Or on her own in a fairly rough neighborhood. She was a sexier, more naïve version of that woman from The Sound of Music. He swore, if she’d broken into song, he wouldn’t have been shocked.
He needed to forget about her and her bubblegum scent, her handbag dog and her over-the-top optimism. He had actual shit to worry about.
Now he was late to his meeting with Steele. And he was in a damn bad mood.
This flunky stood no chance.
Spike stepped closer. “Move.”
The dickhead stood his ground, although Spike saw a hint of worry enter his eyes. How the hell did this idiot get this job?
“You can’t get up here without an invite. Mr. Steele is having a meeting and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Spike would enjoy toying with him. If he wasn’t already running behind.
“Move. Now.”
The door behind the idiot opened. He had crap instincts considering he just stood there, glaring at Spike.
“Jerry, what are you doing?” a smooth voice asked.
Jerry jumped and turned to face the man standing behind him. Slim-built but muscular, he wore a white shirt with black pants. He had a neatly-trimmed short beard and dark green eyes. Thomas Grady was a man who could blend in when he wanted to or cause complete fear and chaos when he put his mind to it.
He wasn’t a man to cross.
“Ahh, Mr. Grady. Was just telling this idiot to move on.”
“Really? What were my instructions to you when I left you here?” Grady asked.
“To send up the guy Mr. Steele’s meeting with when he arrived. But this isn’t him.”
“Why isn’t it him?”
Jerry grew pale, seeming to realize his mistake. “You mean . . . he . . . but shit. He looks like . . .”
“Yes?” Grady asked quietly.
“Nothing. Sorry, sir,” he said to Grady then Spike. “Go up please.”
Spike resisted the urge to growl at him. Barely.
When the door was closed on the idiot, Grady turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just tell him your name?”
“He’s an idiot. He made assumptions. Steele needs someone better guarding his back.”
“I’ll let you tell him that.”
Spike would.
He followed Grady up the stairs into Steele’s office. Which was actually more like a suite of rooms than just a simple office. They entered into a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the club below. It had its own bar as well as a lounging area and a dining table.
A woman stood behind the bar, mixing drinks. She was wearing the tight top and short shorts that all the servers here wore. She sent him an interested, sultry look. But he ignored her. All the servers were taught to treat the patrons like that. As though they were tasty snacks to devour. It got them more tips.
He was no snack. He was barbed wire wrapped in leather.
Beyond the living room was a bathroom, a private office and a sleeping area. With how much time Steele spent here, he guessed it made sense to have a bedroom.
A tall man, shoulders thick with muscle that he’d developed as a cage fighter, stood in front of the windows. He turned around, giving Spike a bored look. There wasn’t much that interested Steele anymore. Sometimes Spike thought it was like looking into a mirror.