Dirty Martini (Crow Bar Brute Squad Book 2) Page 8

  Which, in itself, made no sense. Was this witchcraft? Had she drugged him? Was he experiencing that elated feeling of meeting a new and exciting person, entirely out of his league? Maybe this was what freefall felt like.

  Mentally unpacking the proposal as his legs sped him down the pre-dawn sidewalks of Riverwalk, he inhaled the freezing air into his lungs.

  If he accepted, what kind of man would that make him?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Katie

  Holden was late.

  She sat in her attorney’s office on River Drive and went over her memory. She had given him the correct information, right?

  Maybe he wasn’t coming.

  She wouldn’t blame him. The entire proposition was a huge decision. Shocking. Uncharacteristically forward for a woman. But that was Katie in a nutshell.

  This arrangement was something she wanted, so she was asking. He was free to say no.

  But you’ll be hurt if he does say no.

  Sometimes she hated the still-small voice, mostly when it was correct.

  She sipped her coffee as she and Trevor, her attorney, made small talk. And then, she almost choked on it when the six-foot-four-inch, tattooed frame filled the doorway. Sometimes she forgot how big he was. Young, big, and without a single hint of shrewdness or ulterior motives. The hoodie and tee shirt with the Pounder’s Gym logo stretched over his massive pectorals made him look every bit a 24-year-old man.

  “Hello, Holden. I’m glad you came.”

  And then he surprised her, with no mind to how people behaved in an attorney’s office, by taking two giant steps toward her, leaning down and kissing her, not with tongue, but with enough feeling behind it to make both her and Trevor blush when he pulled away with a cocky grin. God, she wanted to dive headfirst into that chin dimple and never be seen or heard from again.

  Trevor gestured to the guest chair next to Katie. “Have a seat, and we’ll go over the contract.”

  “Contract?”

  Katie understood why this seemed weird. She drew in a breath and said it all in one go.

  “Listen, I don’t know what your situation is, but as I said last night, I’m interested in…a companion.”

  Holden shook his head. “You know I’m not a sex worker, right?”

  Katie placed her hand over his. “I’m not looking for a sex worker. I want to set you up in a condo. A really nice one. Completely furnished if you require that.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because, like I said, I want to keep you. And pay your bills. And in exchange, I just want…company.”

  “I’ve thought about everything you said. Is this legal?”

  “Would my attorney agree to be a part of this if it was illegal?”

  Holden held up his hands. “Wait just a minute. I’m not interested in a three-way with you and your lawyer. No offense.”

  Trevor shook his head. “None taken. I’m happily married.”

  Katie had to bite the inside of her cheek hard to keep from laughing. Dear, sweet Holden. “Listen. That’s not…I should say, Trevor is here to answer questions about the contract, that’s all.”

  She could almost hear the wheels turning inside his brain as his teeth chewed on his bottom lip and his eyes turned to the ceiling for answers.

  “And what would I have to do?”

  “Nothing you don’t want to. I want a person—you, specifically—to let me pay for you to live however you want.”

  “You’re not going to ask me to do any weird Eyes Wide Shut shit, are you?”

  Katie shrugged. “I haven’t seen that movie, but I’m gonna go ahead and say no.”

  He continued, “‘Cause rich people are into some weird fuckery.”

  Katie’s throat went dry, and she took a sip of her coffee, wishing it was water. “I assure you. No weird rich people shit.”

  He looked thoughtful. “I have a condition,” he said.

  She expected this condition to be along sexual or romantic lines. Cuddling and sharing, but no sex. Sex, but no intimacy. Both or either, but he wanted to see other people.

  For Katie, everything was up for negotiation.

  “This is good. I like to have everything out on the table.”

  What he said was the last thing she ever could have guessed. Not in a hundred guesses would she have guessed what his condition was.

  “I need to bring my cats with me. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Katie smiled because that was what she did during a negotiation that took a sudden left turn, and she needed to think.

  “Cats, as in pet cats?”

  He looked at her like she was certifiable. “Uh…yeah. Pet cats.”

  Of course, she knew he meant pet cats. What else could he have meant?

  “Of course, there’s no problem. I own the damn building. And just so you know, one of the points in the contract is that you might be asked to keep it clean in case there’s a showing.”

  “A showing?”

  Katie nodded. “Yes. I’m in the process of trying to sell units at Waterview, and it’s not going well. So there could be agents showing up to show the space to clients at any time. Full disclosure, I’m hoping that having someone living there—that you living there—will make the space feel homier.”

  Holden looked confused. “What about you? Where would you live?”

  Katie replied, “I would visit. Just like I would be visiting a boyfriend when my schedule permits.”

  Holden nodded. “So you want me to sign a contract to be your boyfriend.”

  Katie didn’t know how to respond to this. She chirped, “Take your time. Have your lawyer look over the contract.”

  “I don’t have a lawyer.”

  “Right. Well, feel free to look over the contract with someone you trust. Someone who isn’t going to judge you for your decisions.

  “I don’t have to think. I’ll do it. I’ll be your boyfriend,” he said. “But I’m not sure how I feel about my girlfriend paying for everything.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily be your girlfriend, Holden.”

