Page 20 of Wicked Lies

“Why don’t we see how it all works out first.” Nick rounded his desk, rummaged through a drawer, then held out a key. He nodded to the garbage bag at her feet. “Bring your stuff up to the apartment, then come downstairs at seven.”

Cheryl grabbed the key, scooped up her belongings, and beelined out of the office before Samson had a chance to convince Nick he was crazy. She eyed the elevator and decided on the stairs. Once inside the stairwell, she exhaled and trooped up the steps as her plastic bag of belongings thumped behind her.

She calmed her pulsing blood with self-talk, like taking it day by day and, little by little, socking away money again for her escape. If nothing else, she had a nice place to stay and a job in an upscale club far enough away from the Pit. Hopefully, it was far enough away from anyone who might be able to connect her with Jimmy’s death.

* * *

Samson jumpedout of the chair the minute the office door closed. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?”

“What happened to my suspicious, hardass friend, Nick, who hates everybody?”

“Very funny.”

Samson cocked his head. “No, really, this chick obviously has some kinda fucked-up story. She rolls in here at midnight looking like she’s running for her life, sells you some bullshit story, and you let her stay in the apartment upstairs. Then she says she’ll be gone by morning but instead comes back with probably everything she owns in a garbage bag. To top it off you hire her to work as a bartender without knowing anything about her.”

“We do need another bartender.”

“Yeah, but not one who’s obviously on the run from something or someone.”

“Probably has something to do with that deadbeat, Jimmy.”

“And that’s another thing. Just the fact that she was with that lowlife should be a huge red flag.”

“Like you never made a bad decision or got with messed up women.” Nick shot Samson a hard look. He didn’t like throwing that shit in Samson’s face, but fact was fact. “You’re like a magnet when it comes to fucked-up women.”

“You’re right, and you ragged on my ass and called me out every chance you got.”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?” Nick grinned, mainly because Samson was right. Nick usually played the bastard when it came to women, and he had no idea why he wanted to be Cheryl’s savior.

“All I’m sayin’ is you better keep eyes on her 'cause I don’t trust her.”

“That’s all on you, partner, since the employees are your job.”

“Exactly, so instead of letting me vet her like we do every other employee, you just welcome her with open arms. Fuck yeah, you can take the job.” Samson screwed up his face. “Seriously, what the hell? We’ll probably have a dip in profits the first night she works.”

“Aren’t you always bragging about how that new POS system makes it impossible to skim?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep throwing bullshit.”

“Didn’t you just tell me I needed to relax more the other day? I think your exact words were to ‘ease the fuck up.’”

“I didn’t mean with some random chick whose life is contained in a Hefty bag and probably looking to rip us off.”

“You’re too suspicious. I think Cheryl’s gonna work out. If she does, we can bring her to the new club. You gotta admit that she’s definitely got the right look.”

Samson huffed out a long breath and turned toward the door mumbling, “Now, you’re getting way ahead of yourself.”

Nick stared at the door for a few long minutes after Samson left, confused by his reaction. It was usually Samson who wanted to save random women, not him. He was a lot of things, but he was nobody’s savior. Shit, what if Samson was right and Cheryl was just pulling some kind of con? Tonight he’d make sure he spent the whole night on the floor, keeping an eye on his newest employee.

8

Cheryl rolled the tension from her shoulders as she descended the stairwell’s concrete steps leading to the club. She congratulated herself on getting the job at the Oasis and wangling another few nights in the very comfortable apartment upstairs. Samson was definitely against it, but she’d win him over in time. Making people like her was one of Cheryl’s most valuable talents, along with nimble fingers and a light touch.

One of the female bartenders dropped off the lycra miniskirt and fitted tank top earlier with the Oasis emblem, then Nick texted her, telling her to meet Samson at the main bar. It looked like the stone-faced Samson would be her direct boss. Cheryl pushed through the security doors as the cleaning staff and waitresses scurried around to get ready for another night. She threw out the random compliment earlier, comparing the Oasis to the bigger Midtown clubs, but she wasn’t too far off. Cheryl spent enough nights in upscale nightspots to know the décor, overall mood, and vibe of the Oasis spelled success.

Within hours, the place would radiate with the chaos of people determined to enjoy the simmering frenzy. Cheryl weaved her way around the perimeter. The club had one main bar and two smaller ones on each side of the room where she would start by learning the POS system and the overall workings of the Oasis.

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