Dirty Martini (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 2) Read online

  Dirty Martini

  Abby Knox

  Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Abby Knox

  Chapter One

  Katie

  How in the world could a shareholder party manage to be more of a snooze-fest than an actual shareholder meeting?

  That was the question that Katie Moss kept asking herself as she absently scanned the ballroom on the top floor of Ecco Tower, overlooking her hometown of Newcastle.

  Meetings were one thing. She was the CEO, and she was large and in charge. The business excited her. Well-done presentations made her giddy. She was an enormous geek for pie charts and discussions about job growth and maximizing economic impact.

  Watching these titans of the boardroom consume vast quantities of scotch, try to tell awful jokes, and attempt any semblance of rhythm on the dance floor was so not in Katie’s wheelhouse.

  Maybe the problem was Katie. Am I just too uptight?

  Her eyes landed on Ecco Corporation’s chairman of the board, who was spastically trying to find the rhythm to Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration,” his bow tie askew and his gray hair matted in perspiration.

  Nope. The problem is not me. We are all truly old dweebs here.

  And then, something entirely unexpected made her night—and her view of these weird, old, rich men—turn on its head.

  She had been just about ready to give up and quietly disappear, not especially looking forward to an empty penthouse only a few floors down when the chairman cornered her.

  “You look bored, m’lady.”

  The guy always did some cringe version of Old English when they spoke one on one as if she were a noblewoman in a poorly made historical drama.

  “How did you guess?” She sipped her drink.

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Katie shook her head no. “If it’s inside information, I don’t want to know.”

  “No, nothing like that. But it’s a doozy.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” she said. “Sure. Why not?”

  What else was there to do but listen to this man tell stories, now that she couldn’t leave unnoticed?

  He leaned in and said, “Don’t tell anybody this, but I am keeping a girl.”

  The hair on Katie’s neck stood on end. “Oh my god. Where are you keeping this girl, and is she okay?”

  The chairman threw his head back and laughed. “Not like that! I have a girl… okay, a woman…I am supporting, if you know what I mean.”

  Katie’s alarm bells calmed down, but only slightly. “Go on.”

  “So,” he said, slurring his words but clearly enjoying the fact that someone was interested in this story. “I’m out for dinner on my birthday. My kids are late to meet me. I strike up a conversation with the knockout of a hostess. She’s just graduated college, she can’t find any other jobs. She’s still living with her parents. Nobody will rent to her because she has no credit history, and obviously, she can’t afford rent anywhere. And I thought, ‘I have money to burn. Why not share it?”

  Katie stiffened and waited for the story to turn into a boastful, nauseating tale of his own charity work, but that was not at all what happened.

  “Anyway, so long story short. I have more money than I know what to do with. So I secretly put her up in one of my rental houses, rent-free. I paid off everything. Her student loans, all of it. I give her an allowance; she can buy groceries, clothes, whatever she wants.”

  Katie blinked at him. “And she’s your girlfriend?”

  He laughed again. “No! She’s just there. Using my money. And sometimes I go and visit her, and we have nice chats.”

  “That’s it?”

  He nodded as if there would be anything else untoward going on. “Sometimes we play board games.”

  If anything more went on, Katie didn’t want to know.

  However, she felt intrigued. “And your family doesn’t know?”

  “They don’t know a single thing about her. It’s just fun to have a little secret, you know what I mean?”

  “Intrigued” was not the word for what she felt. Fascinated, and soon to become obsessed with the idea.

  When Katie left the party that night, she tossed and turned in her empty bed, thinking about this bizarre secret that had been shared with her.

  She wondered if he would remember telling her once he sobered up.

  Imagining what it would be like to just wipe someone’s debt clean for the hell of it, she knew she could easily do that without any personal entanglements if she chose. But what if these men liked the entanglement aspect? Interesting.

  Did all rich, older men have secrets or some version of this kind of mystery? Was it an ego thing? Like having an affair without having an actual affair. Or a second family but without a real second family.

  She wondered if any women in her circles also did this.

  Was that normal?

  Katie rolled over and turned on her bedside table lamp, picked up a notebook, and added another item to the list of things she wanted in life. This list was an ongoing exercise assigned to her by her therapist.

  “Someone to spend my money,” was what she wrote. She looked at the words on the page, wondered if she should add anything else, then decided not to. She set the notebook back on the side table, clicked off the light, rolled over, and closed her eyes.

