Page 80 of Stripped

CHAPTER TWELVE

Two weeks later

“Hi, honey, I'm home,” Gage said. He stalked into the apartment we shared, and tripped on the curled-up corner of the rug, like he did every time he stepped inside his apartment. Maybe I'd replace it for him before I moved out, it was the least I could do to thank him for letting me stay. When I'd gotten to Denver, two weeks earlier, he hadn't hesitated to let me crash with him, had seemed thrilled to have me.

I shoved another bite of cereal into my mouth and gave him a little wave. He'd been at work all night at the strip club he managed and I was eating breakfast. I was trying to eat breakfast, since my stomach was whirling with butterflies. Today was my first day at a new job. It wasn't much, an entry-level sales position, but it was with a huge national supply chain and there would be tons of opportunity for me to move up in the company.

He looked me up and down and whistled. “You look slick, baby. That suit could be sharp on stage.” He looked me over again. “You'd need to show a bit more cleavage and shorten the skirt, but it could work.”

“I'm not dancing for you.” I looked at my phone, pushed my chair back and stood. “And I'm going to be late if I don't leave now.”

He blinked. “You're leaving for work at…” He blinked over at the clock. “Damn, when did it get to be seven?”

“Probably while you were betting on darts or poker or… Whatever it is you bet on.”

I'd learned about Gage's gambling problem shortly after I'd moved in with him. Of course, he didn't consider it a problem, but when he couldn't afford to fill his fridge, I figured it was more than just a fun hobby.

“Want me to walk you to work?”

Gage's place was downtown and my new job was in an office complex about ten blocks away. It was going to be hell on my feet in heels, but walking there was quicker than driving in the city traffic. “No thanks. You should get to bed. You must be exhausted.”

He bent and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Good luck today, Babe.”

“Thanks.” I smoothed down my skirt, picked up my purse, and hurried out the door, down the six flights of stairs, and onto the street.

I was five blocks into my commute and my feet were screaming for mercy when my phone dinged with a text. I pulled it out to see a good luck message from Julie. I smiled and slipped my phone back into my purse.

I'd kept in touch with her after all. She sent me pictures of Daisy at least three times a day and I told her how my job hunt was going. We didn't discuss Zane, but she'd let me know the pack was doing well and there'd been no more trouble from the vampires.

When I'd gotten to Denver, I'd allowed myself one day to cry about Zane and wallow in self-pity and then I'd pushed him out of my mind. I'd moved on. I'd gotten a great job, I was living in a city with a coffee shop on every corner and a buzzing, fun social scene. I was living the dream.

Okay, so I had watched his yoga videos online three… Hundred times, but that was just to see if they were picking up any viewers. They were doing amazing and had tons of views. No advertising, yet, but that would come. Maybe when more time had passed, I'd remind Julie to get him to make yoga DVDs he could sell. Other than the occasional slip-up watching online videos, though, I was doing great. Every once in a while, I thought I saw Zane on the street and once I'd thrown myself at a guy I was sure was him, hugged him so hard I nearly choked him out, but that was normal. I'd made the right choice.

And I could mostly convince myself I'd done the right thing leaving Zane, except for the middle of the night, when I woke from yet another nightmare filled with vampires and blood and my friends screaming. In those moments, I'd curl up into a ball and I'd miss Zane so bad I wanted to scream. I longed for his warm arms around me, his soothing voice in my ear, the promise of safety and love that I'd only ever felt with him.

I was so deep in thought, I almost walked right past my new office building. I paused in front of the glass doors and smoothed my skirt. I hurried inside and checked in at reception. My new boss, a perky woman with the biggest brown eyes I'd ever seen and the ability to walk on four-inch heels like she was running a marathon, showed me around the office and led me to my cubicle.

It was a tiny space, and I shared it with four other people, but it was mine, all mine. I sat at the desk and got settled. “Go ahead and set up your voice mail and look over your emails,” she said. “Howard will be here in a bit to give you a tour of the warehouse and talk to you about our products. Later, I'd like you to sit in on a client meeting.”

“Sounds great.”

She left and I got to work setting up my voice mail message and checking out my email and the basic qualities of my computer. It took about five minutes, and I was left staring at a computer screen with nothing to do.

It was a strange feeling to have nothing to do at work. I'd always wished for a free moment at the club, a moment when I wasn't worrying about anyone or trying to get account sheets to add up correctly. Now that I had that moment, I realized it was darn boring.

I spun my chair to check out my cube mates. Two of them were on phone calls, chattering away animatedly. The fourth was clicking through a website that sold purses. “That's a cute one,” I said when she clicked on a bright red clutch and the image filled the screen.

She spun to face me. She looked young, early twenties, and she had a tiny upturned nose, bright blue eyes, and dark hair. She could have been an angel in a painting by… Some famous painter. My boss had introduced us, but I'd met so many people, I didn't remember her name.

Her expression when we'd been introduced had been cheerful and sweet, but she scowled at me now. “Didn't you used to own a strip club?”

I breathed deep and pushed down the urge to get defensive. I'd be sharing this cubicle with this woman for a long time. “I did. In a small town about four hours from here.”

“Right,” she said, with a sneer. “So, I don't think I'll be taking any fashion advice from you.”

I looked over her outfit, ready to throw down my own verbal barb, but the guy in the corner across from her spun and faced us. “Really, Bridget, you shouldn't turn down any fashion advice.” Bridget, that was her name. And the guy, Ron, I think, was clearly lying, because Bridget's outfit was adorable. Bridget huffed and hurried out of the cubicle mumbling something about coffee.

“Don't worry about her,” Ron said. “She's horrible to everyone. It's cool you owned a business. I love strip clubs.”

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