Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (6 page)

Damn Skippy he will.

Tatum peered down at her writing pad and groaned. While lost
in thought she had absentmindedly scribbled hearts and bloody daggers over her
notes. Not exactly the one hundred ten percent focus she needed if she planned
to impress the handsome Bennett Truitt.

After several minutes of rewriting the dressing room to-do
list, Tatum meandered into the main section of the club. Even with all the
lights on, the cavernous room still managed to look dim and dingy. Deciding the
whole experience of exploring the depressing club would be better with music
playing, she climbed the stairs to the DJ booth, turned on the equipment and
plugged in her iPhone. Familiar music poured from the speakers, making the room
and the updates it direly needed seem less formidable. Her shoulders relaxed
and her foot tapped in time with the beat.

From her perch she had a good view of everything, yet only
the main stage and the long, wide catwalk leading to a stripper pole held her
interest. She’d never danced in a strip club before. Could she actually spin
around the pole without falling on her ass?

Only one way to find out.

She scrolled through her music list and selected a song
she’d danced to at least a hundred times. After cranking the music up to the
point she could feel the rhythm pulse beneath her skin, she quickly climbed
down the stairs, and then bounced and weaved her way to the stage entrance.
When the song played through the intro and began its main chords, she exploded
through the opening of the velvet curtains onto center stage and danced as
though her feet had wings.

Losing herself to the compelling upbeat tempo, she raised
her arms above her head and pumped her fists while shaking and moving each part
of her body. Her complicated footwork and energetic shimmying required every
inch of the catwalk as she spun and bopped. The rhythm of the lively music
blissfully consumed her thoughts and movements. For the first time in what felt
like an eternity, she pushed aside her disappointments and worries, and allowed
herself to be in the moment. She was dancing. Nothing in the wide state of
Texas could be better than this.

A compulsion to remove her T-shirt and get into the spirit
of the club hit, and she gave into the urge with wanton gusto. Imagining she
possessed all the skills of a seasoned stripper, she bumped and grinded her
hips to the beat while gliding her hands over her breasts and down her stomach.
Her fingers found the hem of her shirt.

The stretchy fabric peeled off with ease. Delighted with her
boldness, she swung the shirt over her head several times before letting it fly
into the darkened seating area. Before reaching the looming pole, she
unfastened the top buttons of her cutoff jeans. Two inches of the waistband
opened, giving her even more range of movement.

Mustering her courage, she reached up and grabbed the pole.
Pure instinct took over. One of her legs lifted and entwined the pole, taking
the rest of her body with it. A thrill coursed through her as she spun. She
whirled around and around until the force propelling her wound down, then she
finally let go. The muscles in her arms and thighs ached, but that didn’t
matter. The pleasure of the experience far outweighed the soreness she’d feel
for a while. As long as she worked at Iron Rods and could practice in private,
she’d swing on the damn pole until she’d mastered it.

When the song came to an end, she dropped down into a split
and lifted her arms high over her head in triumph. She imagined hearing the
roar of the crowd cheer at her amazing performance. When she heard real, live
clapping from the front of the club, her stomach clenched as though she’d been
hit with a two-by-four.

Tatum looked up to see Bennett standing near the bar. Still
in slacks and a dress shirt that had been unbuttoned at the neck, rolled at the
sleeves and no longer boasted a tie, he looked like a seductive calendar model
who had come to life and leapt from the page. If sex could claim the face and
body of a male, Bennett Truitt would be that man. The way her fire was stoked
from just looking at him bordered on being downright sinful.

Her first inclination was to screech from embarrassment and
scurry around the tables and chairs until she found her T-shirt. This striking
man had watched her make a fool of herself while she stripped off her top,
pranced around in a barely there bra, then spun awkwardly around a pole. He
must think her an idiot with the respectability of a streetwalker.

But a strong sense of righteous indignation trumped her
primary reaction. He had been playing Peeping Tom. She didn’t give a flip that
he was hot, the Chief Financial Officer of the holdings company or the son of
the man who owned Iron Rods. No one had the right to intrude on what was
clearly a private moment, even if that moment happened to take place at a strip
club. At the very least, he could have made his presence known.

Pulling together what dignity she could, she dropped her
outstretched arms and pressed her hands onto the catwalk floor to shift her
legs out of the impromptu split. Then, slowly and with purpose, she stood and
refastened the buttons of her shorts.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Mr. Truitt. Do you always spy on
your coworkers or is this a new habit?” She cringed as the taunt flew from her
mouth. When would she learn to hold her flippant tongue?

One of Bennett’s dark eyebrows hitched. “Let me begin by
saying I was hardly spying. I called out your name several times when I came in
the front door, but you had the music too loud to hear me.” He walked behind the
bar, grabbed a glass tumbler and a bottle from the top liquors shelf, then
poured. “Secondly,” he added after taking a long pull of dark liquid, “I’m not
your coworker. I’m your boss.”

