Page 7 of The Smoke Hour

“Yes, the fuck she does if I say she does,” I disputed and rose from my seat, daring them to challenge me.

“You can’t hold her against her will,” the tall one argued.

“You’re right. But I can hold her until I call the police. I don’t know where all she went inside my club before I arrived. For all I know, she could have been in the office and stole some shit. I’m making a gahdamn citizen’s arrest,” I declared.

“You’re kidding me,” the tall one stated.

“Please, sir,” the short one pleaded.

“Y’all can go,” I repeated.

“But she didn’t—” the tall one commented as the short one remarked, “She just wanted one final night of fun before marrying that bastard next week.”

“Christina!” the other two women shouted at the short one.

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses, and she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

My curiosity was piqued.

“Goodbye, ladies. Josephine, you can stay, precious.”

She huffed out a breath but didn’t make another move to leave.

“You’re not coming with us?” the tall one stated.

“No. I don’t need you all to protect me. I can handle my shit on my own.”

I walked up to her and locked the door behind them.

“Are you holding me hostage?”

I took several steps to take myself closer to her.

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Are you?”

“Why would I be drunk, running my club?”

“Why do you think I am?” she challenged.

“Trying to make sense why a woman like you would pull the shit that you did tonight.”

“A woman like me?”

I shrugged. “You give me professional vibes. I mean, I know secretaries and bosses need to let their hair down once in a while, but…”

“I’m no secretary.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a dancer either. I know them a mile away, and that’s not you.”

I noticed that she didn’t say that she wasn’t a boss.

“You don’t know me.”

I smirked at that truth. But I wondered why that simple statement made me want to know her.

“Am I being held hostage?” the woman repeated.

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