Page 2 of Married to the Frenemy

“She’s fine. The pharmacy was just backed up and I didn’t want her to go without her antibiotics.”

“You’re a good mom.” She squeezes my arm. “How’s the apartment hunt going?”

I groan in frustration. “I’m beginning to think it’s hopeless. So far, every place has turned me down. Probably because they’re worried I won’t be able to make the rent. As it is, I’m not sure how I’ll come up with the down payment I need, especially with Christmas coming.”

“I’m sorry, Haley.” She gives me a sympathetic look, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the bar. “You could always…you know.”

She doesn’t come right out and say it. She doesn’t need to. I’m painfully aware of how some of the cocktail waitresses here supplement their income through prostitution. Hell, some girls ended up quitting and doing it full time when they learned how much they could make.

There was only one time I came even remotely close to crossing that line, thanks to unexpected medical bills for Maggie. Luckily, I came to my senses before I did something I’d regret, no matter how much money I could have made.

“It’ll be worthwhile. Especially for you.” Ivy leans closer. “Blondes are a dime a dozen around here.” She nods at the sea of blonde-haired cocktail waitresses. “But a natural redhead?” She toys with a tendril of my auburn hair. “Men go wild for that. A few of my regulars ask about you. Want to know if you’re available.” She places her drink order on her tray and carefully lifts it off the bar.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I respond with a tight smile.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Ivy reassures me as we make our way onto the casino floor.

The air is thick with the smell of tobacco and alcohol, mixed with the scent of sweat and desperation. The cacophony of slot machines ringing and patrons cheering is almost deafening, forcing us to raise our voices to be heard.

“The first time is tough. Fucks with your head. Now, I just kind of turn it off, ya know?”

She means well. But the mere thought of doing that makes my stomach churn. This isn’t the life I want for myself or my daughter.

“I’ll figure something out,” I tell her.

But with every passing day, my options seem to dwindle. I fear I may soon have no other choice than to do what I swore I never would.

CHAPTER TWO

BECKHAM

“Don’t tell me you’re going in to clean the tanks, too.”

I look up as I’m about to slip into a pair of rubber boots, a man with a cane slowly making his way down the rows of stainless steel vats.

“It relaxes me,” I tell him. “Helps me think.”

“You’re a better man than me,” Grady replies with a deep chuckle, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “When I was just starting out, it was my least favorite thing to do.”

“There’s something therapeutic about getting in there and scrubbing away every last trace of what was in there before.”

“A clean slate,” he remarks.

“Exactly.”

He knows better than most people how much I like the idea of a clean slate.

Unfortunately, I’ve learned past mistakes aren’t as easy to wipe away as the sediment in these steel tanks.

“I’m assuming you made some progress in the lab, then?”

“Sure did.” I move toward a long metal table against the wall and grab a test tube, handing it to him.

He brings it to his nose, taking a moment to inhale the rich aroma before taking a sip, allowing the flavor to settle on his tongue. It’s not mature yet, but it’s important to sample the wine throughout the process. You work as a winemaker long enough, and even those early tastes give you an insight into how the final product will taste once it’s had time to age in the barrels.

“Nice job, son,” Grady remarks with a twinkle of pride in his eyes.

“Thanks.”

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