The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5) (21 page)

I walked to the subway on my way to work, my feet barely touching the ground. Max was alive and not very far away, just on the other side of the river, answering emails or vacuuming his floor, going about his daily business, and probably thinking about me just like I was thinking about him. There was a part of me that lived inside of him, his memories and thoughts of me, and I liked the idea of it, that he carried me around with him all the time, like Athena inside Zeus’s skull.

Work was bustling that night. I spent the entire evening running around, and barely had a spare moment to catch my breath or even string two thoughts together. But I did check my phone once, while I was waiting for Mike to concoct a complicated drink, and saw that Max had texted me:
Thinking of you always. Hope you’re having a good night at work.

I couldn’t stop smiling.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Tubs asked me a while later, when we were both loading drinks onto our trays.

“Nothing,” I said. “What? What do you mean, what’s wrong with my face? Do I have food on it or something?”

“No, but you’re making this weird grimace,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that you were
smiling
.”

“Shut up, Tubs,” I said, and went out onto the floor with my tray.

She was right, though. I knew I was grinning like a fool. Even one of my customers commented on it, a middle-aged guy who claimed he came to the club for the excellent wine selection, but who always picked a table near the stage and couldn’t tear his eyes away from the dancers. He was definitely married, and his wife definitely didn’t know what he was up to. I had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, after working at the club for so long. I didn’t condemn him for it, though. Who knew what his life looked like behind closed doors? I set his drink on the table, smiled at him just the way he liked, and said, “I’ll be back with another in half an hour.”

“Thank you, Beth,” he said, handing me a folded bill. “You’re in a good mood tonight. New boyfriend?”

“Oh, Mr. Thatcher, you know you’re the only man for me,” I said, and winked at him.

His comment unsettled me. I needed to get my game face on. I played a character for my customers: flirtatious, light-hearted. That wasn’t really me. I didn’t like to let any parts of my real life seep through. Even my regulars knew very little about me. And if Thatcher—hardly the most observant man—could tell that I was on cloud nine, I must have been lit up like a Christmas tree.

I tried to tone it down. But the smile kept creeping back onto my face. After a while, I stopped fighting it. Who cared if everyone could tell that I was in a good mood? I was in love. Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move his aids…

“What are you thinking about?” Amy asked me, giving me a suspicious sideways look.

“Nothing,” I said. “Poetry.”

“Weird,” she said, and brushed past me with her tray.

When the night was over, and the last customers had finally made their way out the door, I settled down at the bar to count my tips, and the waitresses descended on me like a flock of harpies, eager to unearth what they were all
absolutely sure
was some deliciously juicy gossip.

“What happened to that guy?” Tubs asked, leaning on the bar beside me. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” I said. I licked my thumb and started in on the twenties.

“Girl, he
wants
to be your boyfriend,” Binh said. “Nobody’s that patient unless they’re waiting for pussy.”

“Binh!” Tubs gasped, like she didn’t say worse things on a daily basis.

“You all need to leave her alone,” Keisha said, and I could have kissed her, but then she followed it up with, “You know Beth hasn’t had this much excitement in years. She isn’t sure how to handle it.”

“I’m going to fire all of you,” I said. I had totally lost count by then, and set my bills aside to be dealt with later. “Leave me alone.”

“You don’t mean that, right?” Tubs asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“Oh my God, Tubs,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “You are too dumb to live.
Of course
she isn’t going to fire us. She loves us. Right, Beth?”

“Heaven help me,” I muttered.

“We’re going out for drinks,” Keisha said. “You’ll come with us, right?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Now please go away and leave me in peace.”

“She wants to go home to her boyfriend!” Tubs said. “I knew it.”

I could see where this was going. If I didn’t go out with them, they would take it as an admission that Max was, in fact, my boyfriend. I would then be subjected to repeated interrogations about our sex life, wedding plans, and unborn children. If I
did
go out with them, for the first time ever, maybe they would be too stunned to keep asking me any prying questions.

Alternately, I could just quit my job and let Max support me. He would probably be thrilled.

The thought shouldn’t have sent a warm tingle up my spine.

I wondered if he had texted me again. I couldn’t check now, though. The waitresses would smell blood and move in for the kill.

“Fine,” I said, experimentally, and waited to see what would happen.

“Yay!” Tubs squealed, and clapped her hands.

Amy and Keisha exchanged a look. I could imagine their silent communication:
Have the end times arrived? Is Beth going to sprout horns and tell us she’s here to collect our souls?

“
Really?
” Binh asked.

“Yes, really,” I said. “Why not? You’re always bothering me about it. I’ll go once, and see if I can figure out what the big deal is. And then none of you can ever hassle me about it again.”

“Oh my God!” Tubs said. “Just let me go get my coat!”

I really had no idea what was in store. The waitresses went out on a fairly regular basis, a few times a week. Sometimes the dancers would go with them, or some of the kitchen staff. Tonight it was just the five of us, though. We walked north from the club, heading into Chelsea. Even on a Wednesday night, people were out partying. I watched a woman in sky-high heels teeter down the sidewalk. Definitely not a local.

“What do we think, girls?” Keisha asked, as we approached what appeared to be a nightclub. Loud music thumped from inside, and a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk outside, smoking and making a ruckus. That, right there, was the exact reason I had decided not to live in Chelsea.

“Looks good to me,” Amy said. “You think we can get in?”

Keisha laughed and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the lacy edge of her bra. “Are you kidding me?”

We got in.

