All I Want is You (Hearts on Fire Book 1) (2 page)

“What the fuck was that?” Naomi says.

Ellie frowns.  “Why didn’t you tell me he was your boss?”

“What do you mean?” Naomi waves to the bartender.

“Your boss... the guy moving in next to me…. I don’t know.”  Ellie rolls her eyes.

“One and the same?” Naomi gives her a curious look.

“Apparently.”

“Did you fuck him?”  Naomi’s eyes grow wide.  “I bet he has a big dick.”

“No, I didn’t…” Ellie shifts in her seat.  “And why are you such a pig?”    

The bartender walks toward them.  

“Whatever.  You want to suck it,” Naomi says in a hushed tone.  “I like this boy,” she points to the shirtless man ready to serve them.  “Two shots of Patron, babydoll.”

The bartender grins.  “Right away, Ms. Jones.”

“So?” Naomi asks.

“So, what?”  Ellie looks at her.

“What happened?”

“He tried to kiss me and I walked out.”  Ellie smiles.  A wave of satisfaction comes over her like she just proved something to Naomi— like she knows men better than her.  

“Damn,” Naomi says.  “I hope like hell he gives you a second chance.”  

The bartender puts two glasses on the bar in front of them and pours the shots.  “Why’s that?” Ellie asks.

“‘Cuz he’s the type of man we
really
want.”  

Ellie looks over her shoulder, back to the dressing room door.  It’s still closed.  She surveys the crowd, but doesn’t see him.  Her leg begins to shake.  Her face flames red.  She suddenly feels like she made a terrible mistake.

Maybe she should have pulled him back into her.  Maybe she should have ignored the knocking.  Maybe there's still time.  “I’m ready,” she grabs one of the glasses.

When she looks back again, her stomach drops— Jake walks across the room, arm-in-arm with a young woman.  She’s much shorter than him, and younger by years.  Her hair is smooth, and blond, and long.  

Ellie scoffs at his belligerence.  We must be his type, she thinks.

Jake and the girl sit at a table in the corner.  She’s more beautiful than Ellie first noticed, but her youthful appearance suggests she’s not yet twenty-one.

“Who’s that?”  Ellie turns back to Naomi.

“Don’t know, but she has a reputation around here,” Naomi says.  “I’ve only seen her once or twice, enough to know she's got a problem, anyway….”

“Oh,” Ellie says softly, confused by Naomi’s meaning.

“All hot men have their baggage… especially the money guys,” Naomi continues.  “That’s all I’m sayin.  It’s what we have to deal with if we want to be with ‘em.”   

“I know what you mean,” Ellie bluffs.

“I’m up next.  You should get ready and go after me,” Naomi says.  

“He won’t let me.”

“What are you gonna do, then?”

“I don’t know.” Ellie frowns.

Naomi’s expression turns serious.  “Look, you don’t want to do this anyway.  I’m only doing it myself until I can save enough to get out of here.  I’m going to get my shot at something else, I promise you that.  I wish I could help you right now, but I got my bills too.  You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know….  Thanks.”  

Naomi stands up, hugs Ellie and walks off toward the back room door, having confirmed Ellie’s conviction that none of the dancers really
want
to be there.  

Ellie looks back over at Jake and the girl.  She appears to be scolding him for something— her finger pointed at and close to his face— but Ellie can’t hear what she’s saying.  They’re too far away.  

Jake leans close to the girl, his arm half around the seat behind her, his legs one over the other in a casual position.  To Ellie’s surprise, his gaze finds hers.  His grin is wide, but that only makes her stomach churn harder.  

She wants to confront him, but she turns back to the bar instead, grabs her phone and checks the time.  Her whole body is tense.  She has eighteen hours left to pay her rent and the one man who can help her apparently now has other things in mind.    

She takes a long swig of beer, but it does nothing to calm her.  She puts the bottle down, almost knocking it over with her shaky hand.   

The voice behind her sends chills up her spine, but the words don’t register.

“Ellie,” Jake says louder.  “I want you to meet Charlotte.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.  
Ellie takes a deep breath and swivels her seat around to face them.  

Charlotte smirks.  “This another one of your flunkies, Jake?”

He ignores her.  “Charlotte, this is Ellie.”

