Playing Dirty: Windy City Kink, Book 3 (6 page)

“But then when I asked him if I
had
to go out with him to get the deal, he said no. Which confused me. I could have that beautiful space for a crazy-low rent and not have to do anything. But he did say he wouldn’t give up trying to get me to go out with him.”

Sasha started laughing. “This is too funny.”

“Why?” Paige turned her gaze on Sasha. “I don’t find it funny at all.”

“Aw, Paige, sweetie. It’s just reminding me of Jack. Did I ever tell you that he stalked me?”

Paige’s mouth dropped open.

“Well, it wasn’t really stalking. But he was a little obsessed with me. For years. He came back to Chicago to get me, and he wasn’t going to give up either, even though I at first said no. Raff sounds a lot like him.”

Sasha’s boyfriend, Jack, who was Emma’s brother, was also super successful, wealthy, gorgeous and…yeah, Paige had seen him act bossy, except she’d also seen that he worshipped Sasha and she could call him on his bossiness and make him laugh.

“So, to summarize here,” Mallory said, as if she were leading a team meeting at work, “you can have the space you want, after all the months you’ve been looking and coming up with nothing. It will be at a good price that you can afford. You have a hot, rich guy pursuing you. You could go on one date with him and get him off your back. I’m not seeing the downside here.”

Emma giggled. “Me either.”

“She doesn’t want to be a kept woman,” Sasha said.

“
There’s
a modern term,” Mallory answered. “But I get what you mean.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige said quietly.

“Tell me this.” Sasha leaned in again. “You said he scares you. But are you even a little bit attracted to him?”

Paige didn’t answer. Then she sighed. “Okay, honestly? Yes. More than a little. But I can’t go out with a man like that again! Look what happened with Delmer.”

“It’s good to be cautious about who you date,” Emma offered. “There are a lot of wing nuts out there.”

“I hardly think Raff Lauden is a wing nut,” Sasha said. “And you know what? Jack scared me too.”

Paige blinked at her. “For real?”

“Definitely for real. He…” she flicked her eyes sideways at Emma, “…he wanted me to do things I wasn’t sure I wanted to do.”

Emma clapped her hands over her ears. “I can’t hear you. Lalalala.”

Paige had to laugh. God, she loved these women. Then she looked back at Sasha and sobered. “Delmer wanted me to do things I definitely didn’t want to do,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to go there again.”

Once more she sensed the women all sharing concerned looks.

“But Jack showed me that I
like
those things,” Sasha continued. “That I
wanted
those things. That’s the difference.”

“Lalala!” Emma sang.

“But that’s Jack,” Paige said.

“Joe is like that too,” Mallory murmured. She set a hand on Paige’s back and rubbed a little. “But I totally get why you’re afraid, Paige, and I don’t blame you.”

“If I rent that space and he’s around all the time harassing me to go out with him, how am I supposed to handle that? Call the police? He’d be my landlord. I’d be at his mercy. If I pissed him off, he could evict me. Then where would I be?”

Sasha gave Paige a shrewd look. “I think you’re more worried you won’t be able to say no to him forever.”

Chapter Six

Paige dropped her head forward and closed her eyes. Mallory’s hand rested on her back. “Is she right, Paige?”

Paige nodded. “There’s something wrong with me,” she whispered. “Why am I attracted to men like that? I really, really don’t want to go there again.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Mallory said softly. “You don’t even know Raff Lauden. Delmer was a douche bag for sure, but not every guy like that is.”

“I feel uncomfortable leasing from him. On the other hand…I really want my business to succeed. Why not take opportunities that are given to me? What kind of businesswoman would turn down a great deal because she feels personally uncomfortable?

“I came here to Chicago, determined to start over, to be independent and make my own way. I always had this dream of having my own business, and I had this great idea in the back of my mind for years. Delmer told me I was crazy, that it would never work. I really want to prove him wrong. I’ll do whatever it takes to be successful. But…” She raised her eyes and looked at her new friends.

