Stripped Bare (4 page)

“I’m going to try to remain objective and not kick your ass.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m assuming Tesla wasn’t for sale?”

“You’d assume correctly.”

Tara sighs heavily and removes her glasses. She’s trying to remain professional, when what she really wants to do is throttle me.

“She told you no.”

“That’s right.”

“Is that why you’re so fascinated by her?”

My brow creases. “What do you mean?”

She tosses aside her legal pad, and suddenly, she’s no longer my therapist. She’s my sister, and she’s pissed.

“You’re Jax Monroe. You are a billionaire. You can have, literally, any woman in the world that you want. Except one. And
that’s
the one you want.”

“I really don’t think that’s it. I mean, I wanted her
before
she told me no.”

“Yes, but she’s a stripper. There are rules, right? No touching. No sex. Even as a kid, you hated to hear the word
no
. It’s why you’re such a powerful businessman. Nobody says no to Jax Monroe.”

“Tesla did.”

“I know. I’m thrilled. I hope she forgives you because I’d love to meet this woman.”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck you, Tara.”

She grins. “Come on, Jax. Surely you understand why she’s upset?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Sort of,” I mutter, and it’s now Tara’s turn to roll her eyes. It’s a family trait. “I mean, she’s a stripper. How was I to know she had morals?”

“Would you rather she didn’t?”

“No, I like that she does. She’s strong, Tara. On stage, she’s this powerful vixen. When it was just the two of us, I saw . . .
her
. The real her.”

“And did you like what you saw?”

“I did. Very much.”

“Then why not ask her out? Why treat her like a high-class hooker?”

“Because money and business is all I know. You want something? You buy it. If you can’t buy it, you negotiate until you
can
buy it. Everything has a price tag.”

“When you’re dealing with mergers and acquisitions, then yes, everything has a price tag. But this is not business, Jax. This is someone’s body. This is someone’s heart. This is someone who has deep green eyes that you think are beautiful.”

It’s those green eyes that are haunting my dreams. It’s not just their beauty, but the pain I saw reflected in them when she left the room.

“I hurt her, Tara. My proposition insulted her. Made her feel like a whore.”

“And that bothers you?”

“Yes, it bothers me very much.”

My sister gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Then perhaps there’s hope for you yet,” she replies.

“Tesla.”

I close my eyes and sip my wine. It’s been two weeks since Rick’s asked me to work the VIP room, and I’ve been thankful. So thankful.

But all good things must come to an end.

With a sigh, I turn toward my boss. He’s holding an envelope.

“You have a visitor,” Rick says. “He didn’t technically break any rules, so I haven’t kicked him out. Yet.”

I hadn’t told Rick the entire story, but he knows enough. Enough not to force me to work the VIP room for two weeks.

“Do you want to see him?”

I shake my head. It feels like a lie, because of course I do.

But I can’t.

“I figured as much, so that’s what I told him,” Rick replies. “He asked me to give you this.”

He drops the envelope on my vanity table and walks out.

I stare down at the white envelope. My name is written on the front. The penmanship is meticulously neat, and I wonder if it’s Jax’s handwriting. Probably not. I doubt many billionaires address their own envelopes.

With fumbling fingers, I open it, smoothing out the letter. There’s a business card tucked inside.

My gaze dances along the page.

Tesla,

I wrote this letter because I knew you wouldn’t agree to see me.

I want to apologize.

I need to apologize.

But I’d prefer to do it face-to-face. I think I owe you that much.

If you’ll let me.

I’m looking at a piece of real estate tomorrow in the city. There’s a sidewalk café right next door. It’s usually a busy place, especially at lunch time. We wouldn’t be alone. The last thing I want to do is make you more uncomfortable, so I thought a busy restaurant would be best. I’m including my card with the property’s address. You can call, or text, or leave me a voice mail. Or you can just meet me there at one.

I know I don’t deserve the chance to apologize, but I hope you’ll let me.

Jax

I carefully place the letter and card back inside the envelope. After gulping the rest of my wine, I get dressed and tell everyone goodnight. Trace, one of the bouncers, escorts me out into the cool night air, and I hail a cab.

Once I’m inside my apartment, I follow my nightly routine.

Play with my dog.

Take a shower.

Collapse into bed.

And dream of Jax Monroe.

The café isn’t nearly as crowded as I expected it to be. Maybe I’ve miscalculated the time of the lunch crowd?

She’ll never agree to see me with only one other table occupied.

Not that she’s called.

Not that I expected her to.

But I’m holding out hope that she’ll show. I’ll look up, and there she’ll be, with her long hair and pretty eyes.

And she’ll listen.

My leg bounces. I’m never nervous. It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. I deal with powerful and intimidating people all the time. I’m always calm. Always prepared. Always ready to close the deal.

