Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (4 page)

The man looked up and made eye contact with Tatum. Out of
nowhere, fire popped and sizzled through her, scorching senses that had been
dulled by the oppressiveness of the club. For a mesmerizing moment, she stared
at the stranger, unable to look anywhere else.

Black hair groomed to perfection, a handsome face with an
honest-to-God square jaw and wearing the kind of slick suit and tie she’d only
seen in magazine ads, he looked like a modern-day aristocrat. Some big shot who
was completely out of place in a dive like Iron Rods.

Why such a good-looking man was here to do anything beyond
strip she didn’t know and didn’t give a flip, she reminded herself. Tonight she
was on a mission to forget her troubles and find some kind of satisfaction. If
the stranger couldn’t help her in either regard, then he was little more than
eye candy.

She plunked down the cocktail glasses. A harsh
thud
sounded as they hit the wood counter. The bartender glanced over his shoulder.
His face still appeared impassive, though his eyebrows now arched a bit higher
on his forehead.

“Yes?” he asked.

Tatum steeled her resolve and straightened her spine, hoping
all six feet of her looked formidable to a man who probably crushed boulders
with his bare hands. “If these drinks have a shot of pure vodka in them, then
I’m the governor of Texas.”

The bartender said something to the stranger then turned
around and made his way to where Tatum stood. Her skin grew cold as she noticed
the hint of a grin pull at the corners of his lips. How could a person look
more intimidating with a smile on his face?

“You saying I watered down your drinks?”

Though the music in the club was loud enough to vibrate
through the floor and up her calves, she easily heard his deep bass voice. A
tremor of fright added to the quaking in her legs. Scared or not, she’d started
this and she wouldn’t stop until she had two cocktails to her liking.

“I’m saying there’s no more alcohol in these glasses than
there is in the Colorado River down the street.” Allowing the full impact of
her feelings to give her strength, she took a step closer and pressed her
stomach onto the padded vinyl that trimmed the bar. “My friend spent a lot of
money for these drinks and I aim to make sure we get what we paid for. So how
about you taking that unopened bottle of vodka there on the back shelf and
trying one more time?”

The large bartender’s nose flared and the muscles in his
thick neck and arms flexed. Before he had a chance to say a word, the man at
the end of the bar spoke.

“It’s okay, T. Do as the lady asks.”

The big man shot her a look that could have frozen hell.
“Fine. As the lady likes.” Without breaking his glare, he roughly grabbed two
glasses and dropped them on the counter before reaching for the vodka.

And just like that, the polished stranger in the fancy suit
single-handedly shut down her attempt at blowing the steam she’d built up.

In a perverse way, Tatum didn’t feel appeased. She might
have gotten her way, but pumped-up energy still surged in her system. If only
she could punch a wall or kick over a chair. She needed to do something,
anything, to relieve her bottled-up tension and lock down the pheromones that
unexpectedly decided to show up to the party.

The good-looking man wasn’t making her struggle to calm down
any easier. Over the stacks of papers littering the end of the bar, he stared
at her, and not in a pleasing way. He appeared amused, almost smug, as though
she had just provided his evening’s entertainment.

She pushed her attraction aside and allowed her irritation
to hitch a half notch.

“Are you the manager here?” she asked, making her way down
to the end of the bar.

He punched the end of the pen he held and tossed it onto an
open file. “I guess you can say I am. Is there a problem?”

His tone sounded a little too bored for her liking. He might
not be hard to look at, but he had pompous ass written all over him. “As a
matter of fact there is. Have you taken a good look at this place lately? It’s
a dump. The lighting sucks, the dancers aren’t good-looking and couldn’t dance
to save their souls, and the bartender is serving lousy drinks.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t say.”

His prissy, holier-than-thou attitude provided just the
spark she needed to stay ignited. “Yes, I do say. You should be ashamed of
yourself and this place. It’s the worst club in Austin.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I—” Tatum started, but faltered in the wake of his
unexpected retort. She blinked several times, too flustered to speak. Weren’t
managers supposed to be nice to their customers? Even rich, snobby managers?