  He chuckled, “Keep telling yourself that. But sure. I got someone I can talk it over with if that makes you feel better.” He picked up the ten-page contract, flipped through it until he reached the end, where the signature line was marked with a Post-It note. He knew he would never sign this thing, nor would he ever in a million years take the time to read ten whole pages written by a lawyer. He flipped back to the front page, rolled the entire thing up like a newspaper, and laughed at the image of his confidante casually absorbing the contents of that document. “And it’ll be a first for him, I’m sure.”

  Katie wanted to know, but also didn’t want to know who this ersatz lawyer of Holden’s might be.

  She just hoped she’d get an answer quickly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Holden

  There are times when a man wants another perspective from that of his friends.

  This proposal from Katie Moss had his head spinning.

  Holden had to call his old man on the phone; he was of a certain age and refused to learn how to text. He unlocked his phone and scrolled down through his list of recent phone calls, finding the one he needed.

  The old man answered immediately. “Mister Murphy. To what do I owe the pleasure of a phone call this fine morning?”

  His old man was not Stan Murphy. It was someone he held in much higher esteem.

  “Hey, Padre. I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Would this be a Collar or a Gloves type of talk?”

  “Probably both.”

  “Oh dear, I see. I’ll meet you there shortly, son.”

  Fr. O’Brien was already gloved and warming up in the ring when Holden arrived at Pounder’s Gym. Holden did not give two shits if the new manager didn’t want the priest hanging around the gym. Nobody from the league had contacted him since he received the news about his contract being bought. Not his new manager, not any new trainer. So as far as he was concerned, he had a right to spar with whoever he wanted.

  Sparring used to be a weekly ritual between Holden and Fr. O’Brien, starting from when Holden was just a boy at Holy Rosary Middle School. When Holden’s parents had gotten divorced, Holden’s behavior in school deteriorated quickly. One day, in Sister Roberta’s history class, Holden lost his temper and wrestled Anthony Girardi to the floor after an insult about his perceived IQ. Starting from that day forward, Fr. O’Brien had taken a particular interest in helping Holden channel his aggression. Shortly after that, the middle-aged priest introduced Holden to the sport of boxing. Next to the boiler room, down in the basement of the school, was a tumbling mat laid out on the dirty concrete floor. Off to the side was a shelf containing different sized boxing gloves, a heavy bag, and a speed bag that had both seen better days.

  “You want to punch somebody in the face? You do it in the ring,” Fr. O’Brien had said to the young Holden.

  Although full of temper, Holden always had a tender heart and never dreamed of throwing a punch at Fr. O’Brien. This had been the man who baptized him and all of his sisters as infants, gave him his First Communion, performed the weddings of two of his three older sisters.

  But the priest’s first jab-cross-hook took Holden by surprise and revealed the old man to be a skilled boxer. The hits also smarted enough to rile Holden’s irritation, but he’d still felt unwilling to hit back. The man had been fighting in his collar, for god’s sake.

  The priest had danced around him, taunted him, saying, “You want to fight? Fight me. Come on. What’s the matter? What are you afraid of? Afraid to hit a man in a dog collar? Fine, off it goes.”

  Holden’s second shock that day had come when Fr. O’Brien paused to hurriedly remove his clerical collar and toss it in the corner.

  The middle schooler still couldn’t bring himself to throw a punch at this authority figure because then he’d thought the man was certifiably deranged. The priest eventually resorted to an uncomfortable level of taunting before Holden threw his first punch. To his surprise and shame, it had felt good. Fr. O’Brien had spotted that emotion immediately. “Don’t worry about that, just hit me. Really hit me. Come on.”

  Holden had felt strangely better after that first spar. The priest had ordered him to the basement to fight out his aggression once a week after that. In a couple of weeks, Holden developed a natural talent for the sport, and he was no longer fighting out of aggression but because he enjoyed moving his body that way.

  Eventually, someone had anonymously paid for Holden’s membership at Pounder’s Gym. Holden had always suspected it was Fr. O’Brien covering that bill, but he’d always denied it.

  Fr. O’Brien and Holden danced around each other for barely three seconds before the old man threw his first jab, narrowly missing Holden’s left shoulder. He dodged right as the priest asked, “What’s troubling you, son?”

  Holden jabbed and grazed the priest’s chest as he pivoted right. “A woman.”

  “It’s about the right time for woman troubles. Go on then, and leave nothing out. There’s nothing this old priest hasn’t heard before, either in the ring or in the confessional.”

  A hook landed square on the older man’s shoulder. “Her name’s Katie. We just met, and she wants me to move into her condo.”

  “Is she Catholic?” A lively cross hit from the priest sent Holden stumbling backward one step. Damn, the old man still knew how to hit.

  “No, Padre.” He landed a light uppercut to the ribs.

  “What is she, then?”

  “Extremely rich.”

  “I see. And how long have you been seeing this girl before she suggested the two of you live in sin?”

  Holden would smirk at the phrase “living in sin” if he weren’t still so terrified of the old man in so many ways. “We aren’t actually dating, so to speak.” The old man charged, throwing a series of speedy punches to Holden’s ribcage; he managed to block one or two. “We only just met. She wants to…uh…pay my vet bills.”

