Borrowed Beauty

Chapter Nineteen: Stalker

Renee

I came out of the shower, only to find that the twins were back, and one of those jerk faces had eaten my slice of cake. I knew it was Brock because he still had frosting on his beard. And he didn’t even have the good grace to act ashamed of himself. He grinned like a little kid. “That was good cake,” he said, wadding up the plastic wrap. “Did your sister really make that?”

I rolled my eyes and headed to my closet. f**k Olivia and her baking skills. I was just going to throw on some pajamas and get comfortable for the night, but Aaron’s voice followed me as he called, “Dress nice, darling, we are headed to the club.”

Fantastic.

Just great. Another night at the club, where I would be left alone at the bar while they disappeared to go do whatever important managerial things they had to do for the night. I huffed a sigh and pulled down the little black dress, which was practically my old faithful for clubbing. The tight little number hugged every curve, and the indecently short skirt made my legs look longer than they really were. I was just putting on the last touches of makeup when they reappeared at my door, freshly showered, in the matching suits they always wore to the club.

Aaron gave a low, appreciative whistle and spun me around while he inspected my appearance. “Looking good,” he murmured as he leaned in for a kiss. They fawned over me for a few moments, and let's be honest, that smoothed down the rough edges of my day quite a bit. I stopped pouting and enjoyed the rare opportunity to bask in their undivided attention. Too soon, they headed for the stairs. I was starving, but they ushered me past the dining room and out the door, straight to the waiting limo.

Every time I got in the car, I saw that driver staring at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes dark and lascivious. With just a look, he reminded me that he’d seen me, all of me, and had unabashedly watched my most intimate moments. It was getting annoying, so I glared back at him until he looked away, but I swear he was hiding a smile.

Asshole.

The club wasn’t too busy on a Thursday night. The parking lot was full, but there was no line at the door. We went in through the side entrance as usual, and predictably I was pushed through the hallway, and out to the bar. The tattooed and pierced bartender, Tim, was on duty, and he greeted me with his usual, “Hey pretty lady, what will you have?” He was a slick one, that guy, always talking up the ladies, but never crossing the line. I was starting to think he might be gay.

“Strawberry daiquiri,” I yelled over the music, “Heavy on the strawberries. And top it with some whipped cream, would you?”

He gave me a thumbs-up and pulled out the blender. I turned around on my stool and looked out over the dance floor. Bodies were grinding together, almost as though the whole crowd was in a trance. The beat was thumping against my eardrums, the strobing lights were making me feel dizzy, and I hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol yet. It almost felt as though my senses were a little too sharp, a little too sensitive, and for once, I found myself wishing for some peace and quiet. It was probably because I’d shifted, and spent too much time in my wolf, and it had turned up the dial on all the sensory input. I could even smell the sour sweat of the dancers from my place at the bar, and it made my nose wrinkle in disgust.

Tim slid the frozen drink across the polished surface. As requested, he’d topped it with a big mound of whipped cream, and garnished it with a big fat strawberry on top. I used my straw to feed myself a dollop of cream. “How can you stand it?” I asked him.

He gave me a funny look. “Stand what?”

I motioned to the dance floor, “The smell.”

He grinned and shrugged, “You get used to it, eventually.”

Ugh. I took a long draw from the straw, sucking up the icy, syrupy goodness of the daiquiri. The sweetness of the strawberries almost masked the flavor of the alcohol, but the heat in my stomach let me know that it was there, in abundance. Tim left me to go serve customers at the other end of the long, curving counter. I turned again and was surprised to find a tall man leaning next to me. He was decent looking, with light brown hair that was swept away from his straight brows, and deep, serious gray eyes. I had an odd feeling that I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t put my finger on where or when. He looked me up and down, and then propped his hip on the stool next to mine.

He leaned one elbow against the bar. “So, we meet again.”

I guess I had seen him before. But that meant nothing to me. All kinds of people had come and gone in the background for the last several years, but that didn’t mean I paid attention to them. I might have flirted with this guy, but let’s be real, while he had hot-ness potential, he was probably old enough to be my father.

“I didn’t realize that you and the Salvador brothers were a thing.” He said, still watching me with an intensity that didn’t feel quite right. He must have seen the guys drop me off at the bar, but that meant he’d been watching me for a while, so it wasn’t a coincidence that he turned up next to me.

“Yeah, you could say we are a thing,” I said lazily, hoping that this guy would take the hint. I mean, what kind of an i***t would knowingly hit on the club owners’ girl? But instead of backing off, he only seemed even more interested.

He checked around to make sure no one was listening in on our conversation, and then he leaned closer. “Can we meet? I mean someplace that is not here?”

I shook my head and narrowed my eyes, “I just told you, I’m with the twins.”

“Right, right. I mean, if it's a matter of money, I can pay you for your time.”

What the hell? What was wrong with this guy? Did he think I was a prostitute that could be hired by the hour? I looked down at my outfit, which I’d always thought was tastefully sexy, but maybe I was coming off as cheap and slutty. I had an unnerving thought about those cameras in the twin's office, aimed at the couch. They always said the cameras were off, but what if...?

“I just want to talk,” the guy insisted, and then he opened his palm, and I saw a little yellow square of folded paper there. “About this.”

I didn’t know what was in that square of paper, but I was pretty sure it was drugs. “No way, Mister. I’m not into that.” He was too weird, and this was getting uncomfortable. Maybe he was one of those slimeballs that drugged women at bars so that he could have their way with them. I turned my head and scanned the room anxiously, hoping to catch sight of the twins emerging from the office hallway. I even tried to catch the bartender’s eye, but Tim was busy making small talk with a couple of pretty girls at the far end.

Damn it.

The stalker's fingers closed around the paper, and he tucked it back in his pocket. “I bet you threw away my card, right?”

His card?

From the same pocket where he’d stashed the drugs, he pulled out a business card and offered it to me. That’s when it hit me, and I remembered him as the guy who’d helped me get my luggage off the carousel at the airport. He pressed the card into my hand and then had the decency to look a little bit nervous. “Look, I’d really appreciate it if you could give me a call sometime, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.” And then he saw something over my shoulder, and just like that, he slipped away, melting into the crowd.

I opened my palm and read the card. Bently Howser Brooks, Esq. Good lord, with a name like that, he had to be a stalker. I thought it was a little weird that a drug dealer would leave a business card. Before I could ponder it any further, the card was plucked from my hand, and I found myself flanked by Aaron and Brock.

“What’s this?” Brock growled, tipping the card so that he could read it by the lights over the bar. His brow was furrowed and he sounded annoyed and a touch jealous. Some dark part of me liked that. If I could make him jealous, that gave me a little bit of power, a little bit of leverage. I mean, they had to care about me to some degree if they were going to react like that, right? Maybe they wouldn't leave me alone all the time if they thought some other guy might step in and take their place.

“Just some guy,” I said flippantly, “Trying to ask me out.”

Aaron’s arm slipped around my waist and tugged me against his side possessively. “And what did you tell him?” His lips appeared thin and tight as he shaped the words. "Did you tell him to get lost?"

I looked up at him and licked my lips suggestively. “I don’t know,” I purred. “Older guys are kinda…hot.”

Maybe it was my imagination, maybe it was a play of the flashing lights from the dance floor, but I thought I saw something dark and dangerous spark in those cold, ice-blue eyes, something that made me shiver as though an unseen hand had tickled my spine.