Somehow, this woman has brought me to my knees, and she doesn’t even realize it.

It’s been two weeks, and I’ve done absolutely nothing but think about her.

Morning. Noon. Night.

Night is the hardest, because it’s at that time I know her exact location. I know exactly what she’s doing.

More than once, I’ve called my driver to take me there.

But I never go.

She needs time. I know this because Tara reminds me constantly. But I know she’s right. If I’m to have any chance at all, I have to give her time.

My hand wraps around my cold cup of coffee, and I wait.

It’s nearly two when I get an alert on my phone, reminding me of a meeting at my office in an hour. I toss some cash onto the table and text my driver, letting him know I’m ready to go. I’m just about to hit send when I feel someone’s eyes on me.

I look up, and there she is.

Time stops.

All I can do is stare.

She looks tired and thin.

And so, so beautiful.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

How do I tell her that she could have been ten hours late, and it wouldn’t have mattered?

“You’re not.”

She steps closer to the table, and I stand, pulling out a chair for her.

“Could we walk?”

Her voice trembles. She wants to walk because she’s nervous.

“Sure.”

I’m careful not to get too close as we walk along the sidewalk. I don’t pick the direction, but I can’t help but smile when she leads us past the empty property I inspected earlier today.

Tara says I’m crazy.

I am.

“What do you think of this building?” I ask.

Tesla stops in her tracks and looks at the structure. There isn’t really much to see, but it’s a good size. It’s the perfect size for a small business.

“It’s cozy.”

“Cozy?”

“Yeah. And it could use a coat of paint.”

She’s right.

“What color?”

Tesla grins, and I want to laugh out loud, because I’m so happy to see her smile.

“Are we really playing this game?”

I shrug casually, as if this doesn’t matter at all.

“Pick a color. Any color.”

I watch her face as she scrutinizes the building.

“Sky blue,” she says.

Sky blue it is.

The keys rattle in my pocket, but I don’t push my luck. Instead, there’s a wooden bench just outside the building, and I ask her to sit.

“I don’t apologize often, so this is extremely hard for me,” I admit quietly. “That’s not to say that I shouldn’t apologize more than I do. I just . . . don’t.”

“I imagine you don’t have to.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. Something as simple as saying you were wrong shouldn’t be this monumental, but it is for me. Growing up, my parents apologized by spoiling us with gifts.”

My conscience screams at me, and I try to ignore the building behind me.

Baby steps.

“Tesla, I’m sorry.”

There. Just like a Band-Aid. Rip it off.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry that I offended you. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Her green eyes flash with determination, and I know she wants to deny that my actions caused her an ounce of pain. But she’s a good person. Truly good. And she doesn’t lie.

“You’re an asshole,” she says instead.

“I know, but for the first time in my life, I really don’t want to be.”

Tesla searches my face. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Stripped bare of all my bullshit, because my bullshit doesn’t impress her. The designer suits. The billion dollar empire. The private plane. The personal driver. None of it intimidates her, because she knows it’s all meaningless. It’s my armor, shielding me from ever having to feel
anything
.

For twenty-eight years, it worked flawlessly.

What changed?

One look into those green eyes and the answer is obvious.

“I want to forgive you,” she says softly. “I just need some time, I think.”

“I can handle that.” And then, because I’m feeling courageous, I ask the question I’ve wanted answered since that night in the VIP room. “Did you mean what you said that night?”

You could have had me for free.
The words burn my memory and haunt my dreams.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t even know me.”

She sighs softly and looks out across the street. “I knew how you made me feel.”

“How did I make you feel?”

“Beautiful.”

“Don’t you always feel that way?”

She laughs. “Why would you assume that? Because I strip for a living?”

“Well . . .”

“Jax, there’s a difference between feeling beautiful and feeling sexy.”

I don’t understand, which must’ve been obvious by the expression on my face.

“Forget it,” she says with a sigh. “It’s really hard to explain.”

“But I made you feel that way?”

“Yeah. There was just something about the way you watched me when I was on stage. So, when you propositioned me, it just—”

“Made you feel cheap.”

“Yes.”

“That was never my intention.”

“I believe that.”

My phone chimes again. I’m tempted to cancel my three o’clock meeting, but the guy flew in from London, and that’d probably be rude.

“Have dinner with me.”

I haven’t had to ask for a date since I was eighteen years old. It’s still awkward as all hell.

And why are my palms sweaty?

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

We smile at each other.

“Tonight?” I ask, because I’m an impatient bastard.

“Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay, I’ll text you my address.”

We stand and say goodbye. I go one way, and she goes the other.

But I can’t help but think the direction doesn’t really matter.

We’re both moving
forward
.