Small Town Secrets: A Forbidden Romance Read online

  “How much will I be getting paid?” came the terse question. It was rude, but valid. What were we talking for a private date with some random unknown dude?

  Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Harry the bulldog cut in then.

  “Five thousand,” were his calm words. “For two hours.”

  Both Mickey and I turned to gape at him.

  “I’m sorry?” was my gasp. “What did you say?”

  This was a huge amount of money, even for an experienced dancer. Mickey was even more mercenary.

  “Is this on top of the two thousand that you’re paying the Flamingo?” he asked in a whiny voice. “Or is our fee included in that?”

  What? The Flamingo was gonna make two thousand off of me just from this? My mouth dropped open and I turned accusing eyes to Mickey, but he didn’t even notice.

  “So what is it?” the small man pressed. “Two thousand total or four thousand total?”

  Fortunately, the man wasn’t perturbed, responding in a polite tone.

  “The two thousand for Ms. Evanescence is in addition to the two thousand we’ll be forwarding the Flamingo. In fact, I have it all here,” he said, pulling out two bulging envelopes. “If you’re ready, ma’am, I’m happy to escort you to the location.”

  Mickey’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

  “Oh sure, I’m sure this is all fine,” he said, waving his arm airily. “Isn’t this fine Pearl? Come on, it’s almost seven. Your date is about to start!” he exclaimed, greed in those beady eyes.

  And slowly, I took a deep breath before looking at Harry.

  “I want you to know I’m a law-abiding citizen,” were my slow words. “Whatever your boss thinks is gonna happen, probably isn’t going to happen. And there are no refunds, no matter what.”

  Harry nodded respectfully.

  “Of course, ma’am,” he said. “We absolutely recognize that, and value your input. We understand that, and I can assure you that my boss has much more at stake than you.”

  I squinted at him. What did those words mean? But with a slow nod of my head, I agreed.

  “Okay,” was my curt reply. “I’ll do it then.”

  And damn if Mickey didn’t bounce out of his chair and do a little jig then.

  “Perfect!” he squealed, grabbing one of the envelopes. “You’ll have a great time Pearl. See you when you’re back!”

  And slowly, I followed Harry out of the office with the two thousand dollars burning a hole in my purse. Because nothing good could come out of this, right? I was literally going to parts unknown with a strange man who wasn’t even the man I was supposed to meet. Instead, I was going for a rendezvous with his boss, who could be a gang member, a movie star, or more likely, just some married guy who didn’t want his wife to know. That made me sad, the energy draining from my limbs. But again, there was no choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to go on this date or be fired. So with a heavy heart, I got into the black SUV waiting at the curb and sped off to destination unknown.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Susie

  Surprisingly, the drive took about two minutes. We literally went around the corner before pulling up in front of a no-name Midtown apartment block.

  “This is it?” I asked skeptically, eyeing the gray building. It was completely non-descript. Not fancy, not shabby, just … not anything. You could walk past it on any given day and never notice what you’d just gone by.

  Harry nodded.

  “Yes ma’am,” he said respectfully. “Just go straight to the concierge and they’ll direct you.”

  I opened the door, cinching my coat tighter while looking around. It was the same Manhattan scene that populated most of the town. Gray sidewalks, gray buildings, and even people who looked slightly gray with their sallow skin tone and inoffensive business suits.

  But there was something different about the building. As I went through the revolving door, inside was a rectangle metal detector, the kind that buzzes if you’re carrying anything suspicious on your body.

  “Really?” I asked the security guard, puzzled. “Don’t they usually reserve these for airports?”

  The elderly man laughed.

  “In fact, we got this-a-one from JFK,” he chortled. “They’re putting in those new-fangled body scanners at the airport, so their cast-offs came to us.”

  But still, why? This was a residential building, and not a high profile target like the Federal Reserve or Department of Justice. Nor were we in a heavily trafficked area like Times Square or Madison Park. So why did this faceless skyscraper deserve its own metal detector?

  But sometimes, it’s easier just to give in. And within seconds, I was through. Not surprising, given that I only had lingerie underneath my coat. Nor did my bra have an underwire, which would have triggered the alarm.

  “You’re good to go!” the elderly security guard said cheerily. “Right up thataways,” he said, gesturing to the front desk. I sidled up to the woman behind a huge slab of marble.

  “Um, I’m Pearl,” I managed on a murmur. “Or Susie?”

  She didn’t even blink.

  “Yes, Mr. Pattinson is expecting you,” came her smooth reply. “Elevator all the way to the left, and then up to the top floor.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled wanly before striding through the marble lobby. And fortunately, the elevator was right there, the doors swooshing open in anticipation.

  But when I looked inside, another surprise greeted me. Because there was an actual attendant waiting inside, perched on a wooden stool and dressed in a natty bellhop suit. It seemed like a throwback to the sixties when every elevator had an operator, but who knew? At this point, there’d been so many unexpected events that I didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “Hello,” the young man greeted cheerfully. “Up to the top floor?”