The stranger stood and Tatum’s gaze continued up until her
head tilted back. Powerfully built, he not only stood several inches taller
than her, he dominated the space around her. Though he might not be as
humongous as the bartender, he radiated a fierce but intelligent intensity that
commanded her attention. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted.

“You think someone else can do better?” he asked.

Her mouth watered as she watched the play of muscles behind
his snug shirtsleeves and listened to the deep voice that poured over her like
warm molasses. Good Lord, the man was virile.

Not permitting herself to be influenced by intimidation or
lust, she raised her chin and said the first thing that came to her mind. “I
think a drunk monkey could do better.”

“You looking for a job?”

Her mouth fell open at his audacity. She might be fast on
the uptake, but he was faster and better.

Perturbed, Tatum planted her fists on her hips. “You calling
me a drunk monkey?”

“No,” he said on a weary sigh. “You’ve made it all too clear
our drinks aren’t capable of making anyone drunk.”

Up close, she could see lines of weariness around his eyes
and on his forehead. The man looked as though he hadn’t slept well in days. Any
other night when she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders, she
might feel sorry for him. Unfortunately for both of them, tonight wasn’t any
other night.

“What’s your name?” he asked, again taking her by surprise.

Before she could censor her response she blurted, “Tatum
Reynolds.”

He smiled slightly, lightening the fatigued look of his
features. “Listen, Tatum, here’s the deal. I am looking for a new manager here.
It’s a good-paying job with benefits. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in
applying.”

“Seriously?” After doing her damndest to pick a fight with
Mr. Perfect, not to mention put a lid on her own out-of-control hormones, he
was offering her a chance at a job? He had to be either nuts or desperate.

“Seriously,” he answered back.

Tatum glanced around the club, taking in its wretched
condition and the pitiful dancers. Who in their right mind would want to manage
a hellhole like this? Plus this gorgeous man who pulled her strings while
teasing her wanton senses had made the proposal. Working in a place where she
would have to make an effort to control unexpected sensations from rising in her
body couldn’t be smart.

On the other hand, here was a bright spot to an amazingly
lousy day. Possibly the open window her parents had always talked about. Maybe
fate was ready to start playing nice. If so, it was about time.

She pursed her lips, wondering who in this situation was the
one nuts or desperate.

Her options were limited though. Extremely limited. Other
than asking for overtime hours at Java Buena, how else could she pay her bills?

Aside from some dignity and a little self-respect, what did
she have to lose by finding out more about his offer?

“Exactly how well does the job pay?”

The manager reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a
business card. “Come see me Monday at ten. We’ll talk more then.”

She took the card and did a double take as she read his name
and the company he worked for. A lump formed in her throat and she fought to
force it down. This hunk of man meat wasn’t just the manager.

“You’re one of the Truitts?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Do you know me?”

“No,” she confessed, trying to find her breath. “But I’ve
heard of Lyle Truitt. He’s about the most famous man in Austin, next to Leslie
Cochran.”

“The weird homeless guy who ran around town in skimpy
women’s clothes?”

She nodded. “That’s the one. God rest his soul.”

Bennett let out another tired sigh. “Wonderful. My father is
as popular as a man in drag who lived on the streets. I can’t tell you how
incredibly proud that makes me.” He tapped the card with a finger. “Be there at
ten.”

He started to leave but stopped. His nose wrinkled as he
sniffed the air. “Do you smell smoke?”

Views of downtown Austin and the Texas State Capitol
building beckoned outside the wall of windows in Bennett’s corner office, but
he barely noticed the scenery. Instead, he gazed at a single cloud floating by
in the bright-blue sky while visions of a feisty girl with hair so pale it was
almost white filled his mind’s eye.

Tatum Reynolds.

To his surprise, he actually remembered her name, not just
her curvy body. She’d worn red, pointed-toe Western boots with her simple
yellow sundress. If her attire hadn’t given her Southern roots away, her twangy
accent would have. No doubt she was one of them—a Texan—through and through.

