Greyson.
My blood turned to ice.
Chapter Two
Joanna
I tugged at the skirt of the little “number” I was being forced to wear, it fit just right and hugged my curves exactly. That didn’t make me feel any better. I knew the way it fit me everyone was going to be looking at me. Leering at me.
That was my purpose after all. I regretted agreeing to the entire thing. Coming to the party, agreeing to my father’s request to work for the Fitzgeralds. I hated the way they pimped me out like I was nothing. Maybe to them I was nothing, just a pawn easily used when needed. My father was a good man, but he was weak. And he’d used me in the past.
This time, though, I wasn’t just talking his way out of a scrape. I was working off his debt for him. And it made my blood boil.
I’d gone to the address Janson gave me, a hotel in the middle of Inner Harbor, and took the elevator to the top floor. The presidential suite. It didn’t matter if this was the nicest part of town, at the nicest hotel, I didn’t want to be here. Still, I knocked on the door in front of me; a fake smile plastered on my face.
“Jo?” Janson greeted me and then ushered me in, he whispered, “you just made it.”
“You told me to be on time. I am.”
“On time means early, Jo. At least to Greyson.” The hand on the small of my back made me nervous. I side-stepped him and shrugged.
“I did what you told me.”
“Well, now I’m telling you to get into the kitchen and make sure you have all the necessary tools for the wet bar. The guys will be here any minute.”
I did what I was told and went back and forth, from the wet bar to the kitchen, carrying any ingredients I might need. It was all there, everything I would need to make any classic drink, and quite a few new ones too. Greyson was nowhere to be found, at least not yet, but that didn’t matter. I had a job to do. I shouldn’t be thinking about a man like Greyson Fitzgerald.
Or his handsome eyes. The way he looked at me.
No, I needed to avoid him, I need to try to make him ignore me. Janson was right, nothing good could ever come out of that. Ever.
He didn’t even know who I was. He couldn’t, if he did, he wouldn’t treat me with any kind of respect or kindness. He wouldn’t smile at me, request me by name. There was no way he could know.
I felt him before I saw him. All the small hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I could tell there was a presence behind me. I knew it was him by the smell of his cologne and the warmth coming off of his body. I turned and looked up into his face.
He was already so close.
“Glad to see you could make it,” he said, those eyes staring into mine, judging me. I felt trapped in his gaze, unable to look away.
And he knew it.
I broke away and let the tingle of electricity flow down my body to my most sensitive place. Damn, that he could do that with just a look was going to be a problem.
I shifted and then smiled at him.
“How can I help you, sir?” I kept my voice cold, flat. I wished I could sink into the walls and pretend I didn’t even exist.
“Oh, I can think of a few things I’d like you to do to help me out,” his voice trailed off but I got the gist of what he meant.
I was not amused. “Would you like a drink, sir?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Gin Rickey, sir?” I asked as I walked over to the side-car that served as the wet bar and looked at him, waiting.
“Yes, I think I’ll start there tonight. You remembered.”
I nodded.
“Might keep you around, Jo.” He grinned and walked over to the seating area. A table had been set up for poker. The green felt shone brightly under the hanging lamp over it. “Always need a woman to pour me a good drink.”
It was a sleazy sentence, but it didn’t come out sleazy. No matter what he said, it sounded sexy, deep, and mysterious. I didn’t want to coo over his words, but they sent another jolt of electricity through me.
I didn’t say a word, I just went back to tidying up my space.
“You answer the door when it knocks, you greet the guests, ask them what they would like to drink, offer them a cigar. Do you understand?” Janson asked me as he entered the space.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Greyson, are you ready to get your ass kicked?” Janson asked him, switching from giving me orders to acting like I wasn’t there. I almost felt resentful until I remembered where I was. Who I was with.
I was not an Irish princess here, no. I was just a worker, someone who was paying off a debt.
I had to keep reminding myself of that fact. This would all be over soon, and then I could forget that it ever happened. That Greyson Fitzgerald even existed.