Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“I can explain,” Nolan says, hands up, coming at us.
“Please do,” Brad yells, wafting his hand out and sending a few kiwis flying across the office. He perches on the edge of the desk and folds his arms over his chest, looking at Nolan with an expectant glare.
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Nolan says, his shoulders dropping.
“What?” Brad barks.
“He said he’s got nowhere to go,” I chime in, lifting the glass jug off the base and taking a sniff.
“I fucking heard him fine,” Brad mutters, throwing me a scowl then a grimace when I tip the jug to my lips for a taste.
I hum. “This is quite good.”
“Thanks.” Nolan beams at me.
“What’s in it?”
“There’s a bit of broccoli, a kiwi, some celery and—”
“Ginger?”
“Yes, ginger.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Brad snaps. “So when I fire your ass, you can get a job at Joe the Juice.”
“Oh, come on, Boss.” Nolan gives pleading hands, and I take a pew and carry on sipping my way through the juice. “I work my balls off for this club. You know you can trust me.”
“Yeah, and I pay you for it. You can’t afford rent on an apartment?”
His eyes drop to the carpet. “I will be able to next month,” he says quietly. “I had some debts to settle.”
I look at Brad, the jug at my lips, and he scowls across at me. “What debts?” he asks. I can see he’s thinking what I’m thinking, and I’m thinking there’s a hidden office upstairs with millions of dollars of cash being cleaned. We wouldn’t miss a few bucks here and there. I set the jug on the desk and stand, making my way to the concealed door.
“I’ve not stolen from you,” Nolan calls, and I stop, looking back. The unmoving embarrassment splattered across his face speaks volumes. “I just needed to get my head down somewhere until my next paycheck.”
I look at Brad, assessing his disposition. I believe the kid, and I know Brad will. He’s always backed him. Fair dos, he’s overstepped the mark, with the woman and the accommodation, but employees like him aren’t easily found and he runs the club like clockwork. Eager to please. Will only bring us a problem if it’s a real problem.
“How much do you owe?” Brad asks.
“Nothing.” Nolan picks up a cushion and tosses it on the couch, then approaches the desk, prompting Brad to move. “I made the final payment just last week.” He starts tidying up the surface, moving things around.
I can see what’s coming a mile off. “For fuck’s sake,” Brad breathes, heading toward me. “You can stay with me for a while.”
“What?” Nolan asks, looking up, stunned. “I’m not fired?”
“No, you’re fucking not, but if you so much as breathe on another one of the girls, I’ll rape your ass with that blender jug.” He disappears through the concealed door toward the upstairs office.
I flinch, as does Nolan, both of us looking at the jug. It’s a hefty jug. Thick glass. A few knobbles here and there.
“Now get that office cleaned up.” Brad shouts back.
“Or you’re grounded,” I say, backing away, my face serious. But Nolan still smiles and proceeds to do as he’s been told.
I make it upstairs, firing a quick text off to Otto, and wander across to the glass, looking down on the club, while Brad reacquaints himself with the desk. “So, Daddy Brad,” I say, feeling his tired eyes on my back. I wander over to the table on the other side of the room and run my eyes over the piles of cash. “What’s—” My stare falls onto three sports bags on the other side of the room. “What’s that?” I ask, going over and opening one, coming face to face with Abraham Lincoln.
“What is it?” Brad asks, approaching behind.
“Cash.”
He swings the door open. “Nolan!” he bellows.
“Yes, Boss?”
“What’s this?”
Nolan enters and looks at me crouched by the bags. “Delivered an hour ago,” he says. “Final payment of the Mexicans’ shipment.”
“Fuck!” Brad yells, stomping back to his desk and dropping to the chair.
Indeed, fuck. Prompt payment equals prompt delivery, and we can’t fucking deliver on time.
“Problem, Boss?” Nolan asks as I collect up the bags and take them to the safe.
“Yes, this should be in the fucking safe,” I grumble. “You’re really on bad form today, Nolan.”
“I was just getting to it, I swear, but then—”
“Your brain fell into your dick.” I throw the bags into the safe and slam the door, spinning the dial. “How about I slash your cock off and solve this problem for us all.”
His hand falls over his crotch as he steps back. “Easy, James,” he says, looking injured.
Fuck me, I can’t be angry with him, and that just makes me angrier. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Nolan bolts, and I see Brad looking at the endless piles of paperwork on his desk. He scowls. “All this”—he motions to the mess—“is too much for Nolan to handle on his own. The club, the money, the security—”