the way so he could deal with whatever was going on between Cassie and Paulo. What a fucking disaster.

The snake smiled his slick best. “Good. For a second there, I thought I’d have to rip up those papers you’re waiting to sign. I can’t have a partner who lies to me.” He extended a hand confidently. “Let’s get back to our evening, Cassie. I have a lot planned for us.”

Three sets of male eyes all focused on the same fidgety target.

“I-I…” Cassie’s eyes darted between the men. So full of emotion, they matched the hands wringing in front of her petite frame.

Brian knew what Trevor wanted from Cassie, could make a good guess at what Paulo wanted. Hell, he wasn’t innocent of wanting something from her, it was just more than these two bastards. Didn’t really matter. In the end, it boiled down to what Cassie wanted. Maybe it wouldn’t be him—this Paulo guy was obviously more important to her than Brian had thought. One thing he was sure about—having sex with Trevor didn’t top her list. Hell, it shouldn’t even be on the list.

That was his fault. “Does Cassie have the job to shoot the gym promo?”

“Yes.” Trevor slid his empty hand back inside his pocket.

“Even if she walks out the door right now?” He had to be sure.

“Of course. I’ve committed, and I always make good on my word.”

Yeah, there it was—the veiled reference he was looking for. “Like when you threatened to fire me if I didn’t serve up Cassie for your sexual amusement?”

“Brian—” She shook her head.
It’s only sex
, her eyes pleaded. Beside her, Paulo gently caught her arm.

Time to make things right. “No deal, Ritchie. I quit.”

* * * * *

“Thanks for the ride,” Cassie said when Paulo pulled into her driveway. “And for letting me hide out in your office. Oh, and I owe you a box of tissues.”

After Brian had stormed out of Barolo, she’d said good night to Trevor, politely telling him they could discuss the details for the Iron Works project in his office, at his convenience. If he chose to yank the job, so be it, there’d be others. Finding more work wouldn’t be so easy for Brian.

Paulo tipped his head toward the cell she clutched. “Have you heard from him?” At her head shake, he added, “Have you called him?”

“No.”

He turned in his seat. “We are friends, correct?”

“Yes, of course.” Though Paulo and Beth had started off as professional clients, then accidentally become her first private clients, they’d both grown into friends over the past couple of years. Good friends, people she could count on. Paulo had proven that several times over tonight. Including taking an unprovoked shot in the face. “Sorry about your jaw. I should’ve kept my mouth shut when you assumed Trevor was my boyfriend. If I hadn’t chased you down that hall, if I’d left it alone and let you believe he was the special guy from the gym I’d told you about, all of tonight’s trouble would’ve been avoided.”

“You would’ve slept with Trevor to save Brian’s job?”

Would she have? Thank god she hadn’t had to find out. “Maybe…I don’t know.”

“Yet you won’t call him.”

“I can’t.”

“He loves you. Enough to fight for you and defend you, no matter the cost. As your friend, I think you’re making a mistake, throwing that away.”

“I don’t have a choice—it’s not only about me. Every person who has entrusted me with their privacy is involved.” She hadn’t shared all the gory details about Lance’s threat to out her clients if she didn’t pay him off, but Paulo and Beth knew the gist of what’d gone down.

“Just because one man burned dinner doesn’t mean no man can be trusted in the kitchen.”

“Leave it to a chef to come up with that analogy.” She opened the door and slid from the leather seat, into the warm night air. “Thank you.”

Inside her house, she traded her dress and heels for boxers and a tank. She couldn’t wear the robe hanging on her bathroom door. Just looking at it made her ache.

Paulo thought she didn’t trust Brian to keep her secrets. That wasn’t it, not anymore. He’d shown how much he’d do for her tonight, and in the process, shown her once again the value he placed on honesty and full disclosure. She just couldn’t give him those.

Her stomach let out a frustrated growl. In all the commotion and subsequent crying jags, she hadn’t eaten. She padded into the kitchen, Paulo’s words replaying in her head. She pulled out a small frying pan. Cracked a single egg into the middle after it warmed, poked at the thinning edge with her spatula, gathering it into a uniformly thick mass. If Brian were here, he’d add spices, diced veggies or shredded cheese. He’d sit with her at her small table, their knees touching while they ate, talked and laughed. He’d wipe crumbs from her lips and look at her as if she were dessert.

She sighed and scooped her plain egg onto a plate. Dinner for one, from here out.

His shift at Blur last night had dragged. He’d half expected Ritchie to show up and antagonize him, but the prick hadn’t made an appearance. Neither had Cassie. No movie-scene moments where the woman he loved pushed her way through the crowd to his waiting arms. Just six hours surrounded by drunk, dancing bodies while hoping his cell would vibrate. Hadn’t happened.

This morning, a record-setting thirty-nine people had shown up for boot camp. Word was spreading, and that was great, especially now, but the one person he’d wanted to see hadn’t shown. He’d taken the group through fifteen minutes worth of exercises before Sam pulled him aside to accuse him of pining, not pushing. Sam had been right. Few of the participants were out of breath. They’d paid their ten bucks for an hour with a drill sergeant, not a lovesick downer.

After the last sweaty boot-camper had left, he’d given Sam the lowdown from Barolo. Asked him to keep an eye on Cassie at the gym, since he no longer worked there. An unemployed stalker via third-party means—didn’t get much less classy. He didn’t regret telling his lowlife boss to shove it, but another strike on his reference list wasn’t going to make job hunting any easier. Shit. He’d think about that tomorrow.

Right now, he needed to
stop
thinking. He pushed off the couch. The heavy bag hung in the corner. He stalked to it, pulled on his gloves and drilled his fists into the vinyl. The chains suspending it from a hook in the ceiling creaked in protest, jangling more violently with each punch. Mrs. Hoffman in the apartment above stomped on her floor. Muffled yelling drifted through the registers in his ceiling. Probably hollering at him about this being a day of rest, or some shit like that.

He caught the bag in a hug to silence it. No point pissing off the neighbors when the bag wasn’t doing the trick. Hitting it got him sweaty, pushed his heart rate up, but it wasn’t enough. He needed a target who fought back. Somebody who wasn’t afraid to sport a few bruises and who would relish knocking some sense into him. Only one person fit that description.