If he used his usual standards for judging a woman’s desirability,
Ms. Reynolds failed muster, but for more reasons than being a Texan. He
preferred brunettes over blondes, petite women over tall, and the quiet
sophistication of a well-bred lady rather than a loud and boisterous female.
Yet for all his attempts to focus on the financial reports for Iron Rods
yesterday, images of the lively woman in the red boots continued to draw his
attention. He’d met and slept with some of the most beautiful socialites of New
York. Never had any of those ladies plagued his thoughts or distracted him as
badly as the bold and brassy Ms. Reynolds.

Most likely his preoccupation with the brash blonde could be
chalked up to second-guessing his impulsive scheme to interview her as the
manager for Iron Rods. She couldn’t be qualified for the position. But wasn’t
that what he wanted? Hiring someone incompetent would result in the eventual
demise of the club. As soon as the place went out of business, he’d be ready
with the bulldozers to tear the building down.

Yes, the plan was manipulative and dirty, but the end would
justify the means. Tatum Reynolds would give him the reason he needed to close
down Iron Rods and he’d ensure she had an extremely generous severance package
when he let her go. The rest of the staff at the club would also receive
compensation. He might be single-minded, but no one could ever accuse him of
being cruel.

When everything was said and done, the people involved would
come out ahead. His father wouldn’t be happy, but the old man would get over
his anger and disappointment just as Bennett had done his entire life. As the
new building climbed toward the sky, so would the prestige and cash flow of
Truitt Holdings Company. Lyle would finally recognize Bennett’s worth and the
club that had stood between them would at last be gone for good.

Try as he might to believe this rationale, he recognized his
recurring thoughts about Tatum had nothing to do with business. Not unless the
fantasy of shutting her sassy yet thoroughly kissable mouth by covering it with
his had something to do with running a strip club.

Her long, shapely legs also starred in his daydreams. As
Lyle liked to say time and time again, gams like hers ran all the way up to her
ass. If her tiny little sundress had been much shorter, Bennett might have had
the pleasure of seeing that too.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he shook his head. Just
how many hours had he spent yesterday and this morning debating the type of
underwear she wore or whether she wore any at all?

She hadn’t worn a bra, that was certain. Her nipples, hard
and fully erect, had poked through the thin fabric of her dress as though
demanding his attention. What he wouldn’t have given to slip a flimsy strap
over her shoulder and down her arm until he could see a perky breast. Then cup
her round flesh and test its weight and firmness while he tasted her neck.

Had the club been empty, he would have done just that, not
to mention lifting her onto the bar, running a hand up her thigh and checking
on the exact nature of her panties.

Given the chance to continue, would he have stopped there
with the unrefined beauty?

No. Not the way she’d gotten under his skin.

There were too many mysteries about the vivacious Ms.
Reynolds to be solved. He needed to know how the curls between her legs would
feel against his face as he explored her pussy. How sweet the juices flowing
between her soft folds tasted. How quickly she would come as he teased her clit
with his experienced tongue.

All Sunday long the answers to these questions and more
tempted his resolve until he could no longer resist the urge to jack himself
off. Masturbation to the point his dick was sore had helped him find release,
but not satisfaction. His carnal cravings for the Texan were far from sated.

That he’d given second thought to someone as unsophisticated
and unworldly as Tatum Reynolds was cause for alarm. She might be beautiful and
have a smoking-hot figure, but she embodied everything he’d distanced himself
from. He was no longer a boy with one foot in the highbrow class of the New
York elite with his mother and the other with his father in the town whose
slogan was “Keep Austin Weird”. If the bullying and fights he’d been involved
in at boarding school hadn’t cured him of that, being relentlessly ridiculed
and shunned by his grandfather certainly had. Though he might be in Austin
among the hippies and crazies, he didn’t have to live like them.

“How’s the search for the new manager coming?”

Bennett turned from the windows to see Lyle breeze into his
office. The old man, decked out in his typical office attire of a dress jacket
and dark jeans so starched they could stand on their own, removed his Western
hat and tossed it expertly onto a coat rack in the corner. His mustache
stretched then curled over the lower part of his cheeks, a testament to the
effectiveness of his grooming wax.

