Remember Me (21 page)

During her second dance, when she was wrapped around the pole with her ass pointed at one of the soon-to-be-hitched, she noticed a pair of long, elegantly clad legs in the VIP section, a cane resting next to the unknown patron’s chair. Try though she might, she couldn’t see the man’s face. All she could see was he was alone, his almost untouched wine, and while she danced, his foot tapped–not in rhythm with the music, but with a cadence of irritation or impatience.

She forced her attention away from the mysterious VIP and slithered around the pole, shimmying up and wrapping her legs around it. As she leaned back and stretched out, she saw one of the man’s hands reach for his wineglass. Gold flashed on his pinkie and the elegant cufflinks, like the ones Brandon had worn the night they went dancing in Falcon’s Head. Lucy slipped, which would have sent her head-first into the floor, but she caught herself, swung around the pole, and improvised to cover the mistake.

Coincidence. It had to be. She finished, gave a quick wave and bounced off the stage. After wrapping her robe around herself, she attracted Tiffany’s attention. When her friend came off the floor, Lucy pulled her out of view. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“What, sugar? We’re crowded tonight and Laquisha didn’t show for her shift so I’m covering.”

“Please, Tiff,” Lucy pleaded. “I need you to cruise through the VIP section and tell me what the man there in the corner looks like.”

“All right. It might take me a while.”

Lucy nodded. “Thanks. I owe you.”

While she waited, she threw on sweats and a t-shirt and retreated to the warm-up room. She stretched, spending extra time on the floor forcing her body beyond its normal range of motion. She had just finished and was wiping sweat from her face when Tiffany returned.

“Big. Blond. And scowling. His waitress says he’s barely touched his wine, but insists everything’s fine.”

“Thanks.”

“Someone you know?”

“I hope not.”

“I can have Roberto check him out, maybe ask him to leave before you go on stage again. I noticed you bobbled in your last routine.”

Lucy shook her head. “No. Everything’s cool.”

But as she slipped into a g-string that was more bare than there and pasties that hardly deserved the name, Lucy’s hands shook. She covered up with the silk robe in which she started this final routine then sat to reapply her makeup. She had to stop for a minute and do some deep breathing before she finished.

It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Brandon Barlow-Barrett would never be seen in a place like this.
But your other blueblood boyfriend was
, her conscience pointed out in its own annoying way. Seth had discovered Tessa working here. They were brothers.

No. She had to clear her head. She couldn’t go on stage this way. And Roberto, friend though he was, would be livid if she didn’t perform this last routine. It wrapped up the night. Lucy stood and stared at herself a moment. Please God, let the pottery be everything Mason thought it would be. She could quit, return to being plain Lucy Cameron and forget Jasmine LeFleur ever existed.

For this dance, the lights were down low except for the single chair on stage on which a spotlight was trained. When the first jazzy strains of music floated through the room, she stepped out on stage. This time, no laughing, smiling Jasmine LeFleur performed gravity-defying gymnastics with the pole. She was much more serious. The dance was choreographed to mimic the act of making love. While she went through her routine, her eyes strayed from the heated, drooling expressions of the grooms and their parties to that dark corner. The cufflinks and ring glinted, and the wineglass dangled from his fingertips. He had his legs crossed at the knee, and this time everything about him was still, silent, as if he were waiting for something.

The dance began to wind down, tips fluttered onto the stage, but Lucy didn’t see them. She stretched upward just as the mysterious VIP leaned into the light. Her gaze locked with Brandon’s, and he coolly dumped five one hundred dollar bills at her feet. She swallowed. No one tipped like that unless they were hoping a dancer would provide them with some other services after hours. Her gaze darted to his and she saw the contempt in his eyes. For a split second, tears welled. She blinked, spun away from him and grabbed her robe from the chair.

Trailing it behind her, she sauntered from the stage, making sure she wiggled her ass more than usual. Only when she was in the shower did she allow her emotions free rein. No one could see her cry there. While the water sluiced over her and she scrubbed at her skin, Lucy let the tears fall.

Chapter 14

He was in a foul mood. He had been since he’d left Flamingo Road Saturday night. Now sitting in his office, he had his chair turned toward the windows and a cup of coffee in his hands.

He heard the quiet opening of the door. “I’ve brought the morning papers,” his secretary stated.

“Set them on my desk.”

“Uh, Mr. Barrett, I think you should look at
DC Nightlife
.”

Now he did turn, rotating his chair to arch one brow at his assistant.
DC Nightlife
was the regional equivalent to the national scandal sheets at the grocery store checkouts. Brandon grimaced and grabbed the paper off the top. He nearly dropped his coffee. Staring at him was a shot of him dropping money on the stage at Flamingo Road with the headline
Media Mogul Tips Big at Local Strip Joint.

“Fuck. Me.” How the hell had someone gotten a picture? He was hardly a recognized face. The club should have been off-limits too. His office phone rang. Brandon snatched it, knowing it would be Seth on the line.

“Have you seen it?” Seth barked.

“Yes.”

“We’re going to need to strategize some damage control.”

“Fuck.”

“Why the hell did you go back, Bran?”

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it until he was sure it must be standing on end. “I don’t know. I keep saying it’s to get her out of my system…”

“And dumping five hundred dollars? Jesus! It looks like you’re trying to set up sex with her. She had to have thought the same thing.”

His fingers clenched in his hair, pulling until it hurt. He had thought for an instant when their gazes met he’d seen tears in those deep pools of gray. He swallowed, his throat tight and painful, but at that point he had been too pissed off and jacked up to care. His cock had been ready to explode–and he was sure every other guy in the place was the same way. That had just pissed him off so much more. He’d wanted to hurt her, wanted to strike out and make her feel the pain he felt. He’d succeeded. He’d seen the proof in those expressive eyes of hers before she’d tightened her jaw and given him her little fuck-you ass wiggle as she’d slinked away.

