“Damn, dude,” Nathan continues, “What the hell is going on? You disappear and now I find you back here passed out, looking fucked up as all hell. How much did you drink?”
“Not drunk,” I say slowly, focusing on every syllable to make sure I’m understood. I remember throwing back that one beer, my second drink for the night. The champagne was the other, and it was a half glass.
“Not drunk?” Nathan demands, his face twisted in confusion. “Jake, you know damn well we can’t be having drugs in . . .”
“Drugged,” I say, not knowing if I’m thinking clearly enough. That had to be it. The beer. It had to be. It just doesn’t make sense any other way.
Nathan looks shocked. “What?”
“I was drugged,” I manage in a froglike croak. “I don’t know how or why, but someone spiked my drink.”
“It was that fucking tramp I ran into on the way here!” Nathan half yells, jumping to his own conclusion. “I knew there was something fishy about that broad being back here!”
“Roxy?” I ask, remembering her flirty dimple-filled smile. I don’t consider myself naive, but I don’t think my angel is responsible.
“That’s her name?” Nathan snarls, turning away. “I’m gonna go out there, find her, and call the cops . . .”
I hold out my hand and tried to stand, but I collapse back onto the bed, my head pounding. “Wait!”
Nathan turns back, scowling.
I shake my head weakly. “Don’t call,” I rasp. “Seriously.”
“Why the fuck not? If we let this type of shit happen, we’re going to be finished.”
“You’re usually more levelheaded than this. Think about it. I’m the one fucked up and I’m thinking more clearly. If you call the cops, that’s all everyone’s going to be talking about. We don’t need the negative press. Let’s just look at the security tapes and figure out what to do.”
The rage flees his face and his shoulders relax. “Shit, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”
I nod. “And there’s no need to call the ambulance. I just need a little time and some fluids. I can already feel the effects wearing off a little bit.”
Nathan runs his fingers through his hair. “What were you thinking, bringing her back here . . .” His voice trails off as if he suddenly seems to notice that I’m sitting on the bed. “Shit, did you at least hit it?”
I shake my head. “Was about to.”
“Man, what the fuck? All your talk about being on the straight and narrow, but you're bringing sluts to the back room on our grand opening night—”
“She’s not a slut,” I cut in.
“Really? Then what the fuck is she?” Nathan asks.
Nathan shakes his head when I can’t answer. “She probably robbed your ass blind.”
I pat my pockets and realize my wallet is missing. “Fuck me!”
Nathan is staring at me incredulously. “See? What did I tell you? Why else would she drug you if not to rob your ass!”
Anger tightens my stomach. Fuck, how could I be so stupid? “I’ll call and cancel all my cards. She won't be able to get shit off them. Listen, my head can’t take much more of this shit right now. Leave me be for a bit and go check the tapes.”
I’m glad when Nathan leaves without an argument, and I can’t help but see Roxy in my mind. That sweet, angelic smile and her irresistible laugh.
But no matter how hard I try to reason things, the fact of the matter is that my wallet is gone. Which leaves me with only one explanation.
My little angel is a thief.
“Roll the footage,” Nathan orders Andre, our head security guy.
I’d sat in the bedroom for twenty minutes, trying to gather myself before Nathan came back and helped me through the back to the security room. I can stand on my own, but the world’s still spinning a little, and I know I probably sound drunk as hell. Still, I’ve got my wits about me, more or less.
“That’s her!” I half-slur, pointing as I get up. I grab the edge of the desk as a wave of dizziness washes over me. On the video, Roxy is approached by some guy, and I recognize him. He was there when I approached her. He orders her a beer, and she never touches it, but when she looks away, you can see as clear as day that he slips something in the bottle.
“Son of a bitch,” Nathan breathes. “That bastard slipped something in her drink!”
I grab the edge of the security desk in a white-knuckled grip, my lip curling as I stare at the image on the screen, searing the man’s face into my memory. If I ever see him again, he’s going to get a beating. “Find him.”
Andre clears his throat. “I’ll get on the radio to the floor guys, and I’ll keep checking footage here. Trust me, if that asshole shows up again, he’s gonna catch a beatdown.”
“Okay, maybe I was wrong about the girl,” Nathan admits as we leave. I’m angry and would love nothing more than to go track this guy down, but the drug’s effect is too strong for me. “But it still doesn’t explain the wallet.”
“I’m going to go with it was an accident.” It’s the only alternative to she stole it and the one I want to believe most. Even an angel makes mistakes.
“Either way, we got a huge problem on our hands if this motherfucker is going around doin’ this shit. We have to catch him. I just don't know if we should call the police now or after we catch him,” Nathan says while I recover. “This type of shit is bad for business.”
“No cops for now,” I half growl, pissed off. “I want to teach this guy a lesson first.”
Roxy
“You can’t be serious! You’re not going back there!” Hannah says, pacing the floor of our apartment. Moonlight is shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and even in this state, I have to admit that the view is the thing I like most about the place. Hannah is wearing Barney pajamas, of all things, and has put her hair into pigtails. I swear she looks like a big-eyed Angelica from the kids’ cartoon Rugrats.
Our grumpy looking cat, Mr. Felix, an orange and white Persian who adopted us when we were seniors in college, lazily watches her pace the room from his perch on the couch. I’m sure to him, his only concern about all of this is whether he’s going to have to get strict when it comes time for his humans to put out his food in the morning.
“Why not?” I demand. “I have his wallet. He’s gonna think I stole it.”
Hannah stops to scowl at me. “Honey, by now, he already thinks you stole it! Because, well, you did.”
“I did not!” I protest. “I just didn’t realize I’d stuffed it in my purse in my panic to leave.”
Her words sink in, and I feel a feeling of despair creep through me. “There must be something I can do. I can’t keep his wallet. The longer I have it, the guiltier I’ll look.”
Hannah nods. “There is. Just go by Monday and turn it in to the club. Or better yet, mail it to the guy. You have his address, assuming his driver’s license is up to date.”
“Wait,” I say. “Let me look him up.” I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Taking out his wallet, I pull out his license and see that it’s out of state, which makes me worry. But I have his full name, and I type it into Google on my phone.
The first headline makes my eyes go wide, and I jump so hard I nearly drop the phone. Corporate Executive And Stock Wizard Opens Club Jasmine. I click the link and see that most of it is a PR piece that was published just yesterday. My heart hammers in my chest as I read about how the two friends came together to open up Club Jasmine and how they wanted to make a new type of nightclub for the city. But the photo catches my attention more. It’s the same face, the same piercing eyes that captured me earlier tonight. He’s standing in the picture with the same guy who accosted me in the hallway.
“Oh, my God, he owns the club with his friend. That’s the same guy I saw in the hallway.”
“Let me see.” Hannah grabs the phone. “Shit, you weren’t lying. Mr. Jake Stone is sexy as hell. He’s got those looks and money. Life ain’t fair.”
“Yeah, not fair that he passed out before I could ride him to heaven and back,” I complain.