Ellie looks at the girl’s eyes and sees what she couldn’t from a distance— set back from an otherwise pale complexion, they’re covered by a glossy film.  The whites are netted by a spider web of red lines, her black pupils wide and dilated.  The forest was attractive, the trees— not so much.

Charlotte sniffles and passes her sleeve under her nostrils.  “I think I’ll go powder my nose.  I'm in a very bad mood.”  She walks away.

“So am I,” Ellie swivels back to the bar.

Jake takes a step closer and leans over her shoulder.  “Forget the girl.  Play a game with me, instead.”

“I’m not much of a game player….”  Ellie picks up her beer and puts it to her lips, but doesn’t take a drink.  “Obviously,” she adds, still looking forward.   

“I’ll make it easy for you then,” he takes the seat next to her.  “We each get five questions.  The other person can only respond with another question, except for the fifth one, which has to be answered honestly.”  

“What’s the point, Jake?”

He moves his seat closer.  “Just two people getting to know each other,” he says.

“I already know what I need to about you,” she replies.

“Don’t be so sure,” Jake grins.  

“Okay then,” she swivels her seat toward him.  “I go first.  How’d you know my name?”

“I thought that would be your last question!” Jake laughs.  

“Questions only!”  Ellie pounds her fist on the bar in mock judgement.  “And don’t underestimate me.”

“Okay, okay…” Jake says.  “So when is the second part of your story going to print?”

Ellie freezes— her whole mind and body numb with shock— not because he reads one of the finest literary journals in New York, but that he read
her
story, and more importantly, that he knows that she’s the one who wrote it.  “You read my story in
The City Lit
?”   

His expression shifts from amusement to contemplation.  “What kind of publisher would I be if I didn’t?”

WHAT?  Ellie strains to recall.  Did he just say “PUBLISHER”?

Jake looks across the bar.  “Martini, extra olives.”  And then back to the suddenly-waxed figurine next to him— “Ell?”

“I might recommend the Lemon Drop,” a distant voice from behind the bar says.  

Ellie’s mind runs in circles, “Sure… that’s… fine,” she says.

The fact that he’s a publisher is a game-changing revelation— in stark contrast with owning a strip club— but she remembers she has other important questions too.  

“Is she your type?”  Ellie asks.

Jake opens his mouth wide and projects a deep, throaty laugh.  “Don’t you trust me, Ellie Sparks?”  

“I don’t…” she reacts too quickly.  “I mean… how would I know I can?”

Jake pulls the sword of olives from his drink and bites one off the end.  He chews slowly, scanning Ellie’s puzzled expression.  “Didn’t I tell you I would help you?”

Ellie considers her response.  She wants so desperately to trust him, for her problems to go away, for things to be easy for a change.  She picks up her drink and puts it to her lips.  A long sip buys more time.  

“Can you promise me you will?” she asks.

Jake puts his drink down, looks into Ellie’s dark blue eyes.  They are both welcoming
and
challenging, eager for a positive response.  He leans in close, motioning with his finger for her to come to him.

His cheek brushes against hers, and he whispers softly in her ear, “I made that promise the moment I found you.”

His warm breath makes her shiver.  She reaches around his shoulder, her hand moving toward the back of his neck.  She hesitates for a moment, but then realizes going forward feels better than retreat.  

Her fingers rest on the bottom strands of his short, stubbly hair.  She pulls his cheek tight against hers.  “You still have one question,” she says.

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment and she wonders if she’s made a mistake.  She releases her grip and moves back from him to inspect his face.  

His eyes are wide, his expression even.  He gives away nothing.  

He leans closer to her, his lips mere centimeters from hers.  Up close, they appear soft, and moist, the way she’s dreamed about ever since she first saw them.  She feels helpless— all of her defenses failing in his presence.   

He runs a finger down her cheek, to her neck, down between the top buttons of her shirt, just above her slightly exposed cleavage.  “Do you want me—“

“YES,” Ellie interrupts, her eyes wild with desire.  She lunges forward until her lips crash into his.   

To her surprise, he pulls back.  

His eyes survey the room.  “I haven’t finished my question yet,” he smiles.  

Her face flushes red.  She doesn’t know why she leaned into him, why she pressed her lips against his— why she had to act so naive.