  Then, her hand reached out and felt the empty expanse of her king-size bed.

  Seconds later, her light was back on, and she completed the sentence: “Someone to spend my money, sleep in my bed only when I want them there, and nail me through the mattress upon request.”

  She went to sleep with a smile on her face, knowing if she ever decided to move forward with the idea of having a kept man, that she would do it in a way that would one-up the chairman.


  Fuck friendly chats and board games. Katie wanted drama.

  Chapter Two

  Katie

  “Be careful what you wish for,” her grandfather had always said. “You might just get it.”

  Katie had asked for drama, and she got it.

  “Waterview Project Will Destroy Our Neighborhood,” read the guest editorial that day in the Newcastle Dispatch. Who the hell was this Harper Ross, and why was she so dead set against improving Dockside?

  Katie angrily slapped the newspaper on a gilded side table, stood up from the chair, and ran a lint brush from her bag over her blazer and skirt. Why the stagers had chosen a chair covered in faux fur, she’d never know.

  She walked over to the door and propped it open, readying herself for the meeting. Her proposal was going to work because it simply had to work.

  That guest editorial she had just read was a total hatchet job on her, her development company, and this luxury condo where she now stood. The words on the page had stuck under her skin. She should never have read the newspaper in the minutes before meeting with the city’s top broker.

  The tacky, over-the-top luxury furniture that surrounded her in this completed loft condo was now not just a fuck up by the stagers but a symbol of the entire project.

  “It’s fine, Katie,” she breathed, casting a side-eye glare at the furry chair that looked like someone had hunted down and murdered an adorable sheepdog. “You’re just psyching yourself out now.”

  “Who are you psyching out now, Killer Katie?”

  The question echoed through the hallway, announcing the arrival of the grinning, smooth-talking real estate agent Ari Pitts. Flashing a pinky ring and a smile that was insured for a million bucks. Ari’s more conservatively-dressed client followed him inside. Katie sized up the client and knew immediately that the showing was a waste of everyone’s time. Still, she hung in there.

  The renowned agent and broker had given Katie that nickname “Killer Katie” years ago when they’d worked together on a project. The two of them had played good cop/bad cop with the City of Newcastle to push through a project that had ended up making both of them a fuck ton of money. The city hadn’t sneezed at the tax dollars the now-booming tourist hot spot brought in. But initially, the city leaders had been resistant to building anything on the riverfront. Between Ari’s honey tongue and charm and Katie’s ruthless persistence, they’d made a great team.

  Katie hoped to repeat that success with this building where she now stood—the Waterview project’s first phase.

  She chuckled and lied, “Oh, just some other up-and-coming broker who wants in on all of this.” She gestured around the grand expanse of this top-floor loft in the renovated industrial space. “I told her maybe I could bring her in on Phase Two after she improved her five-minute pitch.”

  There was no second broker. But, she knew Ari’s nature, and Katie was Killer Katie for a good reason. He hated any whiff of competition from an unknown entity, especially an upstart in Newcastle, where he had a stranglehold on most of the residential and commercial listings. More, he detested being beaten out on a piece of property by a woman.

  Her instinct was correct; Ari bristled at her reply, buttoning and unbuttoning his designer suit jacket. After recovering, he turned to his client to introduce him to Katie. Katie recognized the potential buyer as the CEO of the Newcastle Memorial Hospital system. One of the richest men in the city.

  They shook hands, and Katie was not intimidated in the least. He might be the richest man in the city, but he was simply another millionaire looking to upgrade his living situation.

  The client took one look at the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the harbor, and the ultra-modern, terrifying, $10,000 sculpture in the corner and shook his head at Ari. “This is not what I asked for.”

  Ari was unflappable and laughed softly. “You wanted exclusive, away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. It doesn’t get more exclusive than this, am I right, Katie?”

  The client sniffed as his eyes scanned the exposed brick and open ceiling. “This looks like a hipster tech office space, not a home. And I wanted a new build.”

  Katie had come so far from being a seller, but she fell right back into pitch mode. She explained breezily, “It’s true that this is a rehabbed structure. You will own a piece of Newcastle history, but with the bonus of all new everything. A state-of-the-art kitchen, the widest balcony in the entire city, and a private gym downstairs, also overlooking the harbor.” She’d worked hand-in-hand with the architect to make sure the entire building featured windows that overlooked the water and not the surrounding neighborhood. The neighborhood was…well, not great. But she was hoping to change that, starting with Phase One of Waterview.