They all gazed back at her with soft, sympathetic expressions. Not judging her or condemning her or telling her she was an idiot. “I feel like such an idiot,” she whispered. “A big scaredy-cat wuss.” She paused. Dammit. What the hell was wrong with her? She straightened and pulled her shoulders back. She looked at her friends. “Geez, I
am
being ridiculous. I’m determined to be a strong, independent woman. I can handle this. I can handle Raff Lauden. I can even go out on a date with him.”

All eyes went wide. “Attagirl,” Mallory murmured.

“I’m not sure I’m going to go out with him,” she backtracked. “Honestly, I have no idea why he even wants that. You know who he last dated? Cissy Lordlee! A gorgeous millionaire’s daughter who looks like a supermodel! Phhht. He’s going to lose interest in me fast.”

Sasha pursed her lips. “Uh, Paige, sweetie, I think you sell yourself a little short there. You may not be a millionaire, but you’re pretty gorgeous yourself.”

Paige waved a hand. “I do okay. I know how to dress and put on makeup. But, hell, I’m nothing like her. Anyhoo. You girls are all so great. Thank you for listening to me babble on and on, and sorry I was being such a baby about it all.” She rolled her eyes.

Mallory’s arm slid around her shoulders and pulled her in for a little squeeze. “You’re not being a baby. These are all legitimate concerns. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“Not for sure, no.” She had until Monday to decide. “But whatever I do, I am
not
letting another man scare me into making bad decisions.” She grinned. “I’ll make my own bad decisions. Maybe. And then I’ll make the best of it when I do. Now. It was more fun talking about foot fetishes.”

“Hmm,” Sasha said. “Joe’s a cop. He probably has handcuffs.”

“Yes,” Mallory said with a wicked little twist of her lips and one arched eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, he does.”

Raff looked at the young African-American boy sitting there, elbows on the table, head in his hands. Raff glanced at Dutch, who nodded at him.

“You can do it, Wayan,” Raff said. “We can help you.”

Wayan shook his head without lifting it. “They’re my homeys. My boys.”

“I know you feel like they’re family,” Raff said. “But when shit goes down, they ain’t gonna be there for you.”

“Otis tried to leave. They jacked him up bad.”

“I left. I did it,” Raff said. “You can do it too. You need to know some things, though. First, don’t tell anyone you want out. Yeah, they’ll jack you up. Some bangers even get dusted. You’re not high up enough, probably, for that, but don’t tell anyone you’re leaving. Start hanging out different places. Just do it. We got programs here for dudes like you, after school, weekends.”

“Lots of stuff to do here,” Dutch put in.

Wayan lifted his head and sat back in his chair. “Like what?”

“You like sports? We play basketball. You saw the gym downstairs. Workin’ out, punchin’ a bag’s a good way to blow off steam. You don’t like sports, we got PlayStations and computers. We got pool tables. You like art? We do that too, all kinds.”

“Like basketball,” Wayan muttered.

“Great.”

“Next thing,” Raff continued. “Stop dressing like a gangster. You’re all saggin’ and bangin’. Ditch the hoodies. That’ll help you meet new people, make new friends who aren’t gangsters. Don’t act like a banger, don’t talk like a banger.”

“Don’t know how else to talk,” Wayan mumbled.

“You’ll learn. You got any teachers at school you like?”

After a pause, Wayan said, “Yeah. Mr. Turner. He’s okay.”

“Talk to him. You need him for making excuses why you can’t do stuff with your homeys. He’s keeping you after school, or something like that. Don’t take calls from them. Make lots of excuses. Your mom can help with that maybe.”

“She don’t give a shit,” Wayan said.

“Probably does more than you know,” Raff said quietly. “Maybe she has her own shit to deal with.”

“Yeah.”

“And come here a lot. This place is here for guys like you, who want something better. We’ll help you keep busy and away from them. You deserve it, Wayan. Gangs are a dead end. You deserve better than that. I told you my story. What I did, what I’ve made…you can’t do that in a gang.”