Jake’s smile turns into a wry grin.  His eyes lock on hers.  “I was going to ask you,” he says, “if you wanted me to take you home tonight?”  

Ellie’s pulse races.  She stares into his brilliant eyes for a long moment, unable to find answers, only a reflection of the hunger in hers.  

But their trance is broken by Charlotte’s harsh voice.  “Classic eye-fuck,” she snorts.

“Jesus, Char,” Jake exhales.  “Maybe you ought to head home for the night.”  He stands up.  “And wipe your damn nose off, for fuck’s sake.  Please excuse me, Ellie.”  

Jake leads Charlotte away from the bar.  

Ellie watches as they disappear into the bathroom corridor.  She’s left to ponder loose ends.  
What the hell is going on with Charlotte and why would Jake, this gorgeous stranger, want to help me?  Was it a bigger mistake to come here than I initially thought?

Overwhelmed, she turns toward the stage.  

Men holler as Naomi gathers money from the floor.  She steps off and heads into the back room.  

Ellie gets up from the bar and follows her.

Before she gets there, she sees Jake coming toward her.  She turns to face him.

He gently squeezes her arm and pulls her off to the side, up a short set of stairs, behind a row of half-filled tables overlooking the stage.  “We’ve got to go,” he says.

“What?  Go where?”

“I’ve got to get Charlotte out of here.”

“Should I wait here?”

“No, you’re coming with me,” he looks off toward the bathroom corridor.  

“But I haven’t answered your last question yet,” Ellie protests.

Jake reaches out, runs two fingers down the smooth skin of her cheek.  “I believe your lips did that for you.”

Ellie’s stomach turns.  She stares out the window as the long black limousine pulls away from the club.  She doesn't know where they're going, but she already wishes this ride was over.

The source of that wish— Charlotte— crosses her legs and leans back, a callous smirk on her face.  She sits opposite Ellie, and next to Jake.  Her hand is on the seat between them, dangerously close to his thigh.

Ellie tries not to make eye contact with her, but knows when she’s being studied by another woman.  She shifts in her seat, unable to shake the discomfort.

“Why do you have a shotgun shell on your necklace?” Charlotte asks.

Ellie looks down at the little red tube— her hand instinctively reaching for it— but she doesn’t answer Charlotte’s question.  Instead, she glances at Jake.  He’s busy with his cell, not paying any attention to them.

“HEY,” Charlotte leans forward.  “I’m talking to
you
, not him.  You may not like me, but you could at least extend some fucking—”

“It’s the key to a memory,” Ellie snaps, her fist tightening to a clench by her side.

Charlotte’s eyes widen.  “So…  Now that I’ve got your attention, what are you planning to do with it?” she asks.

Ellie’s body stiffens.  Her heart beats faster.  She scoffs at Charlotte and leans forward.  “What?  This little instrument of destruction?”  She holds the shell up, closer to Charlotte’s face.  “This little baby’s my reminder,” she flashes a wry grin, “that salvation is always within reach....  But don’t worry, Charlotte,” she tucks it back into her shirt, “this one’s reserved for someone else.”

“Salvation?”  Charlotte’s eyes bulge.  “That’s some deep shit, girl.”  You quoting the bible or something?”  

Charlotte leans back, guides two earbuds into place and presses her phone’s screen, not waiting for an answer.  “You picked up a real thumper, Jake,” she yells over her music.

Jake’s eyes glance over to Charlotte, then back to his phone.  He holds it up to his ear.  “We’re on the way now, see you in ten,” he says.

Ellie’s body grows tenser by the minute.  She has no idea who he’s talking to, who they’ll see in ten.

“Oh, and Alex,” Jake continues, “Can you prepare an overnight bag of clothes… Women’s… No, not for Charlotte.  I’m dropping her off.”

Ellie relaxes.  She can’t hold back a smile.

Jake scans her body.  “Actually, she’s about your size, Al.”

Ellie looks back out the window.  Soon they’ll be far away from the club.  

Soon they’ll be without Charlotte….   

In an affluent Upper East Side neighborhood, with giant residential buildings set back from the street, they pull off to the side of the road.   

The particular townhouse they stop in front of is six stories tall, clad with white limestone, and more elegant than any Ellie has ever seen.  This can’t possibly be Charlotte’s, she thinks.  

