Oh, honey. Don’t you know better than to ask a man that question? Adam swallowed with difficulty and tried yet again to reassure her. “Really, it’s okay. Calm down.”
“It’s not okay. I can’t calm down. And Yvonne is going to kill me now for sure. In the first hour of my employment.” She put a hand over her mouth as a thought occurred to her and she gazed at him in horror. “Oh, my God. You’re not going to sue me, are you?”
Adam shot her a wry grin. No, suing was not what I had in mind, sweetheart. But it rhymes.
He shook his head, which was a big mistake, since it made his nose throb like crazy.
“But I shouldn’t even be thinking about me. Come on. We need to go straight to the emergency room. You could be seriously injured, could have a concussion—”
“From a blow to the nose?” Adam laughed.
“Anything’s possible. My friend Becca once ran smack into a stop-sign pole because, you know, she was talking to someone over her shoulder? And she knocked herself out cold. So please, please, please let me take you to a doctor and make sure you’re okay.”
Her agitation was almost endearing. Adam finally made it to a full sitting position and reiterated that he was fine.
“C’mon, darlin’!” Gib bellowed drunkenly. “Show us what you’ve got! Shake it. Somebody start the music again.”
“Emergency room,” she pleaded, her eyes locked on Adam’s and strangely intense.
“But I don’t need—”
“Please,” she said piteously.
“But—”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t make me get out there and dance. I can’t do it tonight. I just can’t. I’ll throw up.”
Her breasts nestled against his chest and her lush lips moved inches from his own. Adam felt the room begin to spin as all the blood in his body rushed south from his throbbing nose to his groin. His willpower spiraled down with it.
“Please,” she said again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll dance privately, just for you….”
Only a complete pig would take advantage of this situation and exploit the poor woman, Adam’s big head told him.
Too bad he was now listening to the little head. She broke your nose, dude. And she’s a stripper. She does this a lot, no matter what she says. Why not have a private dancer, just for tonight?
Adam got to his feet, conscious of the fact that because of the spilled drink on the floor, he looked as if he’d messed his pants. He pretended to be dazed. “Guys,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I need to have my head examined.”
2
NIKKI FELT A RUSH of gratitude as she and her victim helped each other to stand. “I’ll drive him to the emergency room,” she said to the boys. “I’m the one who knocked him down.” But her gratitude turned quickly to alarm as she and Bloody Nose were surrounded by a wall of drunken, denim-clad testosterone and various expressions of male disappointment.
The consensus was that she, Nikki, had a job to do and she wasn’t going anywhere until she’d done it to their satisfaction.
“You gonna load him up into that cake, darlin’?” mocked the bowlegged guy who’d yelled for her to start dancing again. “It’s obviously made for the autobahn.”
Nikki bit her lip. “No, of course not. My car’s outside,” she said, turning to Bloody Nose. And she couldn’t wait to get into it, before Yvonne caught her and disemboweled her for screwing up the gig. “By the way, what’s your name?”
“Adam,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Nikki.”
“Is that short for Nikita, female assassin?”
“No,” she said, flushing. “It’s short for plain old Nicole.”
“Plain and old are not adjectives that I’d use to describe you,” said Adam, wincing as he examined the blood-soaked cocktail napkins.
Nikki grabbed another handful, extended them to him and looked into the steady brown eyes behind their wire-rimmed glasses. She wondered which adjectives he would choose. But she didn’t have the nerve to ask. Clumsy and moronic might be among them. Or slutty. She needed her street clothes and purse, but she was petrified of running into Yvonne.
“I’ll drive you to the E.R., Adam,” said a cheerful-looking dark-haired guy who reminded her of a teddy bear. “Leave the talent here for everyone else to enjoy.”
Adam shot the guy an evaluative look. “Pete, you couldn’t drive a Big Wheel right now. You’ve had half a bottle of tequila. But thanks.”
“I got you covered.” Another member of the bachelor party pushed his way forward, this one with a gold chain around his neck and enough gel in his hair to grease down a Siberian husky.
Adam outright laughed. “We took a cab here, Devon. Remember?”
Devon stopped talking midprotest and looked sheepish. Then he said, “I’ll drive Pete’s car.”
“No way,” Adam said. “Who here hasn’t had at least four or five drinks already?”
The bowlegged guy squinted and started counting on his fingers. The one Adam had called Pete turned redder than he already was, and the groom burped sheepishly.
“That’s what I thought,” Adam said. “I’m the only sober one here—apart from Nikki. So I’m afraid, gentlemen, that the talent comes with me.” He put his arm protectively around her shoulders, and she could have kissed him.
Pete frowned as he swayed back and forth, looking owlish. “No, no, no. Talent gotta stay. I have a cell phone!”
“Congratulations,” Adam told him.
Pete blinked. “Thank you.” He hiccupped. “I have a cell phone, so I can call a cab. To take you to the ’mergency room. C’mon, bro. Talent stays.”
Horrified, Nikki looked at Adam to see if he had an answer for that one. He didn’t seem to.
“Wait!” she said. “The talent should go…because I have no talent. Really!” Not to mention the issue of that jumbo bag of M&M’s she’d eaten yesterday. She was sure that they’d already adhered in sugary little lumps all over her hips and backside.
But the idiots didn’t seem to be listening. They stood gawking at her as if her breasts were two NFL announcers debating the last play at the Super Bowl—and they each had a thousand bucks riding on the outcome.
The bowlegged guy they’d called Gib said hoarsely, “We don’t care about talent, sweetcakes. Just get out there and wobble around for us. Shake it like you mean it.”
Nikki gulped and looked at Adam. “Please get me out of here,” she mouthed. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Guys,” he said, “let her drive me. I’ll pay for the next round and I’ll get you two other strippers. Just let me take this one.” He dug some cash out of his pocket and slapped it into Gib’s hand.
The general consensus among those who could still employ rational thought was that two was better than one, and free booze wasn’t something to be turned down. So, feeling a little like a piece of traded livestock, Nikki tiptoed into the dressing room behind the stage, thankful that there was no sign of Yvonne. She fell on her belongings like a vulture, not even taking the time to dress, and scrambled out as fast as she could.
Then