He strolled toward the stage with an air of relaxed
sophistication. Somehow the drink he held and the slight dishevelment of his
clothing only added to his sleek attractiveness and confident allure.

Pausing at a chair, Bennett bent over and plucked her shirt
off the floor. He straightened and continued toward the stage, then tossed the
top at her with a flick of his wrist. “Here. You may need this.”

Tatum snapped the tee out of the air and pulled it on. Now
fully clothed, she was more than ready to set Mr. Perfect to rights.

“Your father explained to me this afternoon that he and only
he will be my superior. You, Mr. Truitt, are my mentor. Your role is to help
and give advice, not supervise. You cannot control or boss me around.”

She could tell just how much he was upsetting her by the
thickening of her Southern drawl. Instead of sounding like the educated woman
she truly was, she probably sounded like some kind of hick to his urbane ears,
which only frustrated her more. She may have grown up around the barren oil
fields of West Texas in a family poor as dirt, but she was every bit as good as
Bennett Truitt. Damn right she was. The trick now centered on making sure he
knew that.

Her back stiffened by pride, Tatum jumped from the stage and
walked within a foot of Bennett’s imposing frame. “That’s not going to be a
problem, is it, Slick?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He drained his drink and
placed the glass on a table with a distinct
thud
. “Not at all. Lyle
hadn’t gotten around to clarifying what he meant when he made me responsible
for you. We seem to have two different understandings of that phrase. Little
surprise there.” He offered a devilish smile that accentuated his square jaw
and the flawless symmetry of his face. “My apologies.”

His tone was so cool and controlled, she couldn’t decide if
he meant what he said or had simply uttered the words to pacify her. “Apology
accepted, I think.” Tatum regarded him speculatively and made the mistake of
glancing into his baby blues. Pure temptation resided there. She swallowed hard
only to find every bit of moisture had vanished from her throat.

Bennett rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his chin. “So I’m
not your supervisor? Only someone you work with?” He spoke more in abstract
thought than actually asking questions. His gaze raked over her, making her
feel completely naked.

She had remembered to put her shirt back on, hadn’t she?

“No. Yes.” The sensual blend of heat and testosterone his
masculine body emitted confused her senses. She couldn’t think straight. She
mentally shook her head, reminding herself to form complete sentences like a
sensible person. “I mean no, you aren’t my supervisor. Yes, you’re only a
coworker. And don’t get any ideas now that you’ve seen me strutting around in
my underwear. If you think I’m easy, then you’d better think again.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of thinking about you in that
way.”

The words sounded like a compliment, but his dry delivery
suggested just the opposite.

Exasperation coiled and hissed in her belly like an
irritated hognose snake. The man’s ability to pique her desire while simultaneously
provoking her ire went beyond frustrating. Why, if it weren’t for his
exceptional good looks, she’d…she’d… Well, she’d do something other than stand
around like a moonstruck teenager.

“Good. I’m glad we got that straight,” she grumbled. “Let’s
get started.” Glancing to the right and left, she realized she had left all her
belongings up in the DJ stand. Another reminder of her act of stupidity on the
stage witnessed by Bennett.

“I need to gather my things. They’re up there.” She forced a
smile and pointed to the booth. “I’ll be just a minute.”

He nodded. “I took the liberty of arranging a meeting with
the club staff this afternoon. They should be here in about an hour. I want to
give them a chance to meet you and hear your ideas from your lips before they
hear about them from someone else.”

Luckily she stood on the top step as he delivered his
bombshell, preventing him from seeing the look of exasperation she knew covered
her face. Good Lord. She was meeting the entire staff in an hour?

Lyle had been right. When it came to business, Bennett
didn’t let any grass grow beneath his feet. The sweet old man had also warned
her that his son would push her, test her and try to shake her composure. She
just hadn’t anticipated Bennett moving this quickly.

She gathered her things and carefully climbed down the steps
before slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Great idea. Thank you for your
thoughtful consideration. The staff needs to know what’s happening. The sooner
the better.” There. That sounded confident and ready for anything, not shaken,
which is probably what he hoped for.

Writing pad and pen to the ready, Tatum scribbled copious
notes as they toured their way through the entire club. They both agreed the
bar needed a complete overhaul, the bathrooms were a disgrace and the front
entry booth hadn’t been used in years. No need, evidently. Not enough people
crowded into the club anymore to justify opening the small room and having
someone other than the bouncer collecting the cover charge.

That would change as soon as she implemented her ideas. And
they would work, she was sure of it. All she needed was to convince the staff.
If they couldn’t get on board with the plan, she’d have little choice but to
let them go and hire a completely new staff. Something she sincerely didn’t
want to do. Their experience working in the club would be invaluable,
especially as she’d never managed a strip club before. Even she understood
that.

At the front end of the club, Bennett slipped a key into the
knob of a black door before dropping the key chain into her cupped hand. “This
is the manager’s office. Welcome to your new home.”

When he flicked the light switch, she braced herself for the
worst. A vision of a tiny room containing a decrepit old desk strewn with
stacks of papers and sagging metal filing cabinets spewing forms flashed
through her mind. To her surprise, it was none of these things.