A big, dark oak door opens and a tall man in shorts and a tank top walks out.  His upper body is sculpted, his arms covered in ink.  His face bears several weeks of scruff.  He’s very attractive, in a dangerous-looking, bad boy sort of way.   

The man is followed by a woman— small, thin and also very attractive.  Sets of auburn curls bounce off her shoulders and down her back as she walks.  She carries a small duffel bag.

“Wait here, Ell,” Jake says.  

Charlotte and Jake both step out of the car.  “Alex,” he calls, then shuts the door.  

Charlotte walks past everyone and into the house.  The man follows.

The woman smiles and hands the bag to Jake.  They exchange some conversation that Ellie can't hear.

Jake raises his hand and gently touches the woman's shoulder.  The move makes Ellie's face red with heat.

But as quickly as he left, Jake returns to the car.  “Now we can get on with our business,” he says as he steps back in.

“Is that what this is?” Ellie frowns.  “Business?”

“Sorry,” Jake smiles.  “I’m a trained professional.  I forget that I need to let my guard down, sometimes.”

“Well, then, first things first,” Ellie begins her list of questions.  “Why does a guy like you, from all observations a man of integrity— why does a guy like you own a publishing business
and
a strip club?  Peculiar combination, right?”

“Maybe I
shouldn’t
have let my guard down,” Jake laughs.  “Normally the interview starts with a lob, you know.”

“Well, I just… if I’m to trust you, like you asked, then I’m going to need to know some things about you.”

“Fair enough,” Jake’s expression turns serious.  He moves from opposite Ellie to the seat next to her.  “Let’s just say I’m doing a favor for someone with the club.”

Ellie shifts her position and faces him.  “A little more, maybe?”

“A little more what?”

“Detail, Jake.  You gave me a nibble, I asked for a bite.”

Jake smiles.  “It’s just returning a favor.  I’m going to bring the business back up.  It was near disaster and I knew how to turn it around, so I took it over, and intend to give it back when I know its profitability will remain solvent.”

“That sounds like more than a favor.”

“Well, it’s actually Tan’s business… guy in the tank top at the house,” he points back over his shoulder.  “I’ve been helping him get back on his feet.”

“Admirable that you’re doing that,” she says.  “Different name.  Is it Tanner?”

“Yeah, well,” he ignores her question, “I’m not doing it for my health.”

“What are you doing it for, then?”

“I made a promise,” he says with a haunted look in his eyes.   

“What do you mean?”

“He did me a favor a long time ago, and in return, I promised I would always have his back.”

“Must have been some favor,” Ellie suggests— hoping for, but not sure she should expect more explanation.   

Jake looks straight ahead.  He hasn’t made eye contact with Ellie since she asked about Tanner.  “I’m not sure I can
ever
repay him.”

Ellie studies his face under the warm glow of the overhead lights.  His strong jaw-line and bright eyes give him a natural look of confidence, despite the uncertainty of his words.  

His white button-down shirt is loose around the collar, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.  His hands are at once delicate and strong, perfect for soft and supple caress, or, she remembers, to hold her body tight against his.  

Ellie reaches over and places her hand on his, together on his thigh.  A warm smile brightens her face.

She expects a reaction from him too, but if anything, he only falls further into his brooding trance.  

“Where are we going, Jake?” she tries.  

His expression softens.  “Just across the park,” he points out her window, “where I first met you today.”

“My apartment building?”

“Yes,” he nods.

Ellie sits up tall, pulls her phone from her clutch.  “Just after midnight,” she shows him.  “The park’s still open.  Let’s walk from here.”    

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Jake replies.  “It’s late as hell and not exactly safe for a girl dressed…” he looks down at her skirt.  “We’ll be at the apartment soon anyhow.”

Ellie senses a weakness in him that she hasn’t yet seen.  “Nope, I’ve pretty much made up my mind,” she says.  “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me now, would you, Jake?”

He smirks at her playfulness, but before he can dissuade her, Ellie moves across to the other seat and knocks on the dark glass between them and the driver.  The divider comes down.   

“Can you pull over here, please?” she asks.  

The driver looks in the rearview mirror.  

Jake gives him a reluctant nod.

Butterflies swarm Ellie’s stomach.  She grabs Jake’s hand and reaches for the door.  

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Jake says.  

