Page 6 of The Beat Match

“I thought you said you were worried about being late,” Wes said.

Annie looked out the window. She hadn’t noticed Wes pull over, but they were at her newest gig. A job that would pay the bills (and cover emergency craft-shop purchases) while her new plans marinated.

She unclicked her seat belt. Wes did the same. Which was odd. When he opened his door and his intentions sank in, she reached over him and yanked his door shut. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He cast a derisive glance at the bar. “I’m not letting you walk in there on your own.”

Imogen’s did look seedy in the light of day. Cigarettes and garbage littered the sidewalk. Buildings were in various states of decay, this section of the Meatpacking District less gentrified. Still nicer than the streets she’d once called home. She could handle herself anywhere, anytime. What she couldn’t handle was explaining to her coworkers that she’d needed a chaperone her first day. “You’re not letting me do anything. I’m doing this on my own because I’m a functioning adult who doesn’t need an escort.”

“A functioning adult wouldn’t be locked out of her apartment.”

Oh, man, he was cruising for a bruising.

His phone rang from the center console, and Duncan’s name flashed on the screen. She’d met the dashing blond at last year’s company Christmas party. Wes invited her to the event every year. After a handful, she’d begun declining.

The Aldrich Pharma staff knew Wes had met her while volunteering at a shelter, doing his Good Samaritan work. They’d seen Leo’s picture on his desk. Their pitying looks made her feel like she was Wes’s philanthropic project. Last year, free booze and food had outweighed her pride, and Duncan had introduced himself with a kiss to her hand, flirtation oozing through his bedroom voice. Wes had warned her to stay away from him after dragging Duncan away by the elbow. If Wes wanted to unleash his inner control freak, she’d have to fight dirty.

She grabbed Wes’s ringing phone and hit Talk. “Hey, Duncan! It’s me, Annie. We met at the Aldrich Pharma Christmas bash.”

“Must be my lucky day,” Duncan said, his cheerful voice a contrast to Wes’s scathing look. “To what do I owe the honor?” Duncan asked.

“I’m with Wes and your name popped up on his phone. I remembered how nice it was chatting with you, and I simply couldn’t resist answering.”

Scowling, Wes grabbed for the phone. She dodged the control freak, but his hand swiped her boob, and he pulled back, as though horrified. He didn’t try again, and a strange tingling spread up her neck. And down her thighs.

The tight space suddenly felt tighter.

“Anyway,” she said, slightly off balance, “I need to head into work, but it was nice hearing your voice again.”

“The pleasure was all mine. You sound as pretty as I remember.”

She laughed effusively, loudly, giving her best flirty girl impression, then she shoved the phone at Wes. “Thanks for the lift, Weston. I can take it from here.”

He looked about to lace into her, but he pulled out his keys and wallet and tried to hand her a wad of cash. “Use this for a cab home. Please don’t take the subway at night. And if you need my help with rent, call.”

He must really think she was still fourteen. She took his copy of her key and grabbed the cash. “I’ll make enough tips to get home on my own, but there’s someone who could use this. Say goodbye to Duncan for me,” she called loudly, hoping Duncan would hear. Wes’s cheeks turned her favorite shade of furious.

She shimmied out of the car, twisting awkwardly to avoid flashing Wes or the homeless man on the street corner. She closed the door as Wes barked, “Annie is off-limits,” into the phone.

Pleased with her ability to ruffle the unrufflable Weston Aldrich, Annie walked over to the homeless man, crouched in front of him, and gave him Weston’s cash. “I hope you have a good night.”

She made eye contact with him until he gave her a lopsided grin. His expression was loose and sloppy, but it was a smile nonetheless. When living on the street, Annie hadn’t understood why people wouldn’t look at her. Fear. Guilt. Disgust. The only thing worse than disdain had been invisibility.

“Annie,” Wes called from the car, using his be careful tone. He often warned her away from homeless people. Told her not everyone was safe. Then he’d drop a fifty into someone’s outstretched hand, covering her meager one or five.

She stood and blew Wes a kiss, then pushed into Imogen’s. The dank bar felt cavernous and smelled slightly sour, the floor so scuffed it looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. The high-top tables had seen better days, and the two pool tables and small stage at the back were a little worse for wear. Imogen’s rep as a “new” hot spot seemed suspect.

A beautiful Korean woman with a pixie-cut, who looked too young to work at a bar, was scanning bottles of alcohol and writing on a clipboard. When she noticed Annie, she waved. “I’m Vivian. You must be the new girl.”

“That would be me—Annie. Just tell me what needs doing, and it’s done.”

Eight hours later Annie’s predictions had come true. She was sweaty, she smelled of booze, her feet ached, and one slurring man had told her she had nice eyes, while staring at her boobs. Surprisingly, the “hot spot” label had also proved accurate. Dim lighting, electro jazz tunes, and a boisterous mid-twenties crowd had transformed Imogen’s from shabby to chic. Aside from her sore feet and less-than appealing smell, she felt energized.

Annie slid a whiskey sour to a tattooed woman along the bar.

Vivian caught Annie’s eye. “Selma said we can punch out at midnight.” She raised her voice over the music, dancing as she spoke. “The later shift will close.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” Annie collected cash from her customer, grooving along with Vivian, and pocketed her tip. “Is it always this busy?” Thursdays at her last job had been hit or miss.