I pushed away from the bar and walked over to them.

  “Good evening,” I said, stepping up close to the woman. “I’m sorry to bother you folks, but there have been reports of stolen purses at the club tonight. Have either of you seen any suspicious characters around?”

  The man looked at me in annoyance. In contrast, the girl seemed relieved. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Ah, I see.” I smiled at her. “Well, sorry to bother you. May I offer you a drink on the house?”

  Her eyes darted to the asshole next to me. “No thanks. I, uh, I need to be leaving. My friends are waiting for me.”

  I nodded. “Have a good night.”

  She rushed away. The guy took a step to go after her, but I grabbed his arm. “What about you? A bottle on the house?”

  This stopped him in his tracks. He only needed a second to consider. “All right, man. Yeah.”

  I directed him to a table and gestured for Mikey to send a bottle over. The free alcohol was only a ruse, of course. I had another, more fulfilling, plan up my sleeve. Just thinking about it made adrenaline shoot through my veins.

  I found one of the guards and pointed Mr. Douche out. “Kick him out in five,” I instructed. “Into the alley. Just be discreet about it. We don’t need anyone asking questions like last time.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fields,” John answered.

  I took the back door into the alley, unbuttoning and rolling up my sleeves as I went. The air smelled like trash, but there was a faint freshness on the breeze coming over the buildings. Nearby, lower Manhattan traffic honked, and packs of partying twenty and thirtysomethings chattered. It all seemed so far away though. I was in another world, about to exact my revenge on a man who had no right to exist.

  The whole security team knew about my habit. They supported it, you might say. They helped me find the guys who needed to be taught lessons. They were all too happy to do it too. Each member of Enigma’s staff received a handsome paycheck. Some of them took home more than twice the industry standard.

  I waited in the alley, feeling the calmest I had since Riley rejected me. It may have been a shitty night, but I’d end it with a fine dose of justice. I was taking one wrong in the world and making it right.

  The side exit opened, and the douche stumbled out the door. “But I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  John just slammed the door shut. Mr. Douche turned around, a sullen look on his face. He started walking toward the end of the alley but stopped when he saw me. His eyes lit up. “Hey. You’re the guy who got me the champagne, right?”

  I didn’t answer.

  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Your dumbass security guard just threw me out! Can you believe it? What a fucking idiot! I need to get back in there, man. I just met this fine-ass girl...”

  “You’re not going back in there.”

  His face fell. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “How often do you go out and offend women? A few nights a week? Or do you make it a daily habit?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Turn out your pockets.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got in there. Or were you planning on using brute-force tonight and foregoing the date rape drug?”

  He recoiled. “Fuck you.”

  It was what I’d been waiting for. I knew the guy might not have drugs on him, but several men I’d fought before had. Knowing I was putting such losers in their place made the confrontations doubly satisfying.

  He stepped to the side, about to go around me, but I blocked his path. He froze, his upper lip beginning a slow curl. “What? Are you going to fight me?” he demanded. “You’ll get your fancy shirt dirty. You sure you’re ready for that?”

  In response, I laid him one across the jaw. He went down, his right shoulder slamming into the pavement. Fury pumped through me and combined with the fresh rawness in my knuckles. He was quick, getting up after just a second and coming right back at me. His agility and speed didn’t scare me though. They excited me. I loved it when they fought back, loved it when their anger and darkness showed on their faces.

  I blocked his right hook and sent my fist into his gut. I’d found myself a formidable opponent, the kind who could keep me on my toes.

  Even though the fight was a challenging one, each movement I made still felt rehearsed. I’d done this a million times before — not just behind the club, but in other places as well. My first fight had happened in the middle of the trailer park when I was ten years old. A kid called my dad a drunk. He was right, but that didn’t mean he should have said it. I made him pay with two of his teeth.

  Since then, I’d made other men pay more for saying lesser things.

  The douche punched me in the neck, taking me off guard. It had been a long time since I’d been hit, and the shock of it made me see stars. I sucked in a head clearing breath as I ducked and tripped him. His back met the ground, his legs flying into the air. I started to jump on top of him, to give it to him hard, but there was no need. I’d made my point. If I pushed any further, I might not be able to rein my anger in.

  He sputtered and coughed. I stood a couple feet away and just watched him.

  “Bastard,” he grunted. “You think you can just attack me and get away with it?”

  “Who are you going to tell?” I countered. “You’re at my club, harassing my customers. That’s enough to make my security team not like you. And it’s their word against yours. I’d remember that before you think about going to the police.”

  Realization dawned on his face. He was in my terrain. There was no upper hand to be gained. I was king of this whole land, and no one could take me down.

  The guy climbed to his feet and backed away from me. There was a bit of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away and shook his head. “You’re fucking insane.”

  If he only knew.

  “Don’t come back here ever again. And forget about hitting on girls in clubs. They’re not interested in you. Trust me.”

  He lifted his chin. “How are you going to stop me?”

  “I have eyes in more places than this club.”

  I didn’t have to expound on my contacts at many of Manhattan’s other upscale hangouts. The tone of my voice said everything. With wide eyes, he turned and scurried toward the street. Another rat running for cover.

