Darius (Starkis Family #5) (8 page)

“But what if you had someone to help you?” he asked. “A partner. Someone you could lean on.”

I thought of Shaun. He’d told me I could always count on him. He promised he would always be there for me. He wasn’t the first person to tell me that, but he was the first person who’d made me believe it. “I don’t lean on people. That’s dangerous.”

“What about Daphne? Don’t you lean on her?”

I considered my relationship with my best friend. I loved her, but I didn’t need her. I could survive without her, but it would be tough. Since I lost Shaun, I’d vowed I’d never need another person again, no matter how tempting it may be. “Sure, I lean on her. She leans on me too. But our relationship will change eventually. We won’t always live together.” I pushed my plate aside, reaching for a paper napkin to wipe the grease from my fingers. “She’ll fall in love someday. Then he’ll become her best friend.”

“You could fall in love too, find someone who’ll be your best friend.”

“No.” I shook my head slowly. “I did that once before. Never again.”

“Just because your last boyfriend disappointed you doesn’t mean all men are the same.”

It wasn’t so much that Shaun had disappointed me. My relationship with him had just made me question how well I knew myself and whether I could trust my own judgment. I didn’t think I could anymore. That was why my easy conversations with Darius were so troubling—I didn’t know what to make of them.

“It’s not about men,” I said, trying to make him understand. “It’s about me. Some people are just meant to be single. I’m not sad about that.” I chuckled. “All people who are part of a happy couple, or hope to be, think that all single people are miserable. We’re not. Some of us just choose to be single.”

He reached across the table. “I think you choose to be single because you’re scared.”

I withdrew my hand quickly, and I saw the sting of rejection in his eyes, making me regret the action. “I’m not afraid of anything. You can’t possibly know me, Darius.” I really needed to drive this point home so he wouldn’t get any ideas about where this could go. “There are parts of myself I’ll never share with anyone, not even my closest friends.”

“Why?”

I considered that question carefully, trying to find the right words to explain. “Some people go through life being wide open and expressive. They wear their hearts on their sleeves. Some are more introverted, deep and brooding.” I considered where I fell on the scale. “Some, like me, believe that laughter soothes the soul.” I inhaled deeply, thinking about how amazing it felt to have a room full of people share my laughter. “In those few brief moments, when I’m on stage, I really feel connected to people. I’m giving them a glimpse of who I am. When they laugh, I feel like they approve of me. When they don’t, it feels like rejection.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought most comedians probably felt the same way.

He reached for both of my hands, proving that he was willing to take another chance, even though I’d just rejected him. “You know what I think? Inside, you’re still that vulnerable little girl who just wanted someone to love you. You get up on stage, and their laughter makes you feel as though they love you, or at least they love what you do.” He kissed my hands, one after the other, while looking into my eyes. “Here’s what you need to realize, Chels. You’re not hard to love. Give people a chance, and you might be surprised by how much they could love you.”

***

Darius

Sitting in a room with guys whose salaries I paid as they told me things I didn’t want to hear was starting to piss me off. They told me the club was in a bad location. It attracted the blue-collar crowd that didn’t have money to spend on food and drink, which would have provided higher margins. Wrong demographic. Not easily accessible via public transit. More male patrons than female, unlike other comedy clubs.

I was already too invested in this idea to walk away. Good or bad, I wanted them to tell me how to make it work, not give me all the reasons it wouldn’t work.

“Here’s the deal, guys,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the table. “I’m buying the club. I’m buying the building.” When they started to object, I raised my hand to silence them. “I’ve heard everything you said and realize if this fails, I have no one to blame but myself.”

I’d asked Damon to sit in on the meeting since he’d offered to let us use his boardroom and I wanted his input. His raised eyebrow told me I’d hear his opinion later and probably wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t care. I knew what I wanted to do, and no one would talk me out of it.