  The client ignored her and looked at his agent with disappointment. “Ari, no amount of gold paint can make up for the fact that I just witnessed a drug deal in front of an empty elementary school the second I stepped out of the car. Can’t do it.” He then mumbled some made-up excuse to bolt, about a meeting in fifteen minutes with his head of surgery. The client left as if the building were on fire around him, indicating to Ari that he’d check in with him later to see if he had any listings in a better neighborhood.

  Ari turned to Katie. “What are we doing here?”

  He had every right to ask her that question. He had only agreed to meet Katie here with his client because she’d reached out and asked him to, not because Ari had thought his old-fashioned, conservative client would love it.

  Now, Katie had to fess up.

  She needed a partner: a broker or another interested party with name recognition to make this Waterview project work.

  She was in deep. Ecco Corp could afford one failure; she’d bounced back from worse. Her company’s name lit up the top of the tallest skyscraper in town; it’s not as if the whole shebang would tank over one lousy idea. The more important things at stake were people’s jobs. Builders, designers, and a fleet of subcontractors and day laborers from this neighborhood were being put to work. She might be a “killer” developer, but she was a human with a beating heart who loved her hometown. But she’d been getting killed in the media over it, from all sides. The newspaper’s editorial section called her an unrepentant gentrifier. The conservative finance magazine criticized her for not playing it safe enough for her investors.

  What she needed now was a partner on the project, someone more well-liked than she was. After all, land developers are always the villains in those Hallmark holiday movies. That was Killer Katie.

  Ari, on the other hand, had his smiling face plastered everywhere. His shining bald head, tortoiseshell frames, and blinding white teeth showed up in almost every other TV commercial within a two-hundred-mile radius. She wished he would save some of that charm and charisma for the rest of the world.

  Maintaining her poker face, Katie shared her idea with Ari. “I know what you read in the paper, but we’re going to go in a completely different direction. Sure, we could do what we always do: proceed with business as usual. Make a shit ton of cash, and maybe clean up the neighborhood. Or, we could take a step back, redesign it and create something more consistent with what people here can afford.”

  Katie waited patiently, maintaining her steady gaze as Ari folded and unfolded his arms. He spotted the paper on the side table, walked over to it, picked it up, and scanned it. He seemed oddly restless and not the cool guy she knew. His pacing made her nervous, but she refused to show it. She waited. Just one listing with Ari would equal one sale, and then the rest would follow.

  “The thing is, Katie—and you know I love you. But this,” he said, gesturing to the newspaper in his hand, “is not going to look good for us.”

  He was right, to a point. Katie did her best to spin it. “Do you think people in the market for luxury condos are going to pay attention to a five-inch editorial inside the newspaper, below the fold?” Katie asked him.

  Ari grimaced. “If they’re smart—and my clientele might
not always be the smartest, but they hire smart people to vet everything—they’ll research the area. They’ll research the neighborhood. It’ll lead them to all kinds of bad press about corruption, the mafia, organized crime, biker gangs, drug dealers. And to this editorial.”

  Spinning wasn’t working. “If we team up, I know we can get this done, Ari. All we need is to sell one or two high-end units, and in the meantime, redesign the entire project. Make it something they do want. Hell, I’ll grab a stranger off the street and move him in here myself if that’s what it takes to make the project seem more appealing.”

  Ari looked at her skeptically. “Redesign how?”

  Buoyed by that crumb of curiosity, she went on. “We’re getting a tax break already. We seek out input from people who live here and put that in the paper. We make the prices consistent with the average rent and mortgages, fill the warehouses with small businesses that provide jobs. We take the hit, admit we screwed up, evolve, and adjust. But that’s my company’s hit, not yours.”

  Ari paced some more, slid open the wide glass balcony door, and stepped out, letting in a chilly breeze along with the sounds of the bustling harbor.

  She watched him shiver and re-enter the room, shutting the door again. “It’s not even the best view of the water in town. Half of it is blocked by cranes and sheds. And you’ve got the noise of the ships all day—workers all over the wharves. I see what you’re doing. I see the appeal, but it’s a hard sell, Katie.” Ari finally blew out a breath and held up both hands. “Look, this isn’t personal, but if I put my firm’s name on it, it’s gotta be a sure thing. This is coming out of nowhere. Frankly, I’m surprised the city let you move forward on this.”