  “Um, why yes,” I stammered, getting in. “How did you know?”

  “We only go to the top floor,” he said in a bright voice. “How’s your day going, ma’am?”

  I didn’t answer, merely looking at him curiously. Because why was there an attendant for an elevator that only served the penthouse? Why did the penthouse have its own elevator anyways? Did the owner not like to share?

  My mind was churning because clearly, my client had to be rich. The building he lived in was nothing to behold from the outside, but the lobby had been fancy with marble floors and modern chandeliers. And now, the elevator was pure luxury itself, what with the wood-paneled walls and personal service. What was going on? It seemed like the closer and closer you got to my mysterious customer, the more elaborate things became.

  But I took a deep breath. This is just a two-hour jaunt, the voice in my head came. You’re making your two thousand and then beating the hell outta Dodge, it said firmly. Don’t lose your head.

  So when the bell dinged, I nodded politely at the attendant before stepping outside into a long, carpeted hallway. Hmm, you could almost smell the luxury now, from the gold-scrolled carpet to the elegant damask wallpaper. I made my way down the hall to the one door at the end, which was huge and oaken with a lion’s head knocker. How weird. Who would have a lion’s head knocker on their apartment door? This was an apartment, wasn’t it? Not a house?

  But immediately, a low voice rang out.

  “Come,” it said. And somehow, I knew who would be in there before I actually saw him. It had to be the mysterious man from last week, the one who’d watched me dance while half-hidden in the shadows. A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped into the foyer.

  “Hi, it’s me, Susie,” I said. “Or Pearl,” was my quick stammer. Drat, why did I keep making that mistake? My heels clack-clacked on the marble floors, and I felt nervous yet excited at once. Because the man had been ruling my dreams for the past weeks, and it was frankly embarrassing how I’d been at work thinking about him non-stop. For example, just today at lunch, my friend Lizzie had noticed the dreamy look in my eyes.

  “Hello, hello,” she’d said, waving her
hand in front of my eyes. “Geez Louise, Suse, what’s wrong with you?”

  But I could hardly reveal that I’d taken up moonlighting as an exotic dancer, so I merely smiled weakly.

  “Um nothing,” was my reply while biting into a portabella sandwich. “This is really good, mmm!”

  Fortunately, Lizzie was more interested in scrutinizing my eating habits than asking about my dating life.

  “You’re so lucky to have such a curvy shape,” she said, casting me an envious glance. “I eat and eat and eat, but look at me,” she frowned, staring at her hands. “My fingers are like twigs,” she bemoaned.

  It was true, and the perfect distraction.

  “No,” I protested. “You look great, Liz! Clothes always look amazing on you, while on me, everything’s too tight in every direction,” I said wryly. “That’s why I have to eat less, not more.”

  But somehow, my healthy appetite and resultant curves had gotten the attention of this mysterious customer, and I was curious to finally see his face. So slowly moving forwards into the suite, my body flushed with heat.

  “Hello?” I called off towards the sitting room where a light shone. “Should I take off my shoes or anything?”

  Immediately, I cursed myself. That was dumb. Of course I didn’t have to take off my shoes. This wasn’t some hippie-dippie dude who listened to Indian music while meditating in front of a fire. Everything so far pointed to a successful businessman, from the driver, to the fancy elevator, to the lavish apartment.

  “No, shoes on is okay,” rumbled that male voice again. “Come on in, Susie.”

  And tentatively, I made my way towards the voice. Again, I wasn’t sure what I was going to see, and was a little afraid, frankly. Because I hoped against hope that it was my mysterious patron, but then again, I’ve been wrong before. Maybe it was some disgusting old dude who was eighty years old with a giant potbelly. Totally possible, given that New York seems to be ruled by guys like that.

  But when I stepped into the living area, my mouth dropped open and my eyes grew wide. Because the man there was tall and handsome, with flashing blue eyes. But it wasn’t the perfectly cut suit, the broad shoulders, or the knowing grin that got me. It was everything about him … because in front of me sat the President of the United States himself, Thomas Burke.

  “Mr. President?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  A white smile flashed, one that I’d seen so many times on various news programs.

  “I’m your customer,” he rumbled with a knowing smile. “Welcome to my home.”

  I merely stood there, astonished.

  “But isn’t the White House your home?” came my weak reply. “You know, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?”

  He threw his head back and laughed, showing off a strong, tanned throat.

  “That’s true,” he acknowledged. “That’s where my mail goes, when USPS hasn’t lost it. But my real home is all over,” he said with another smile. “I’m hardly ever in any one place very long. In fact, Air Force One is probably my true residence, come to think of it.”

  I couldn’t handle it. My form dropped limply into the nearest chair, eyes still fixed on the handsome man.

  “B-but what are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tremulous. “This is crazy!”

  He merely shrugged.

  “Well, I saw you dancing last week and thought “Gee, she’s cute. I’d like to meet her.” So here I am,” he bantered playfully.