“But now your objective is to figure out how to overcome all of those obstacles you just highlighted. I realize we can’t do anything about the location, but I want you to put together a team to help retrain the staff, rework the menu, and devise a marketing strategy. In the meantime, the owner of the building is waiting outside. Once he and I hammer out a deal, I’ll get started on the reno and let you know when our grand reopening will be. I’ll need things on your end to be ready for the big launch.”

“Any idea how long that will be?” Barry, the senior consultant, asked.

“Let’s plan on three months.” I expected the renovation to take two and half months, but I had to allow for extra time for unforeseen problems.

“You’re the boss.”

Both men stood and shook my hand before assuring me they’d start on my directives right away.

“Are you sure about this?” Damon asked once we were alone. “If I’d heard everything they just said, I’d be ready to walk away from this deal.”

I knew emotion shouldn’t figure into a business decision. My father had hammered that into my head enough times over the years. But this went beyond a healthy bottom line. I wanted to help a woman I cared about, one who really deserved a break. “I’m sure, Damon. This is what I want to do.”

“You’re doing this because of that girl, aren’t you?”

I’d been able to think of little else since I met her. Yeah, I was doing this for
that girl
. “The people who work there can’t afford to lose their jobs. Chelsea and her roommate, not to mention the widow in the other apartment, deserve better living conditions. Trust me when I tell you they’re deplorable.”

“You’re not a non-profit out to help people in distress, cuz. You’re a businessman. You need to think about the bottom line.”

He was right. But maybe I could put this in terms he would understand. “If Eleni had been living hand-to-mouth when you met her and had to walk through a goddamn dark and dangerous alley at two in the morning just to get to her apartment, would you have stood for that?”

Damon tipped his chair back, his gaze hitting the ceiling. “No. Are you saying Chelsea’s—”

“Living in a shithole and sleeping on a goddamn mattress on the floor. Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” I couldn’t think about that excuse for an apartment without wanting to beat the shit out of her landlord. And now that we were about to come face-to-face, it would take everything in me to restrain myself, especially if he wasn’t willing to man up.

“That sucks, man.”

I knew millions of people lived that way, some even worse off than Chelsea, but I didn’t know them personally. Their beautiful blue eyes didn’t haunt me when I tried to sleep. The thought of their laughter didn’t make me smile at random times throughout the day.

“Yeah, it does. So do you get why I’m doing this?” I didn’t need Damon to understand or approve, but it would have been nice to hear someone tell me I wasn’t crazy.

“I do.” He pushed his chair back before offering his hand. “Good luck with it. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thanks, I will.” When Damon curled his hand around the doorknob, I said, “Can you send the slumlord in? He should be waiting in the lobby.”

“Should I send security up here to supervise?” Damon asked with a half-smile. “I’m not sure I should trust you alone with this guy.”

“Only because I’m in your office building,” I said, hand to heart, “I’ll behave. I swear.”

“You better,” Damon said, rubbing his hand over the white wall. “Blake and I just had this place painted. We don’t wanna see any blood splatter.”

I chuckled as he left and closed the door. After our pizza date last night, Chelsea had given me her cell number. I wanted to use it now, just to check in, but I decided to wait until I had good news to share.

After a brief knock, a young, well-dressed man entered. “Darius Starkis?”

“Yeah.” I stood, extending my hand before gesturing toward the chair across from me. It wouldn’t help to put him on the defensive. I had to feel him out first, make sure he was still as receptive to selling as Billy had claimed. “Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Smyth.”

“Not a problem.”

He released the button on his dark suit before sitting, and I took in the little details that screamed wealth. Well-cut suit, probably designer. Italian shoes. Diamond watch. By contrast, I wore faded jeans, my trusty steel-toed boots, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back. I didn’t have to dress to impress, but he clearly did.

“I was surprised to get your call,” he said with a sly smirk. “I understand your family’s in the restaurant business. What would you want with a dive like—”

“Then you admit it’s a dive?” I leaned forward, clenching my jaw as I laced my hands on the table. “And you’re aware people have to live in that dive? Including a woman with mobility issues in her eighties?”