“No. She knew what it was,” Brandon responded. “It was a
fuck you, bitch
, she couldn’t fail to understand.”

“Well, expect a call from the acting chairman. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you get a call from Father as well.”

* * * *

Lucy had gotten up right at sunrise to go for a run Monday morning. She’d gone out the kitchen door and stretched on the patio, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers blooming in her garden. Using the alley behind her house, she’d cut over to a quieter side street than the road her home fronted on. The alley was a shortcut to the small park nearby with its mile-long walking track. This early in the day, it was deserted so she could run with no interference. When she reached the park, she paused at the first of several little exercise stations and stretched. She’d do five circuits, then call it quits and jog home.

By the time she finished, she knew the morning paper would be on her front sidewalk, so she took a different route home, only slowing to a walk after she rounded the corner to her street. Her walk became a halt when she saw several cars parked near her home. In addition to a couple of unmarked sedans, there was an SUV from a major daily, another from the community paper and one from
DC Nightlife
. While she gaped, a marked car from one of the area television stations cruised to a stop. In front of her house was a small gaggle of people, some armed with video cameras on their shoulders, others with still cameras dangling from their necks, impressive zoom lenses mounted on the camera bodies.

To her utter horror, as she stood and stared, one of the photographers turned, lifted his camera and began snapping pictures. When the others noticed, more turned and she heard someone announce, “There she is! It’s Lucy Cameron…the stripper!”

Not waiting for them to catch her, Lucy turned on her heels and ran back the way she’d come. She raced through the park to the other side and out to a busier street where she could hail a cab. Dressed in running shorts and a sports bra, it wasn’t long before someone picked her up. With no money and no cellphone, though, her options were limited. Lucy gave the cabbie Angelina’s address and prayed no one had followed her. She slumped against the vinyl seats, letting her head fall back, and closed her eyes.

“You’re lucky I came along, miss,” the cabbie told her. “I don’t normally start this early in the day.”

She opened her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you were there. Look, you may have noticed, I didn’t come prepared to catch a cab. If you’ll be patient, the owner of the house where you’re taking me will cover my fare.”

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, miss,” the grizzled driver remarked, “you look a lot like the woman on the front of this paper I picked up along with my coffee this morning.” Reaching over on the bench seat, he picked up a paper and passed it to her.

Lucy took it to be polite and unfolded it.
DC Nightlife
. While she looked at the picture, her hands began to shake.
Media Mogul Tips Big at Local Strip Joint
, the headline screamed. Next to it was a page number for what she assumed was the story that went along with it. She fumbled through the pages and saw another photo inside. She scanned the story and, sure enough, there was the explanation for the vultures gathered around her house. “Jasmine LeFleur, aka Lucy Cameron, is Flamingo Road’s featured dancer.”

After folding the paper, she pushed it back to the cabbie. “You know, I’ve changed my mind about where I want to go. Do you know where Barrett Newspapers’ offices are?”

“Sure do.” His eyes darted to her reflection in his mirror. “You sure about this? I can wait for you once we get there.”

Lucy smiled. “That would be a good idea because I’m sure I’ll still want to go to the first address I gave you.” She leaned on the seat and looked out the window. “And by the way,” she added, “it is a picture of me. What I want to know is who took it and how they got my real name. I returned from my morning run to find half the media outlets in the district parked in front of my house.” She sighed and brushed a weary hand across her forehead.

“Wow. I’m sorry.”

When the cab pulled up in front of a monstrous steel and glass structure, saliva pooled in her mouth for a moment. Somehow, the building made who and what Brandon was a horrifying reality. Gathering her courage around her like the coat she wished she had, Lucy climbed out of the cab.

“Good luck. I’ll wait.”

She waved at him and jogged into the building. A brawny security guard, with his eyes bugging out, met her a few feet inside the door. “Excuse me, miss, but this is not a gym. I think you must be in the wrong place.”

“Oh no, I’m not. I need to see Brandon Barlow-Barrett.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He didn’t need to add he wasn’t about to allow some wild-eyed, wild-haired half-dressed woman inside this bastion of journalism and big business, Lucy could see it in his expression. Well, hell, she didn’t keep so physically fit for nothing. With a smirk at the overweight guard, she dashed around him straight toward the door she assumed led to the fire stairs.

“Hey! Stop!”

She ignored him, barely registering the fact he was chasing her while he spoke into a walkie-talkie. So there must be more of them. She would have to be creative. After dashing up three flights, she burst through the door onto a floor of deserted offices. A quick glance at her watch showed her it was still fifteen minutes to eight. Chances were most of the floors were this way. Good. She paused a second to grab her breath while she reasoned what floor Brandon’s office would be on.

She stepped onto the elevator and punched the button for the floor second from the top. From what little Brandon had said about his father, she had the feeling the top floor would be his alone. She was surprised to find no one waiting for her as the doors swished open to reveal a thick-pile carpeted floor and a corridor as quiet as a church. Almost. From the far end she heard the ringing of multiple phones.

* * * *

“Mr. Barrett, Mr. Frank is holding on line one and your father is on line two.”

Brandon blinked. “Just a minute.” He stared in horror at two words in the article.
Lucy Cameron
. She would never have planted this and given them her real name. Someone had set them both up.

His intercom buzzed again. “Uh, Mr. Barrett, Mr. Frank and your father are still holding and there is a… Hey, you can’t…”

His door burst open. Lucy stomped in, dressed in skimpy running shorts that showed off long, toned legs and a sports bra that left a strip of golden midriff bare. Her pale hair was confined in a long braid…and her expression was furious. “Did you have to give them my name? What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?”