  I shook my head. Was this guy insane? Seriously. The man was the leader of the free world, and yet he patronized seedy strip clubs where they served beers for a dollar? Really, really?

  But Thomas merely nodded, shrugging those shoulders.

  “Hey, there are benefits to being me,” he said lightly. “And sometimes I don’t want to be noticed, thus the Pink Flamingo,” he added wryly. “So what can I say? Veni, vedi, veci. I wanted to meet you, and my staff set it up.”

  And suddenly, I realized what had just happened. The pieces of the puzzle all fit together with startling clarity, from the limo, to the driver, to the elevator attendant. In fact, all three of those guys probably had black belts in karate and a secret service badge beneath their uniform because they were the President’s security detail, cleverly disguised to protect our most important citizen.

  But still, it was hard to take in.

  “You must be joking,” I said, staring at him. “This can’t be happening.”

  Again, President Burke merely shrugged.

  “Believe it, pretty girl. And by the way, your credit check from last week came up with a real good score. You’ve been paying your bills on time. Very nice.”

  I gasped again.

  “Pink Flamingo ordered that credit check!” I sputtered. “They said they needed it for my employment records! And besides, isn’t that information private?”

  But President Burke merely shrugged.

  “I guess so,” he said in a conciliatory voice. “But honestly, everything’s on a spectrum. Citizens have a right to privacy, but that right can fall in the face of greater concerns, such as national security.”

  Suddenly, I remembered that the president had a law degree from some fancy university. I was probably no match for this guy on an intellectual level. But still, I had to try.

  “The national security in question being you,” I said slowly. “It was okay to look at my credit score because your staff had to ensure your safety and security.”

  “Pretty much,” the big man agreed with a lazy grin, leaning back in his chair. “But you’re not alone sweetheart. Everyone who meets me has to go jump through a couple hoops. By the way, can I get you a drink?” he interrupted, standing immediately. “I’ve been missing my manners. They have everything here, from top shelf liquor to PBR.”

  But I shook my head no. Alcohol wasn’t going to help me think straight in the midst of these startling circumstances. Actually, scratch that. I needed to relax, and a drink would be just the thing.

  “Sure,” I said, nodding quickly. “Just a bourbon straight, please.”

  He smiled, pouring the amber liquid with firm hands before passing the crystal lowball to me.

  “My lady,” he growled.

  And when our fingers touched, I felt it again. That spark. The electricity ran between our forms like a live wire, and I tipped my head up swiftly to be caught in those blue eyes.

  Thomas smiled knowingly.

  “That’s the girl I remember,” he rumbled. “So let’s get to know one another,” he said, sitting again and crossing his legs. “I realize this is a little strange, but trust me. Everything having to do with being president is a little bizarre.”

  I merely paused, unsure where to start. What in the world was going on? I’d been ready to fend off some gross eighty-year old married dude, and instead, I was having drinks with the leader of the free world? What kind of dream was I living in?

  Thomas could read my mind.

  “Shoot,” he said with another lazy smile. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Ask away.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well, let’s start at the beginning then. What were you doing at the Pink Flamingo? Isn’t it kind of … um, downscale for a sitting American president? And shouldn’t you be in Washington?”

  This time, Thomas didn’t laugh it off. The handsome man merely nodded thoughtfully.

  “Well sure,” he said. “But like I said, I’m not in Washington most of the time. I travel like a motherfucker, what with the recent trade talks in Lausanne and meeting with constituents from Arizona to Maine. Serving the American people isn’t easy on any front. So I have to get out there and push our national agenda, all the while remaining accessible to citizens at home.”

  That made sense actually, if I stopped to think about it.

  “So you jet around all the time,” I said slowly, taking a sip of my drink, mind spinning furiously. “But even so, why were you at the Pink Flamingo? Aren’t there nicer places? I mean, I don’t mean to diss my e
mployer but you know how the Flamingo is,” I said in a helpless voice. “It’s kind of … grungy.”

  Thomas threw his head back and laughed again, exposing the strong column of his throat. Wow, the guy was really handsome, even better in real-life than when he was on TV. That bronzed skin glowed with health, and his blue eyes were magnetic, drawing me in. Plus, I’d heard that people on TV are small in real life. But for President Burke, that didn’t hold true. He had to be at least six foot three, with broad shoulders and strong, tree-trunk thick legs.

  He winked at me.

  “Well, let’s just say that I enjoy a lot of different activities,” came that smooth voice. “From white tie events with the Queen of England present to your local dive bar with different beers on tap. I’m a man of diverse tastes,” he said lightly. “What can I say?”

  But still I was puzzled.

  “But you could have gone to Scores or Elevated,” was my puzzled question. “Why the Flamingo? It’s so low brow.”

  He merely shrugged again.

  “Why do I like McDonald’s, even though I have personal chefs cooking for me at the White House? Sometimes, a man’s character is formed long before he sets foot in 1600 Pennsylvania, sweetheart. And I grew up on Big Macs and hush puppies, so it’s too late for me to change.”