Color rose in his cheeks as he ran a hand over his dark silk tie. “Uh, I realize it may have fallen into disrepair in recent years. You see, my father lost interest. He was looking to retire. He passed suddenly, and I haven’t had a chance to deal with it.”

“And now you want to dump it rather than try to bring it up to code? I don’t have to tell you about all the violations, do I? I’m sure you know.”

“Uh, I’ve been meaning to—”

“Save it.” I didn’t want to hear his excuses. I just wanted to get on with this so I could move forward with my own plans. “Sell me the place, and your problems are my problems.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand why…” A slow smile spread across his face, revealing teeth that could have landed him in a toothpaste commercial. “It’s that hot little blonde who lives there, isn’t it? You her boyfriend?”

“None of your business.”

“I should have known,” he said, snapping his fingers as he pointed at me. “I asked her out a couple of times when I was there to collect the rent checks, but she always shot me down. I couldn’t figure out why. Now I guess I know, huh? She had a bigger fish on the line.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I knew exactly what he was implying—that Chelsea was a gold digger. If I hadn’t already wanted to knock out his teeth, that comment would have sealed the deal.

He shrugged. “She’s a hot little piece. I figured she probably had a good reason for”—he rubbed his fingers together in the universal money symbol—“turning me down.”

I clenched my hands, itching to lay him out. “She probably turned you down ‘cause you’re a dick.”

He leaned forward, pointing at me. “Hey, I—”

“I suggest you sit back, shut up, and listen to my offer before I knock you out.” Since I had several inches and thirty pounds of muscle on him, he was smart enough to do as he was told. “Three mil. We close by the 30
th
of this month.” That would give my lawyers three days to pull this together.

“That building’s worth at least—”

“We both know it’s not even worth that much. You want to have it inspected and appraised?” I reached for my cell phone. “Good idea. Let’s do that.”

“Wait.”

I’d had a feeling that would make him rethink his position. “What?”

“I’ll take the offer.”

“Good. My lawyer will be in touch with you later today to get your lawyer’s contact information.” When he offered his hand, I glared at it. “Get. Out.”

Darius

I was officially the proud owner of one run-down building, including the comedy club it housed, and my boys wanted to take me to Exodus to celebrate. Since I knew Chelsea was bartending there tonight and I hadn’t seen her in a couple of days, I’d thought it was a good idea.

I was wrong.

Watching drunk guys hit on her every time she turned around was really pissing me off. We’d talked on the phone the last few nights, and she’d told me what it was like for her at the nightclub, but seeing it and hearing about it were two different things. Seeing it made me want to start busting people up.

“Would you relax?” Blake said, grabbing my shoulder. “You’re starting to make
me
nervous.”

I glared at Damon across the table. “What kind of security lets their employees get groped like that? You guys need to do something about this, or I will.” Since Damon was part owner of the nightclub chain, I held him personally responsible for Chelsea’s discomfort, and I intended to make sure he did something about it.

“I didn’t see anyone grope her,” Damon said, swirling the ice around in his glass. “I saw a guy accidentally spill his drink on her and reach for a napkin to help her wipe it up.”

The smile he was trying to hide was going to earn him a shot between the eyes if he wasn’t careful. “He wouldn’t have spilled the goddamn drink in the first place if he hadn’t been ogling her rack.”

“You can’t blame the guy,” Chase said, sighing as he glanced at Chelsea. “That is one hot little body.”

I knew he was just messing with me. “Shut up, or you’re next on my hit list.”

He grinned, crunching a half-melted ice cube. “Whatever you say, man.”

“You need to have a word with your head of security,” I said to Damon. “That shit is unacceptable.”

“Relax, Darius,” Deacon said, gesturing to Chelsea. “Bartenders dress like that and flirt with the guys ‘cause they make most of their money from tips. Look at her.”

I was looking at her, and I wasn’t loving what I was seeing. Okay, I was loving it, but I wasn’t loving all the other guys who were loving it too. Even though it had only been a little over a week since we met, we’d been out a few times, talked on the phone ‘til dawn, and kissed more than a few times. I felt territorial.