“Funny you should ask about the manager position,” Bennett
answered. “I was just thinking about it.”

Lyle closed the door and sauntered to the side of Bennett’s
desk. A smear of something clear and slightly shiny soiled his father’s pants
just below the crotch. Seeing the smudge unsettled the bacon and eggs Bennett
had eaten for breakfast. “If you’re going to fool around with Anne, think about
changing your clothes next time.”

“What?” The old man’s eyes grew round. “What are you
blubbering about?”

“That.” Bennett nodded at the streak of dried film on Lyle’s
jeans. “Don’t mind telling you how disturbing that looks.”

“Huh?” Lyle looked down then smacked his palm against his
thigh. “Son of a biscuit eater. That bitch got slobber on my pants.” He pulled
a handkerchief out from inside his jacket, wet the tip in his mouth, then
proceeded to dab at the smear.

“Wait a minute, Lyle. I like Anne way too much to hear you
call her names.”

“I’m not talking about Anne, you fool. I’m talking about
that horse of a dog we got Saturday. Damned animal gets slobber on everything,
including the furniture, the walls and now my good pants. I never should have
agreed to let Anne bring that mutt into our house.”

“So Anne got her dog,” Bennett mused aloud. Good for her.
Too damn bad she felt the need to get one in the first place. He reclined his
chair, enjoying his father’s aggravation. “I truly thought you’d say no and put
your foot down.”

“Son, let me impart some advice you may one day find very
helpful.” Lyle finished wiping off his jeans and tossed the hanky in the trash.
“After two decades of marriage, I have learned that a man sometimes will lose
battles to ultimately win the war. Anne wanting to adopt a mastiff was a battle
I chose to not even bother fighting.” Lyle smiled and twisted the ends of his
mustache between two fingers. “Plus, a fella looks pretty damned magnanimous
when he tells his wife she’s the love of his life and he wants her to have
anything that will make her happy. Had the best Saturday night I’ve had in a
long stretch.”

“That’s a little too much information, Lyle. I’m trying to
keep down my breakfast.”

“Just be glad your ol’ dad still has plenty of giddyup left
in him. If you’re lucky, those genes passed on to you,” the old man bragged
while taking a seat. “But enough about me. Let’s get down to business. We got
to hire someone for Iron Rods who knows what they’re doing and get it done
soon. I want that place turned around before the end of summer. I also need
your attention on the deal we have for that property on the East Side of town.
We’re supposed to close on it this week, and I caught wind some developers from
Dallas are looking at it. We need to make sure we get the building bought up
before those son-bitches have a chance to stir the pot. I’ve got big plans for
that place.”

“I have an interview already scheduled for today.” Bennett
checked his watch. “She should be here in a few minutes. If she doesn’t work
out, I’ll have my secretary place an ad in the
Austin Statesman
. I’ll
have a new manager in place before the end of the week.”

Lyle’s bushy eyebrows rose high over his blue eyes. “She?”

Shit. Me and my big mouth.

“Yes. Her name is Tatum Reynolds.” Bennett straightened in
his chair and rolled closer to his desk. Hoping he looked busy and pressed for
time, he grabbed a stack of papers and shuffled them into a pile. “I really
need to get ready for this interview. How about we talk at lunch? I’ll buy.”

Lyle evidently didn’t understand the message or chose to
ignore it. The old man relaxed into his seat, placing an arm casually over the
cushioned chairback. “Where did you meet this woman?”

Coming up with a story that would mollify his father’s
curiosity tempted Bennett, but he thought better of it. Once Lyle had a notion
in his head, he held on to it like a hungry dog with a meaty bone. “At Iron
Rods. She’s looking for a job. I have a job to fill. She’s coming by this
morning with her resume to interview.”

“Well, ain’t that nice. How convenient.” Sarcasm dripped
from his father’s tone. He stretched out his arm until his watch peeked out
from under his jacket. “As luck would have it, my appointment this morning
cancelled. Think I’ll join you during the interview. I can’t wait to meet the
lady you found at Iron Rods who impressed you enough to offer an interview for
the manager position.”