Raff mentally sighed because, sadly, that wasn’t true. His best friend from the hood, Finn, had never left that life and now owned a successful strip club which was a front for a lot of illegal activity. Finn did well and lived large. But, much as Raff loved Finn, he wasn’t about to hold Finn up as an example for this kid.

“Okay,” Wayan said.

Raff read the uncertainty on his face. He knew how hard it was. He knew how scared Wayan was on the inside, even though he’d never ever show it. He knew how it felt to want to belong somewhere, how powerful that need to fit in somewhere was.

“They killed my sister, dude,” Raff said quietly. “They didn’t care. She was just sitting in a playground, not doing anything wrong. Guy’s initiation, they gave him a gun, drove around and told him to shoot it to prove his loyalty. At a fuckin’ kids’ playground. She was my little sister.”

He caught Dutch’s eye and they shared a quick but intense look, remembering that time. That was when he’d met Dutch, and he owed Dutch his fuckin’ life.

“Fuck,” Wayan muttered. “I get it. I know.” He straightened his narrow shoulders and lifted his chin. “I gotta bounce. When can I come back?”

They talked to him about the support project and Dutch walked with him to the door of the rec center that housed Venture. Raff leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling as he waited for Dutch to come back.

“Fuck,” he said to Dutch, “I don’t know if that kid can do it.”

“Gotta have faith, man,” Dutch said. He smiled and ran a hand over his bristly gray hair. “Gotta have faith.”

“Yeah. I need to punch something.”

“Come on. Let’s do it.”

The basement of the rec center was a gym, with workout equipment and a boxing ring set up between some of the weight-bearing support columns. Back in his day, Dutch had been a champion boxer, not world champion or anything, but damn good. Now a retired cop, he still liked to teach kids who were interested, although they had other trainers who came in and volunteered their time in the evenings and weekends.

Saturday afternoon, it was busy down there, lots of guys, even a few girls, using the machines, punching bags, doing crunches and push-ups. Raff and Dutch changed into workout clothes, warmed up and then entered the ring to spar.

Raff had never considered a boxing career, but he knew he was pretty good. He and Dutch had spent a lot of hours in the ring, starting when Raff was about seventeen. What Dutch had told Wayan was true—punching a bag or sparring with an opponent were good ways to blow off steam. And at seventeen, Raff had had a hell of a lot of steam built up in him. Anger. Grief. Hatred.

Even now, it was a good way for him to work off adrenaline, when a tough business deal fell through or someone pissed him off. It happened. Boxing also kept him in shape, physically and mentally.

Sparring with Dutch was still a challenge. Even though Dutch was now nearly sixty, the guy was fit and strong. Raff enjoyed the rush he got from taking him on and trying to best him.

An hour later they were both sweaty and breathing hard, guzzling water from bottles. Raff grinned at Dutch. “Slowing down, old man.”

“Bullshit.”

“Let’s get changed. I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Damn right you will.”

They showered and dressed. It took a while to leave the rec center when some of the kids wanted to talk to them, and they both took the time to do that. Any of these kids who were there needed positive reinforcement. They wanted to keep them there, keep them off the streets.

Finally they entered the little pub down the street, a hole-in-the-wall place where locals liked to hang out. Since they’d moved their support program into the center, he and Dutch had shared more than a few beers there and had gotten to know the owner, Mike Garnett, who’d once played minor league baseball until he blew out his shoulder. He, too, volunteered at the center.

“Hey, guys,” Mike said from behind the bar as they slid onto stools. “Whazup?”

Raff grinned. “It’s all good. You?”

“Business is good. What can I getcha?”

They ordered their usual brew. This wasn’t a place he’d order a craft beer from a local brewery; this was basic draft beer on tap in a frosty mug. Raff grinned at how he could be comfortable in a place like this one day and then hang with local politicians and entrepreneurs at high-end restaurants the next. He’d never completely left the hood.