  The priest backed away and weaved to the left as Holden let fly a quick jab to the head that he purposely did not allow to connect with the old man’s skull. “How very kind of her. In exchange for what, exactly?”

  “Nothing I don’t want to do. She just wants me to live at her place and, like…be around.”

  Slightly winded now, the priest’s face finally registered what this problem was. He delivered a jab-cross that connected with Holden’s sternum. The man was fast. Holden had a fleeting thought he should fire whoever his new trainer was and only train with Fr. O’Brien. But the diocese probably wouldn’t allow the priest to get paid by a boxing league.

  “You are to be a kept man?”

  “That’s the Cliff’s Notes version of the contract, yeah.”

  “Son, you are still young, and you may not realize it, but sooner or later, this young lady is going to hold all of this over your head in exchange for sexual favors. It amounts to prostitution, which the Church tends to frown upon.”

  How did a man in his 50s not ever get tired? Holden was sweating bullets and breathing hard, but the Padre was barely breaking a sweat. It could be your fear of hellfire and damnation, said his conscience.

  “I don't think it’s like that. I think she just wants a warm body in her house. She said she wants a reason to come home at night.”

  Fr. O’Brien whirled a roundhouse that just grazed Holden’s ear as he pivoted left. He laughed. “Nearly rung your bell there, boy.”

  The pair of them continued sparring for several more minutes until both were covered in sweat and out of breath.

  The laughing caught the owner's attention, who was not too happy when he wandered over to their ring in the corner to see what was so funny.

  “Murphy, your manager made it clear you were not to train with anyone but your official league. I’m sorry, Father, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

  Holden turned on the owner. “My manager isn’t going to sue you for breach of contract. He’s gonna sue me, Joey. And I haven’t even seen the new contract, so no harm done. I don’t know what you’re even worried about.”

  Joey shifted from one foot to the other and cut his eyes to the side, gesturing behind him. Holden picked up on the signal and saw behind the owner a man on the other side of the gym. The stranger wore a warm-weather tailored suit, and his slicked-back hair shone unnaturally with too much product.

  Joey whispered, “I ain’t worried about getting sued. I’m worried about getting my ass handed to me.”

  Holden took off his gloves and started unwrapping his hands. “Who are these people, Joey? When is someone gonna tell me what’s going on? This is your gym, not that guy’s. Right?”

  Joey held up his hands and looked more spooked the louder that Holden became. “Look. It’s all right, kid. Let’s don’t make a scene.”

  Holden only grew more agitated at being told to calm down, but the priest stepped in, his gear bag slung over his shoulder. “It’s all right, Joey. I understand. You and I can talk about this another time. Come on, son.” He gave Holden’s shoulder a squeeze, the same kind of squeeze he remembered from school; it was the kind of squeeze that told him he’d better stop talking immediately.

  Holden followed Fr. O’Brien’s lead, but he did not like what was happening here.

  Outside the building, Holden turned on Fr. O’Brien. “It ain’t right, them not letting you spar with me. What harm can it do? Can’t you say something? You’re Joey’s priest, too!”

  Fr. O’Brien put one gloved hand in the air and reminded Holden of the difficult position he was in.

  “The less I get involved, the better. I’m already far too familiar with everyone’s secret sins in this neighborhood. Trust me, it’s better for me to just disappear.”

  Holden began to protest, but the priest had already anticipated that. “Son, just let it all die down, and everything will be back to normal. Soon.”

  Holden didn’t know what was going on, but he was going to find out.

  First, though, he had to go home, hit the shower, feed the cats, and to give his answer to Katie.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katie

  The big fellow across the table at Donatelli’s seemed uninterested in his steak.

  “What’s troubling you?”

  The second Holden had called to give her his answer, Katie had called for a car to pick him up to meet her for a celebratory lunch. Holden may have been underdressed in his track pants and hoodie. But it was the middle of the day, so Katie didn’t see it as an issue. And as she was a frequent customer, nothing was ever an issue around Katie at that place, at any time of day.

  At the moment, Holden’s focus seemed not on the steak.

  “Are you not hungry?”

  “I’ll live in your condo for as long as you want, do whatever you want me to do, but I’m not signing a contract.” He moved the cheese board out of the way, nudging the short stack of paper at her across the table.

  Katie set down her drink, leaned back in her chair, and studied him. “I don’t get you. Don’t you have anything you want? You don’t have any debt? Ever wish for something you can’t have? I am putting all of this on a platter for you.”

  Holden thought about it. “I have about three thousand dollars in overdue vet bills for my cats. That’s about it.”

  “Who’s paying for your boxing coach and your gym membership?”

  “Well, my priest coaches me for free, and I don’t know who’s paying for my membership. My fees and equipment have always been anonymously paid for by someone. I have a feeling it’s the padre, but he’s never admitted it. And soon, if I start winning fights on the regular and move up the ranks, I could get a sponsor, and they would pay for all that stuff.”

  “So you’re telling me there’s nothing you want from me?”