  I waited until I was sure he was gone, then I rapped on the side door. John met me with a bag of ice. Pressing it against my sore knuckles, I made my way back towards the innards of the club. This time I kept to the walls, not in the mood to talk to anyone.

  The office was empty, Julian and Seth both gone. They knew about my part-time hobby, and like the staff, entertained it. I was a name in the real estate world, which meant that if a scandal were to get out about me, it would hurt my reputation. And one club owner’s reputation going down the drain would affect us all. Julian, Seth, Davis, and I didn’t always keep things clean, but we always remembered to act like we did.

  I splashed my face with water in the office bathroom, wrapped a clean bandage around my bruised knuckles, and called my driver. He was in front of the club by the time I got there.

  The drive to my penthouse seemed to take forever. The streets were starting to clear out, even most of the late-night owls and hardcore party kids calling it a night. I nodded to the doorman and took the elevator up to the top floor. The penthouse greeted me, cold and quiet. Just the way I liked it.

  I didn’t spend much time at home, but when I did, it was welcome. My luxury apartment was a silent oasis in the middle of one of the craziest cities in the world. But now it felt different. Something wasn’t right.

  Frantic energy still pulsed through me. The fight hadn’t calmed me one bit. Instead, I felt more amped up. I hovered by the living room’s bar but didn’t pour a drink. I already knew it wouldn’t do me any good. Instead, I took a long shower, hoping it would relax my tense muscles and put me to sleep.

  But when I climbed into bed my mind still spun. The whole night had been bathed in an odd tone, and it wasn’t because of the guy I fought. I did that kind of thing all the time, sometimes as much as twice a week.

  It was because of her. I knew it. The first girl I could ever remember to reject me. Even in high school, when I was an introvert who only cared about studying and getting the fuck out of Nowhere, South Carolina, girls were still interested in me.

  But something changed. I met the first female to challenge me. Riley’s rejection did something to me that I didn’t understand. It turned me inside out and taunted me, compelled me not to give up.

  And I wouldn’t. I knew that without a doubt.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Riley

  My alarm clock was more like a jackhammer going off right next to my head. Eager to quell it, I quickly reached over and grabbed my phone. The snooze button taunted me, daring me to hit it and enjoy fifteen more minutes of heaven. I resisted the urge, killed the alarm, and clambered out of bed. My feet got tangled up in a pair of pants I left on the floor, and I almost bit the dust but managed to right myself and keep persevering.

  The shower did a decent job of waking me up, and by the time I had half a cup of coffee, I could at least remember what it felt like to be alive. Ann-Marie still slept in, the lucky bitch. Unlike me, she had a schedule that somewhat resembled normalcy. She worked Monday through Friday as a receptionist at a nonprofit in Manhattan. Like me, she was living a life that slightly enraged her parents. She was working on the next great American novel. Or at least that was what I called it. She was more humble about it, always saying, “No young adult book will ever put Steinbeck out of style.”

  I dressed in my Crumbs uniform of black pants and a dark blue button up and forced myself out of the apartment and down the stairs. Last night was still with me, except now in the form of a headache. It wouldn’t be an easy day. After my shift at Crumbs, I had to be at my cocktail waitressing job at three. The bar didn’t open till four that day, but since I opened, I needed to get there early.

  At least that meant I’d be home before midnight. Some days, it really was the little things.

  To keep myself awake, I jammed out to Beyoncé on the train ride. The bakery was already hopping by the time I got there, the line stretching all the way to the door. I clocked in and joined the rest of the front counter staff. Orders flew at me as I bagged rolls and croissants and tried to remember to keep my eyes open. As the hours passed, an aching in my feet joined the one in my head. I watched the clock, eager for my lunch break. At eleven forty-five, I darted into the back room and grabbed my purse. There was just enough time to run to the deli across the street and wolf down a sandwich. After that, it was back to the counter with a bad case of heartburn.

  “Riley.”

  The voice came from Dan, who hovered in the doorway to the bakery. Behind him, our pastry chef, Dominique, gave instructions to one of the bakers rolling out the dough.

  I plastered a smile on my face. Dan, the front house manager, wasn’t one of the staff’s favorites, but I tried to be nice around him. I wasn’t here for minimum wage and the day’s leftover French rolls. I wanted to climb the rungs and hopefully be promoted to working in the back. Since I technically didn’t have any education or official experience in baking, that meant I had to wait until someone deemed me worthy enough to take under their wing.

  I was pretty sure Dominique still didn’t know I was alive, so for the time being, getting ahead meant pleasing Dan. A lot of the hiring in the bakery happened in-house. People were getting promoted and switched to the other departments all the time. If I was nice and worked hard, I knew I’d get my chance sooner or later.

  Dan scratched his chin. “Kelsey called out late. Can you work till Blake comes in?”

  “What time is that?”

  “Four.”

  My heart sank. “I have to be at my other job at three. I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t get off?”

  I hesitated. I probably could get the night off. It was Saturday, which meant it was the real money making night. Most of the other waitresses would be more than happy to take my shift.