Dutch was the closest thing he’d ever had to a father and Raff still enjoyed spending one-on-one time with him, after all these years. He owed the other man big-time and did whatever he could to repay him.

“You coming to the game tomorrow night?” Raff asked Dutch, picking up a pretzel from the bowl Mike slid in front of them.

“Nah. I don’t fit in with those people you hang out with now.”

“Shut the fuck up. You do so.”

Dutch rolled his eyes.

“Bring your nephew. He likes hockey.”

“Fuck. He loves to watch games in that fancy suite of yours.”

“Done. I’ve got some clients coming, also some staff.” He’d invited Brad Jaworski to thank him for getting stuff done so fast for Paige.

Paige.

He should invite her.

No. He was giving her time.

A date in a suite with twelve people should be safe enough for her. Then he shook his head. He knew she wasn’t just afraid of being alone with him. She was afraid of
him
.

“What was that about?” Dutch asked.

“What?”

“You’re shaking your head and muttering.”

Raff had to smile. “Shit.”

“What’s got your boxers in a knot?”

Raff looked down at his beer. “I met someone.” Christ. He sounded like the high school kid he’d been when he met Dutch.

“Yeah, so, what else is new?” Dutch paused. “Wait. Are you saying this one is serious?”

“I haven’t even gone out with her yet.”

Dutch’s head jerked back. “Huh?”

Raff grimaced. “She keeps turning me down.”

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Nope. She just doesn’t realize yet how bad she wants me.”

Dutch choked on his beer. Raff gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Whoa there, old man, careful.”

“Shit, Raff.” Dutch coughed again. “Okay, tell me all about her.”

“She’s awesome.” He didn’t need encouraging. “Beautiful. Blonde. Sexy.”

“Sounds like the usual.”

“Fuck no. Not even close. She’s smart.”

Dutch chuckled. “Not saying much for the women you’ve dated.”

Raff shook his head, smiling. “Okay, that came out wrong. But seriously. She’s different. She’s sweet and smart. She runs her own business and it’s doing well.”

“You know this how?”

“Okay, I did some background checking. But only because she wouldn’t go out with me.”

“Jesus, man, you can get arrested for stalking.”

“I’m not stalking her, for fuck’s sake. I’m interested in her.”

Dutch lifted an eyebrow at the same time as he brought his mug of beer to his lips. He swallowed, then said, “Maybe you should learn to take no for an answer.”

Raff frowned. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

“Probably nobody else in the world has the balls to give it to you straight. That’s why you love me.”

“Fuck,” Raff muttered. “This is true. Except, you’re
not
the only one. Paige does too. She called me pompous.”

“Huh. Gotta say, I’m likin’ this lady, whoever she is.” Dutch grinned. “But no means no, son. I told you that when you were seventeen and hot for that little redhead…what was her name?”

“Who cares?” Raff slashed a hand through the air. “I fuckin’ know ‘no means no’. Give me some credit, for Chrissake.”

“Just makin’ sure all that money and success and people suckin’ up to you hasn’t gone to your head and messed it up.”

“Shit, Dutch.” Raff scowled. Trust Dutch to keep his feet lodged firmly on the ground. But even annoyed at the older man, he had to respect him and—fuck—listen to him. Dutch had taught him a lot—okay,
everything
—about being a man who was decent and respected women. Was he being too aggressive with Paige?

“What kind of business does she own?” Dutch asked.

“She mails out clothes to people and they try them on and maybe buy them.”

Dutch’s forehead wrinkled. “Really?”

“I’m probably not describing it very well. I think she has a lot of rich women clients who don’t have time to shop.”

“Ah. Okay.” Dutch shrugged. “Rich clients are usually a good thing.”

“You got that right.”

“What’s up with your business? Last time we talked you were all worked up about some kind of zoning issue.”

“That got worked out. Thank Christ.” He talked business for a while with Dutch, through one more beer, and then they headed out—Dutch home to his wife of over thirty years, Raff to get ready for a pain-in-the-ass fundraiser he’d committed to attending months ago.