Page 7 of Ruining Hattie

BASTION

I ’ve been back in Seattle for a day, and already the urge to return to Wisconsin presses against me.

I’m anxious to get my plan underway. I’ve always been this way.

Trent would calm me, tell me not to rush.

To always be prepared. Every time I think of the photo albums I found at the bottom of Hattie’s closet, it’s as if my insides turn to oil, and I want to punish someone.

Sure, I could show up on Carla’s doorstep and give her a piece of my mind, but the satisfaction I’ll gain from that will only be temporary.

Slowly deconstructing her pride and joy, peeling away the layers of na?veté and innocence that cocoon Hattie, will be much more satisfying.

Carla will never be able to look at her little angel the same, and for the rest of her life, she’ll know it’s her fault that I went after her precious daughter.

She’ll have no one to blame but herself.

Let her live with the shame of ruining her daughter since she seems to feel nothing for ruining her son.

There’s a knock on my office door, and I sigh. “What?”

Ray pops his head in. “Sean is here to see you, boss.”

I nod. “Any of the VIP rooms free?”

I’ve never invited Sean into my office. The last thing I need is someone like him snooping around in here. We may have a mutually beneficial business relationship, but he’s not to be trusted.

The only person I truly trust in this world is my sister, Ariana.

I can’t even say that I wholly trust Trent.

Sure, he raised me as his own, but he loves nothing more than a con, and I’ve never felt entirely confident that he wouldn’t throw me to the wolves if it benefited him in some way.

Everyone has their price—except my sister. She never has.

“Yeah, one of them is open,” Ray says.

“Put him in there. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Ray nods and closes the door behind him.

There’s nothing I can’t get up and walk away from right now, but I’m not going to let it appear that I’m at Sean’s beck and call.

He’s in my place of business, not the other way around.

So I take a few minutes to check Hattie’s social media profiles to see if she’s posted anything today—she hasn’t.

In fact, her profiles are boring as shit.

The last time she even posted was six months ago, and it was a picture of her and some other church members at a soup kitchen.

Finally, I stand from my desk and throw on my suit jacket before leaving my office, locking it, and heading toward the front of the house.

It’s Saturday night, so the place is packed.

Music pumps through the large room, and the men seated at the stage’s edge wave dollar bills, desperate for the attention of the girl dancing on stage.

I’m not surprised since it’s Paige, a.k.a. Amethyst. She’s one of the more popular dancers, hence the Saturday night shift.

She catches my eye as I walk through the room and gives me a quick smile, which I return. Paige is a good employee. Shows up for her shifts, doesn’t cause any drama, and always has requests for lap dances or visits to the VIP room.

Ray is posted at the entrance to the hallway that houses the VIP rooms, and he gives me a nod as I approach. “Five.”

“Thanks, Ray.” I smooth my tie down my chest and pass him.

The door to room number two opens as I walk by, and one of the dancers, Renee, a.k.a. Blaze, walks out, closing the door behind her. I’m sure her client is probably taking a moment to clean himself.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she reaches for my wrist. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I frown in concern. Something is clearly wrong, and it makes me wonder what just went down in the VIP room. I really don’t want to deal with a shitty customer tonight.

“Sure.” I lead her over to the wall, putting myself between her and the room she just vacated. “What’s going on?”

“I’m scheduled for next Tuesday afternoon, but I have to take my kid to the doctor. It’s the only time I could get an appointment.” Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.

I know her four-year-old son has been having some ongoing health issues lately, and she’s been trying to get to the bottom of it.

I give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Tell Emma I’d like her to try to switch you out with one of the other dancers if possible. If not, we’ll have to be short-staffed. You need to take care of your little guy.”

Emma does the schedule for all the dancers, and we have a rule that there’s no changing shifts.

Before we instituted the rule, everyone was always complaining about who got what shift, swapping shifts with each other.

It was too chaotic, so we had to put a stop to it.

We lost a couple of good dancers who needed more flexibility, but overall, it’s worked well for us.

A wide smile transforms the concerned look on her face. “You’re the best. Thanks, boss!” She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek before rushing down the hall.

Relieved it’s not something worse, I proceed to door number five. When I open it, I find Sean bent over the table, doing a line of his own product.

I close the door with a slam, and Sean’s head whips up, white dust falling from his nose. He smiles when he sees me and holds out the rolled-up bill he’s using to snort the powder off the table toward me.

My hands fist at my sides. I’ve never loved letting this little shit run drugs through my clubs, not after how I grew up, but it’s a means to an end—money.

Besides, there’s this little thing called free will.

People have to make their own choices. If they end up fucking up their lives from using, that’s on them.

“I’m good.”