She pulls on him until he gives in and they step out into the cool night air.

Under the lights of the city, a light rain sparkles as it hits the street.

“Let’s play another game then,” she smiles.

Jake shoots her a quick, curious look.  “A game?”

She taps him on the arm.  “Tag, you’re it,” she laughs and sprints toward the park entrance.

Jake hesitates, and glances back.  His driver shrugs his shoulders and closes the door.  

Ellie is past the first bend in the park road before she slows to a jog and looks back.  She can’t see Jake.  And the car is no longer visible.  She turns in disbelief and begins to walk back.

From a crossing path, someone emerges, almost on top of her.  It startles her at first, but then she feels a light tap on her arm.   “You’re it.”  Jake says.

He turns to run away from her, but after a few strides, he slips on the slick pavement and falls to the side of the road.  Despite being twenty-six, he moves with the youthful grace of a college athlete, rolling onto his back, then springing to his feet in one deft movement.  Unfazed, he flashes a confident smile at Ellie.

She darts toward him— shocked, concerned and admiring his athletic endeavor all at once.  She reaches out, brushes off the back of his shirt.  “Are you okay?  You know this is just a game, right?”  

Jake nods.  “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Well your shirt isn’t,” Ellie says.  “You put a hole in it, and there’s dirt all over.”

“It’ll be fine,” he says, without looking.

“Fine?” Ellie scoffs.  “This shirt probably cost more than my entire wardrobe and a big hole in it is just fine?”

“Seriously, it’s fine.  I do have other shirts you know.”  

Ellie inspects the hole further.  “Stand still, Jake.  There’s blood on your back.”

“I’m not hurt.  Honestly,” he protests.

“Well, we better get going, then.  Apparently this park
is
dangerous.”

“We’ll find a bandage at the apartment,” he says.

“If you make it there.”

“Speaking of danger,” Jake looks at her as she walks.  “You said you had demons….”

Ellie’s lips come together, but she manages a nod.

“What are they?” he asks.

Ellie doesn’t say anything for a moment.  She considers how to even begin to answer his question.  

“We don’t have to—” he says.

“It’s okay.  It’s just,” Ellie pauses, “It’s a little difficult to explain.”

“I’ve got time,” Jake smirks.

She looks down, her hand clutches at her pendant.  “I wish I knew more.”

Jake reaches two fingers toward her and slowly lifts her chin.  “You don’t remember?” His voice suggests surprise.

Ellie wipes the corner of her eye.   

“Only parts,” she says.

She hesitates to elaborate, and looks away from him.  She hasn’t spoken to anyone about her childhood since she lived with her grandmother, someone she knew she could trust not to judge her.  But she wants to tell Jake.  Wants to trust him with her past, no matter how dark, no matter how much it hurt her.

“Certain things,” she says.  “I remember up to a point, but then it’s like someone suddenly shut my vision off for a period of time….  There’s a missing piece.  I may never be able to remember.”

“Isn’t that good?” Jake asks, but then adds, “I mean, not remembering something that was presumably hurtful?”

“I don't know,” she says.  “They tell me it’s like the shock soldiers experience after war.”

“PTSD?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, but I really
want
to remember.  It gnaws at me constantly.  I have pieces… parts… but not a whole picture.   I can’t let it go….”

“Do you think you might be able to figure it out, the missing part?”

“I have to….  I’ve been seeing a memory expert.  He thinks we’re making progress.  It’s just so hard.  Everything else in my life is clear.  Not always great, but clear.  It’s just one block of time… one I was too young to have any control over.”

“I’m sure you'll figure it out sooner or later,” Jake offers.  

“Maybe, but my story in
The City Lit
totally depends on it.  I don't think I can leave that piece, whatever it was, out.”

“There are avenues around that,” Jake says.  “Editors can help.”

“Yeah, but I don't see how an editor will help me remember any more than a memory expert.”

“It's not the remembering an editor can help with, it's more the craft… the creative side.”

“I don't know, Jake.  I’m not sure I want to write things that didn’t happen.  It’s a true story, remember?”

“Give it a little time.  It’ll come together.  Maybe you should bring your story over to the
The Review.
”

WHOA.  He publishes
The Review?  
That’s only
the
best literary critique on the entire East coast.  Forget
The City Lit
.