The nightclub was pretty horrible: loud, crowded, and full of flashing lights and what appeared to be confetti. It wasn’t the sort of place I ever would have gone on my own. But the girls were so
happy and excited that it was infectious, and when we found a table in the back and settled in with our drinks, I found myself relaxing a little—and even enjoying myself. Binh had gotten me a fruity drink with a cherry on a toothpick, so sweet I could barely even taste the alcohol.

“I propose a toast!” Tubs said. “To Beth having fun for once in her life!”

“And many more!” Amy said nonsensically, and we drank.

I didn’t stay long—only an hour or so—but it was fun. We had fun. I was glad I went. Tubs even cajoled me out onto the dance floor, but some drunk guy body-slammed me with his enthusiastic dancing, and I retreated back to the safety of our table. The girls were still going strong when I told them it was time for me to get home, and they protested and tried to convince me to stay, but I knew my limits, and my eardrums had had enough.

“Thanks for coming out,” Binh said. “Really. You should do this more often.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, and I actually meant it.

It was after 3 in the morning by the time I left, and the night air had a bite to it. I turned up the collar of my coat as I walked to the nearest subway station. I could still feel the bass thumping beneath my feet. I was tired and glad.

When my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, my heart jumped. Maybe it was Max. But when I pulled out my phone to look at it, I didn’t recognize the number.

I answered. “Hello?”

Silence, a crackle of static, and then a quiet, plaintive voice. “Beth?”

I closed my eyes. I recognized that voice.

It was my mother.

* * *

I didn’t call Max that night. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to him, or even what to think. But I called him in the morning, because I needed help, and I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

“What a lovely surprise,” he said when he answered. “Is this a booty call?”

“Be serious, Max,” I said. I was standing at my kitchen sink, looking out the window at the green leaves and a woman walking down the street with a little dog and toddler, both of whom stopped every five feet to smell or lick something. The world was alive around me. The universe proceeded as usual. Only my own small existence was out of kilter.

“Oh,” Max said. “There’s a problem. Tell me.”

“My mom’s being released from prison tomorrow,” I said.

He was quiet for a while, and I chewed on my lip, unsure how he would respond. Then he said, “I didn’t even know you had a mother.”

“Of course I have a mother,” I said. “Everyone does.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “I didn’t know she was
alive
. Or around at all. You said you were raised by your grandmother.”

“I was,” I said. “My mom was always in jail, or trying to get clean, or relapsing. I didn’t see her a whole lot.”

“Okay,” he said. “So she’s getting out of prison.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “She wants me to come get her, and I—God. I
can’t
. She’s going to want to stay with me, and I told her that she couldn’t do that anymore, because she always—she screws it up, and she starts doing drugs again, and it just breaks my heart, and I—I
can’t
.” I was losing control of myself. I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Beth, it’s okay,” Max said. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Isn’t there anyone else who can take her in? What about your father?”

I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “He died when I was a little kid. Heart attack. That’s why my mother started doing drugs, I think. Out of grief.” I wanted him to understand. She wasn’t just some junkie. She had a degree. She had been an accountant.

“No other relatives?” Max asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think my mom has a sister in Kansas City, but I’ve never met her, and I don’t have any way to get in touch with her. So it’s just me. And I can’t—she needs a place to stay, and maybe a job, and I’m just
tired
. I’ve done this so many times. She makes promises, and then she never keeps them. And I can’t even be mad at her. She isn’t doing it on purpose. She has a disease. But I can’t help her anymore. I just can’t.”

“It isn’t just you,” he said. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you.”

“Oh, Max,” I sighed, because that was exactly what I had been hoping to hear in my heart of hearts. I wanted someone to help me shoulder this burden. It was a selfish desire, I knew. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“And you didn’t,” he said. “I offered. Beth, I would be glad to help. Anything you need. Don’t turn me away now.”

I hesitated. I wanted his help, but I was also ashamed—of my mother, and of myself, for being a crappy daughter. My mom couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t doing it on purpose to inconvenience me. And yet I resented her so much for putting me through this. I wanted a mother I could lean on when I needed help, not someone who had to be cared for like a child.

But that was life. “She wants me to come pick her up,” I said. “From the prison, I mean. I’m planning to rent a car…”

“That’s ridiculous,” Max said. “I have a car. I’ll drive you. Where is it?”

I closed my eyes, grateful beyond words. Seeing my mother was always hard. Max would make it—not easy, really, but better. Less horrible. Maybe my mother wouldn’t cry as much, with a stranger there. I would take whatever edge I could get.

We left that afternoon. The drive was painfully reminiscent of our trip to see Renzo, except instead of eager anticipation, my stomach fluttered with familiar dread. I had been through this rigmarole before. I knew exactly what to expect, and none of it was good.

My mother was in the drug treatment program at Willard, upstate. It was a five-hour drive from Manhattan. We planned to get a hotel room in Ithaca that night and meet my mother in the morning. She wasn’t technically in jail anymore; she was in an intensive outpatient program after a few months of incarceration at the facility. But she was so closely monitored that she might as well have been in jail, and they wouldn’t release her unless she had a clear plan of where she would stay and what she would do. And I was, as always, that plan.

We had a gorgeous trip west from the city and then north through the mountains. Max drove, and I looked out the window and tried not to worry. We stopped for dinner in Binghamton and ate at the sort of glossy, suburban chain restaurant that seemed like the last place on earth Max would eat a meal. And yet there he was, tearing into his mediocre ribs with a smudge of barbecue sauce on his chin.