  But I also needed it. Crumbs didn’t pay my bills. Wearing a tight dress and serving cocktails to businessmen did. On the other hand, I needed to make some real progress in my chosen career. The month before, Dan recommended one of the cashiers to help Dominique out in the kitchen. That could have been me. It could still be me.

  “I can do it,” I blurted out. “I’ll find someone to cover my shift. I’m sure it won’t be that hard.”

  “Good girl,” he said like he wasn’t at all surprised I was bending over backwards for him.

  He left for the front, and I rushed out to order my meatball sub. While it was being made, I dialed Kim, one of the waitresses who worked a couple days a week. I got lucky with the call. She was available and eager to work. As I hung up my phone, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. I could easily be giving up two hundred dollars by letting my shift go. That was money I could use to put toward my family’s vacation to Ireland next summer. Or money I could use to buy myself a new pair of nice work sneakers.

  I reminded myself what I was doing it all for and got back to the bakery. The afternoon proved to be just as busy as the morning. While I worked, I visualized the long-term goal. I saw my own bakery, a beautiful corner one in Greenwich Village. Or maybe Williamsburg. I wasn’t too picky. By the time four o’clock rolled around, the imagined place seemed real to me. I could see the yellow and blue pansies in the windowsill and smell the cinnamon rolls rising. I was aching, tired, and broke, but I no longer regretted my decision to stay at Crumbs.

  Blake was late, and I ended up staying till five. Unfortunately, Dan wasn’t there to see it since he left a little after his own lunch break. I reminded myself that he’d see I put in extra time when he came in the next morning and checked the computer’s log. Untying my apron, I stepped away from the cash register so Blake could take my place.

  “Excuse me, what’s your specialty?” a male voice asked from behind me.

  As of thirty seconds before, I was off the clock. I almost let one of my coworkers answer, but something about the voice drew me in. It was eerily familiar. Turning around, I came face-to-face with none other than Xavier.

  His deep gray eyes drew all the air out of my lungs. For a second I couldn’t breathe or think. Standing in front of me was a man I thought I would never see again, whether I liked it or not.

  When I did speak, the answer wasn’t the witty comeback he was probably looking for. “Our chocolate croissants. They’re really big, and they have a ton of, uh, chocolate...”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. I sounded like such an idiot.

  “Chocolate is good,” Xavier agreed from across the counter. He looked at the apron in my hands. “Are you taking a break?”

  I swallowed hard, wringing the poor fabric between my fingers. “I’m actually getting off right now.”

  The pleasure that flooded his face made my heart swell with joy. Or lust. It was probably lust. “Care to go for a drink?”

  “Um...”

  He grinned. “Just a drink. No kissing.”

  I felt my coworkers, Mira and Amy, watching me, probably wondering why this hot guy was giving me attention, but I kept my eyes on Xavier. “How about coffee?”

  Not only could I use a jolt of caffeine, I was also not in the drinking mood. I was a lightweight, and I had a suspicion that even the small amount of alcohol the night before impaired my judgment. It was best if I stuck to staying completely sober around this incredibly sexy man.

  “Coffee sounds great,” he answered.

  “Great,” I repeated. “Great.”

  I made my feet move before I embarrassed myself by saying “great” a third time. Going into the staff room, I grabbed my purse and met Xavier on the other side of the counter.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  I nodded, and he held the door open for me, his hand on the small of my back to guide me through. He possessed all the manners of a gentleman, but I had to wonder how respectful a playboy could truly be. If he was sleeping with a different girl each weekend, wouldn’t it mean that he held no real respect for womankind?

  “There’s a good coffee shop right up here,” I said, pointing the direction but not looking at him. His presence felt so intense, his heat so strong, that walking next to him was like being pulled into a strange, magnetic force field. Looking at him was hard. Running away impossible.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  I bit down on my lip. I needed to say what was on my mind before I lost my courage. “How did you find me? Did you hire a private detective or something? Or did you have someone follow me home and then to work? Because I have to say, it’s pretty creepy.”

  I glanced over at Xavier. He just looked back at me with humor in his eyes. “That’s a pretty long answer for ‘How was your day?’”

  A sharp exhale left me. This guy, who I possessed very conflicted feelings about, had very suddenly shown up at my place of work. There was absolutely no reason he should have known that I was at Crumbs. Put simply, I was not in the mood for playing games.

  “Facebook,” Xavier finally admitted. “I looked you up on Facebook.”

  “Oh.” I took a second to absorb that. “Did you add me?”

  I didn’t know why I asked the question. I guess it just seemed like the next logical thing to say.

  “I don’t have an account, but your profile is public. I saw you post a picture of cupcakes this morning and write that you were working all day. There was a link to Crumbs’ page. It was all pretty simple. No real detective work involved.”

  “Oh,” I said again. If I ever once looked like an idiot in my whole life, it was right then. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of stalking me or anything. I mean, I know I said that you were being creepy, but that was harsh. I wasn’t thinking.” I bit down on my bottom lip to stop myself from talking.