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“Are you sure?” Like a mom, she sounds worried. “Did someone harass you? Because I can be as mean as a mama wasp. I will sic one of my men on them. You just say the word.”
“No… no, ma’am,” I stammer, mesmerized by her eyes. “I’m fine.” She smiles. “Really, I am. I just don’t belong here.”
“Listen,” she offers, “I have a private clothing collection on the second floor. I get so many samples sent to me; I’d be busier than a ceiling fan in July if I tried wearing them all. Come on.” She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “I got something luxe for you to wear tonight.”
“Uh… Thanks.” Glancing up, I catch Axel standing alone, but—oh, shit—he’s staring right at us, and I freeze. “But, I should go home. I have to work tomorrow.”
“What kind of heathen makes you work on a Sunday?”
I turn away from his searching glare. “The kind who lifts his leg when he pees.”
Ms. Faye laughs and leads me toward the door. “Can I have one of my cars drive you home?”
“No, thank you. I drove. I’m okay.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Next Saturday’s theme night, in your honor, will be a Country Night. Hot cowgirls. Big bulls. Lots of whips and rides. Promise me you’ll come back.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will.”
I don’t know if I can keep my promise, but I’m so used to Axel’s pursuit that I sense his approach. I’m too afraid to hug Ms. Faye and thank her for her kindness. I just wave goodbye and run across the parking lot.
I don’t even look back, knowing Axel will be standing there, wondering, “Who was that?”
CHAPTER FIVE
AXEL
Five blocksup Queen Street and right on King Street—that’s the route Ruby always takes.
So, what the fuck is she doing this morning?
I chase her until she darts right, disappearing into a parking garage, but I’m not dumb enough to follow. What if she busts me? So I run past, without stopping, as rage starts pumping through my veins.
I already felt off this morning because something was off last night.
I’d bet all my money that the blonde cowgirl talking to my mom at the club was Ruby.
The cowgirl stood out. The other women looked like plastic dolls and spoke like it, too. But for my mom’s business, I’m polite to them. Sure, I appreciate the finer things, but I’m drawn to real women. Real strength.
Like those sexy, frayed jean shorts. Those red cowgirl boots. The faded T-shirt that read, “To Hell I Won’t.” Who could miss a real beauty like that?
But the club was darker than usual, and the cowgirl looked like she was crying. She seemed vulnerable, almosttraumatized; I know that’s why my mom spoke to her. She spotted a woman in trouble and tried to help her, but the cowgirl ran away.
When I asked my mom who she was, she had no idea. When I asked if the blonde hair was a wig, she quipped, “Son, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her hair with her mood, and you’d be wise to say they’re all beautiful.”
As much as it felt like Ruby, it couldn’t have been her.
Ruby doesn’t cry. She doesn’t cower or cringe … but she does run.
At home, after my run and shower, I sit on my bed, yanking on my socks, and fuming to Sparky, “How fucking dare she run from me?”
Sparky nudges my elbow.
“And you…” I order, scratching her ear. “You’re going to the vet tomorrow and won’t scratch anyone. You understand? I need at least one pussy to obey me, and that’s you. And the other one?” I grin. “Let’s make her pay.”
In my office, an hour later, I hear Helen arrive at her desk. I’m aware it’s Sunday. I know my staff is working hard.
“Hey, Helen.” I step out to greet her. “And you, too, Samuel.” He looks up from his desktop. “Thanks for working this weekend. After these hearings tomorrow, take Tuesday and Wednesday off. Okay?”