The room was clean and well-lit, not to mention spacious.
Dominating the back wall stood a mahogany shelving unit complete with tidy
ledgers stacked in neat rows. A matching desk outfitted with a computer and two
flat screen monitors sat atop a tasteful red-and-black rug. In the corner was a
seating arrangement of a couch, overstuffed chair and coffee table. Everything
in the room screamed sleek refinement and beauty, just like Bennett.

“The moment I was put in charge of the club, I had a crew
come through to clean and put in new furnishings. I hate working in clutter.”
He strode into the room and turned on a small lamp at the edge of the desk.
“Does this meet with your approval?”

Boy, did it ever. If Mr. Perfect hadn’t been standing beside
her at that moment, she would have jumped with joy.

Finally, something in this disastrous club that wouldn’t
need to be cleaned, repaired or demolished. And this little slice of heaven in
the Iron Rods hellhole was the first real office of her first real job. As soon
as the raven-haired god left her alone for five minutes, she’d take pictures of
every inch of the room and post them online. Her friends and family would know
she’d finally arrived. She’d made it in the big world despite not finding a job
as a professional dancer. She might have been down, but she wasn’t beaten.

Bennett motioned to the ledgers. “I spent the last
forty-eight hours trying to make sense of those files, as well as the documents
I took to my office. I’m not done yet. They’re complete chaos. Until I get them
straightened out, I’d prefer you stay out of them. That said, I may still need
to get in here to work. Hopefully it will only be for a short time.”

“I see.” She dragged her fingers over the leather couch.
Soft and supple, the couch felt more like velvet than the stiff, dried cowhides
she’d ever sat on. “Your dad told me about the last manager. I’m sorry y’all
are having to deal with the mess he left.”

“Don’t be. Now that you’re the manager, you get to deal with
it too. You may end up regretting that you applied for the job once you really
get your feet wet. There’s a lot more to be done than just renovating the
building and figuring out the books. You’ll have a staff to manage and
customers to deal with. Running a business isn’t anything like a dance
recital.”

You’re telling me. I’m already wondering if I’m in over
my head.

“Thank you for hiring me and giving me the chance,” she said
sincerely. “I promise you, I’ll do my best.”

A beat passed before he responded. “I’m sure you will.” He
pulled a coin from his pocket and idly flipped it back and forth as though
needing to busy his hands. “Just for the record, if I embarrassed you before, I’m
sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

The unexpected apology left her stunned. She didn’t quite
know how to respond. For the first time since they’d met, he sounded
unpretentious. Dumbfounded, she nodded, then turned and occupied herself by
pretending to examine the various pieces of artwork hanging on the wall.

An awkward silence descended. After several minutes of
excruciating quiet, she glanced back to see what Bennett was doing and froze. A
warning bell clanged in the back of her head.

The paperweight he’d been jostling only moments before now
lay undisturbed in the palm of a hand as he stared at her with an intensity
that stilled her blood. His expression, filled with both longing and passion,
weakened her knees. Though he stood several feet from her, she could see the
quickening rise and fall of his chest.

The office that had once seemed so spacious suddenly felt
intimate. The air practically crackled with heated anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze, Bennett replaced the crystal back
on the desk and stalked toward her as though he were a sleek cheetah preparing
to pounce on a gazelle.

She stepped back, fighting an odd sensation of being drawn
to him. Somehow the Earth’s gravitational pull had given way to a new force of
attraction. That attraction was Bennett.

“I told you before, I’m not easy,” she warned, knowing very
well that any move he made on her would be as welcome as rain in a drought.
Here was a man who was both bold and handsome, her kryptonite.

“I’m aware of that.”

Not breaking stride, he closed in until all six foot four of
him had her pinned against the office wall. The invisible draw intensified,
causing the hairs on her arms and at her nape to rise with unbridled
expectancy.

“Then what are you doing?” Even in the silence of the room,
she could barely make out her quiet voice over the thuds of her wildly beating
heart.

“I wish I could tell you,” he said a little huskily. “I’m
not sure myself.” He tucked a lock of hair that had come loose from her
ponytail behind her ear, then placed his palm on the wall, effectively trapping
her. “For reasons I can’t explain, I haven’t been able to get you out of my
head since I met you.”

They stood so close she could feel his soft breath fan her
face. It smelled of fine Scotch and was altogether intoxicating. Tatum licked
her lips, trying to locate a taste of him but failing miserably. She wanted
more. So much more.

“I know I’ve caught you off guard here. I wasn’t expecting
this either. I’m not the type of man who generally acts on impulse.” With his
free hand, Bennett lifted her chin, giving her no choice but to look at him.
“But I’m afraid if I don’t do something about this attraction I have for you,
I’m going to lose my mind.”

A chill of desire that had gathered in the pit of her
stomach flashed like frozen lightning throughout her body, prickling her skin
and stealing her breath.