Sean shakes his head. “I’m gonna get you to give it a go one of these days.”

No, he won’t. But it’s not a point worth arguing.

“Why are you here?” I sit at the far end of the built-in couch that runs like a U around the small room.

Sean rubs his nose and sniffs. “My bosses have been running some numbers, and they think we’re handing too much over to you. They want to reduce your cut by ten percent.”

I unbutton my suit coat and casually cross my legs. “Tell your bosses no. Anything else?” I arch an eyebrow.

Sean chuckles low. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to like that answer.”

My head tilts. “I thought you were the big boss man?”

He scowls and shifts in his seat. “Everyone has someone above them.”

I shrug. “I don’t. Unless it’s some woman riding my dick.”

The way his nostrils flare, he doesn’t like that. “Regardless, all this shit”—he gestures to the powder on the table—“comes from somewhere. There’s always someone further up the line calling the shots.”

“What message did you come here to deliver, since you’re making it clear that you’re just the errand boy?”

“Like I said. They’re cutting your take by ten percent.”

I stand and fasten the button on my suit jacket closed. “No, they won’t, and if they try, they won’t be running anything through my clubs anymore. You’re not the only piece of shit who slings dope, you know.”

Sean stands too. “I told them you’d say no.”

“Good. Then they won’t be surprised.” Without waiting for him to respond, I make my way to the door. Once my hand is on the knob, I turn and look at him over my shoulder. “Make sure that shit is off my table before you leave this room.”

Then I head back to my office. No one stops me, as I’m sure my mood is written all over my face.

This shit with Sean is a problem. I’ll be surprised if whoever Sean’s dealing with accepts my no. Which means I’m going to have to come up with a contingency plan.

Shouldn’t be that hard. As I told Sean, he’s not the only player in town.

The biggest challenge will be doing so while I’m spending half my time in Wisconsin.

I wanted to move things along with Hattie slowly so that I don’t spook her.

So that when all the pieces are in place, she’s primed and ready to accept my offer.

Instead, as I reach my office, I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up my lawyer’s number.

I don’t give a shit if it’s Saturday night. He always answers my calls.

Of course, he answers on the first ring. “Saturday night? Really, Bastion?”

“I want the timeline moved up. Make them an offer they can’t refuse. I want this deal closed in the next three weeks max.” I hang up and slam my office door shut behind me.

Just like when she was in my life, Carla’s reappearance has meant nothing but emotional turmoil for me.

I flew back into Wisconsin last night. I hadn’t planned to be here until Tuesday morning so that I’d meet Hattie at the café that evening, but I changed my mind last minute on Sunday afternoon.

I want to spend today and tomorrow trailing Hattie.

I need to really know this woman if I’m going to be able to manipulate her.

She leaves for work at the exact same time as she did the day I broke into her apartment last week. Creature of habit. No big surprise. She’s a con artist’s dream.

Hattie drives straight to work in her shitty little sedan—no stops for breakfast or coffee. When lunch rolls around, a bunch of her colleagues leave to grab something, but not Hattie. She must pack a lunch or not eat at all. I should’ve guessed that Hattie’s a brown bagger.

At the end of the day, she appears a little bit after the majority of her coworkers have already departed, and I sink down in my seat when she pulls out of the parking lot. Once she’s passed me, I start the car and follow her. She heads to Carla’s salon.

Seeing the two of them together through the front window makes my chest tighten, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

They laugh as if they don’t have a care in the world, and I grit my teeth.

Then Carla takes Hattie to the back of the salon, but when they return, Hattie’s hair is wet, and it’s clear that she’s here for a haircut.

I hope Hattie doesn’t cut her long, dark hair too much .

What the fuck is that thought about?

The steering wheel creaks as my hands tighten around it. I force myself to let go and shake out my aching hands. That’s a habit I need to stop.

Nothing eventful happens while Hattie gets her hair cut, and she gives Carla a long embrace before she leaves. Relax, ladies, you’ll see each other soon. Carla runs her palm down Hattie’s cheek, and my nostrils flare.

I follow Hattie back to her apartment, where she stays for the rest of the night.

The next morning, I trail her to work. Once again, she leaves at the exact same time and doesn’t deviate from her route to work, nor does she leave at lunch.

I abandon my post mid-afternoon to prepare for our meeting that evening.

Once I’ve showered and shaved, I style my hair, leaving it more mussed than I normally would.

I’m going for open and approachable. With that in mind, I decide on a pair of black jeans and a light gray T-shirt.

It’s more undone than my usual style, but I’m not looking to highlight our age difference or the difference in our financial situations.

I need her to remain open and welcoming to me.

Now, the question is… will she show?

And what will I do if she doesn’t?