Page 16 of The Billionaire Babe

It has been a few days since I was at Club Vine. Since the security guy rescued me. And although I have been busy at work, and with the Rothschild opportunity circling in my mind, I have been constantly thinking of the big guy and his contradicting qualities.

How strong and tough he is with others, yet how gentle he was as he held my hand. How gruff he is in tone when others are around, but how soft he was when it was just us. My skin heats even now thinking about his hands on my body and the way my heart races every time I see him. I must be certifiably crazy to think that about a man I don’t even know. I don’t even know his name. In my limited dating experience, though, no man has had this effect on me ever. And that must mean something.

I feel flustered as I open my apartment door with my elbow and rush in to dump my bags on my kitchen counter before I pull out my ringing cell. The number is not familiar, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello? This is Valerie.” I singsong, trying not to sound flustered, even though I am. But I must uphold the perfect appearance, even on the phone.

“Valerie. This is Jimmy,” a man's voice says on the other end as I balance the phone between my chin and my shoulder and open the red wine so it can breathe. “Jimmy Sallon from Club Vine.” I pause at his clarification. I didn’t call him back last week because I thought I would see him at the club. But after the situation I had with the guy in the hallway, I didn’t stick around too much longer and forgot all about speaking to Jimmy.

“Ohh. Hi, Jimmy. How can I help you?” He is the last person I was expecting to call me. With only a few minutes before Chloe is due to arrive for dinner, I scramble across to my sideboard to find a vase for the flowers I just bought. Roses, of course, the namesake of my maternal grandmother. Rose Van Cleef herself.

“I hope I am not catching you at a bad time.”

“No, not at all,” I lie as I run the tap to fill the vase, multitasking my specialty. Bordeaux runs around my feet, his little nails rattling against my floorboards.

“I wanted to call and apologize for the incident this weekend. I can’t believe that you were accosted like that in the hallway, and I want to assure you that security will be upped and more lights and cameras are being installed this week.” This is unexpected. Most clubs don’t care about these types of things. Women get unwelcome advances all the time. I’ve lost count of the number of times us girls have been out and experienced unwanted butt grabs and drunken men getting too close on the dance floor.

“Thank you, Jimmy. I appreciate that. I know it is hard to keep a crowd like that under control, and you can’t always know who you are letting into the venue. Thank you for making those changes.”

“Well, your appearance at Club Vine, as you know, did the rounds on social media, and for that I am extremely thankful. It is hard to get a new business up and running in this city and having you and your friends in attendance made a big difference, not only that night, but the nights since as well. So if there is anything I can do in return, please let me know.” My thoughts automatically go back to the security guard.

“Actually, there is. I was wondering, can you tell me the man's name who rescued me? The security guard? I would like to thank him,” I ask, rolling my lips, trying to prevent the smile that threatens to spread on my face. I feel sneaky asking this, like I am going behind his back because he overtly didn’t want to tell me his name when I asked at the club. Even though he is infuriating and totally frustrating, he did a nice thing. And while it was his job, the way his eyes pierced mine took my breath away and the way his nostrils flared as he looked me up and down has had me repeating the entire scenario in my mind since the weekend.

“That was AJ. He owns Fortress, the security company I use. He is an old friend of mine. During the day, you will find him at Joe’s Gym down on Smith Street. He trains there for his fights,” he says, giving me more information than I expected. AJ. His name is fitting. Simple, solid. No questions asked.

“Fights?” I wonder what he is talking about.

“He is a boxer. Has a fight coming up, actually.” Isn’t he just a world of information?

“A boxer?”

“Yeah, champion underground boxer. I got a good deal when he started his security firm with his friends, Brady and Cody. No one will mess with them. They are known as the Baltimore Boys. Grew up on the outskirts, still hard and angry, but they are damn good at what they do,” Jimmy says proudly, and I make a mental note not to tell Jimmy anything because he seems to like to talk.

“Thank you, Jimmy,” I say, my smile now wide, having gotten more information than I was expecting.

“No problem. So will we see you this Saturday? Maybe your friend Simone will come with you?” He fishes for the information I know he wants. Given he was so forthcoming on AJ, and I already know Simone likes him, I offer him a tidbit.

“Simone needs to work this weekend. She is a physio with the local NFL team, so she needs to be at the game this week. But we might be able to come afterward or perhaps next weekend.” Now I need to tell Simone that I have spoken to Jimmy.

“I would welcome you all back anytime.”

“I am sure we will see you again soon,” I tell him, just as there is a knock at my door. “I need to run. Thanks for the call.” I end the call quickly before running to the door.

“Hey,” I breathe out, opening the door wide, seeing Chloe with her hands full of takeout bags.

“I’m stressed. I need to eat.” She marches into my apartment with what looks to be a week's worth of Chinese food. Bordeaux runs around her feet, growling.

“I still don’t understand why your wino dog doesn’t like anyone,” she mumbles, clearly in a bad mood.

“Bordeaux loves you.”

Like she’s trying to prove me wrong, she leans over to pat him and nearly loses a finger in the process.

“Nope. Not going to happen,” she says, pulling back sharply, and I pick up my little guard dog and put him in his bed. She is right. Bordeaux hates everyone. “I think he needs dog therapy or something.”

“Is that even a thing?” I ask, surprised. I’ve never thought that Bordeaux needs any training, but she is right, he barks and growls at everyone and everything.

“No idea. I’ll have my shrink talk to your shrink, and then we can sort it out,” she says, throwing her bag on the table.

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