“That’s not necessary. I know you’re busy and I have this
under control.” Bennett forced a smile. “I’ll tell you all about it over
lunch.”

“Nonsense. Since you’ve started working for me, I have all
the time in the world. This is going to be a real treat.”

Annoyance pricked at Bennett’s patience. He had trapped
himself in a web of his own making. Halfway through the interview, his father
would suspect an attempt to hire someone unqualified for the position. Lyle
might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d been in business long enough to know
what Bennett was up to.

At best Bennett could say he’d given the girl a chance and
it didn’t work out, so back to the drawing board. Unfortunately, he’d then be
stuck actually hiring someone decent to make it appear he’d done his best to
turn the dump around.

This no-win situation required a little more thought on his
part. He needed a plan B if he was going to finally pull the plug on the strip
club and move forward with building the new high-rise.

“Mr. Truitt, your ten o’clock is here,” his secretary’s
voice sounded over the intercom.

He gritted his teeth and glanced at Lyle, who wasn’t
budging. His stubborn father had no intention of passing up the interview.
Bennett pressed a button on the intercom. “Thank you, Ms. Foster. Send her in.”

Ever the Southern gentleman, Lyle stood as Tatum Reynolds
opened the door and entered the office. Although she wore an understated dress,
Tatum looked breathtakingly stunning. She’d left her blonde hair down, allowing
the long locks to fall in soft waves past her shoulders. Her hairdo framed her
beautiful face and set off a megawatt smile. The hemline of her outfit fell
above her knee and showcased tight calves and firm thighs. Like many women’s in
Austin, her tanned skin radiated a healthy glow. Her perky disposition and
attractiveness made looking at anything else but her difficult.

The old man glared back at Bennett with a steely-eyed look
of accusation.

Ignoring his father’s glower, Bennett met Tatum in the
middle of the room. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Reynolds.”

Like he would at any other business meeting, Bennett shook
Tatum’s hand. Unlike any other business meeting, the thoughts crossing his mind
the instant his skin made contact with hers had his cock twitching behind his
slacks. The lascivious urges he’d suffered through yesterday and that morning
hadn’t been without cause. She might not be the type of woman he should be
thinking about, but something about the blonde beauty sent his libido into
overdrive.

“Let me introduce you to the CEO of the Truitt Holdings
Company,” Bennett said, brushing the sexual notion aside. “This is my father,
Lyle Truitt.”

The old man hid his annoyance well. When he greeted Tatum,
he was all smiles and charm. “You’re quite a tall drink of water, aren’t you,
young lady? Please take a seat. My son tells me you two met at Iron Rods.”

Wonderful. The woman had been in his office for less than a
minute and Lyle had already managed to point out the obvious and start his
grand inquisition. Without thinking, Bennett pulled the Susan B. coin from his
pocket. He idly flipped it back and forth over the backs of his fingers, taking
comfort in the familiar practiced rhythm of the movements.

“Yes, that’s true. About meeting at Iron Rods, I mean.” She
opened a large leather bag and pulled out a file before dropping the tote onto
the floor. “I don’t imagine he mentioned that I called the club a dump.”

“No,” Lyle said, “he hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Truitt, I did. I’m a huge admirer of yours,
but Iron Rods is in serious need of some TLC. Luckily, I believe I have some
great ideas to get the club back on Austin’s A-list.” She laid a paper on the
desk. “I took the liberty of asking a friend who works at another bar some
questions about the profitability of alcohol. According to this friend, a
typical well drink has about forty cents worth of alcohol in it. Add the mixer,
the bartender’s time, and the cost of washing the glass when it’s empty, and
the drink still costs the bar only fifty cents. If you charge five or six
dollars for a mixed drink, you’re making a ton of money. On the other hand, the
profit on a bottle of beer is much less. Beer costs more money to serve and you
just can’t sell a bottle of beer for as much as you sell liquor.”