King's Promise
“Well. I gotta hand it to you, cuz. You outdid yourself on this one,” Q said, patting him on the back. “This calls for a celebration.”
Xavier’s forehead wrinkled as he folded his arms. “Who are you kidding? Your getting out of bed is cause for celebration.”
Quentin held up a finger. “This is true. But seeing as how this swanky new shindig is going to make us a whole lot more money, I’m going to take you two out for dinner.”
Jeremy’s brows hiked. “You paying?”
“No. I was just going to drive.”
“Figures. You cheap bastard.”
Feigning shock, Q pressed a hand over his heart. “I’m offended.”
Jeremy rubbed his index finger and thumb together. “I’ve got the world’s smallest violin playing for you right now.”
Xavier shook his head while he listened to them carry on.
“Excuse me?” a soft voice floated from behind them.
The men spun around.
Xavier experienced a Mike Tyson punch to the gut when his eyes landed on a maple-brown sister with jaw-dropping Jessica Rabbit curves. How he managed to keep his tongue inside his mouth while his gaze roamed over her ripe cantaloupes that were posing as breasts and stretching the hell out of a black T-shirt with a decal that said Got Milk was a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Equally mystifying was how she managed to get her painted-on jeans over a red-beans-and-rice booty that at the right angle looked like an upside-down question mark.
All in all, those were just a few of the questions that he was more than happy to get to the bottom of.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pushing up her designer shades and flashing a smile that would make a Hollywood starlet green with envy. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but is this where I apply for the bartending position that was listed?”
Xavier was struck by the way her voice seemed a little older than she appeared, mainly because it had a sexy huskiness to it and a slight Caribbean lilt. His lips widened. It had been a while since he’d had an island girl.
Jeremy stepped forward first. “Actually—”
Xavier grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. “Yes. This is the place, but I’m afraid the interviews are tomorrow from four to seven. Not today.”
The woman looked down at the folded newspaper and read the classified ad again. When she saw that she did indeed have the wrong day her shoulders collapsed and she huffed out a frustrated breath. “Just great! I went through all that trouble to arrange a makeup lab test to come here today.” She slapped her forehead with the newspaper and then turned around. “All right, thanks! I guess it’s a sign that it just wasn’t meant to be.”
It was the sight of that thick butt walking away and possibly never returning that sprung Xavier into action. “Whoa! Wait,” he called after her.
She stopped and turned back around. “Yes?”
Again, he felt that punch to the gut, and when he caught his breath he smiled. “Well, since you’re already here, why don’t you let me see that résumé?”
“Great!” She quickly reached into the bag dangling off of her shoulder and handed over a single piece of paper. “I really appreciate this. It’s crazy trying to rearrange my schedule during the day—I’m in school. Med school, actually. Over at Emory, which is why working nights really fits my schedule.”
Xavier bobbed his head while she rambled on nervously.
“Cheryl Shepherd,” he read. “Twenty-seven… You’re clearly a med student like you said…but I don’t see a lot of bartending experience.”
“Well, I usually do a lot of small parties. Plus, I have an uncle who has a bar in Alabama. I used to help out there during the summers when I was in college.” She tossed in. “I probably should’ve added that.”
Xavier smiled, his gaze still caressing her curves. “Maybe we should give you a little audition behind the bar? See if you really know your stuff?”
“All right.” She nodded her head. “I’m down with that.”
He stepped back and extended his arm. “Right this way.”
Cheryl looked in the direction of the bar and strolled ahead of him, giving him a bird’s-eye view of all that her mama blessed her with.
Q leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Any chance we can talk her into putting all that into a thong?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t know if even the three of us together can handle all of that. Humph. Humph. Humph.”
“Speak for yourself,” Q said, moving Jeremy out of the way and straightening his shoulders. But before he could activate his pimp walk, Xavier cut his stride off by stepping in front of him and taking the lead behind Cheryl.
In her immediate wake, Xavier recognized the sweet raspberry nectar and magnolia scent of Givenchy’s Hot Couture and his interest climbed a few more degrees. For some time now, it had been an abstraction of Xavier’s to pair women’s personalities with their choice of fragrance. What popped into his head as he followed her down the club’s new staircase was…sophisticated, sensual and bewitching. Those were his favorite qualities—for now, anyway.
“Wow. This is nice,” Cheryl praised, walking behind the bar and running her hand across the mahogany top. “Paid a lot of money for this baby.”
“And you’re going to be the first to try her out,” Xavier said, settling onto one of the stools. There was so much to marvel about her curvy body that his gaze kept darting around, trying to decide what was his favorite part. It was a three-way tie between her face, breasts and butt.
Jeremy and Quentin caught up and flanked his sides.
“All right, boys,” Cheryl said, flashing her Hollywood smile. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have a Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Bedpost Mexican Doggy Style,” Xavier ordered with a sly smirk. It was pretty much a frat-boy drink, but he wanted to see if this dime diva could handle a curveball.
Cheryl met his twinkling gaze and fired an imaginary gun at him. “You got it!” She immediate reached for the vodka, two different rums, Tequila Gold, Midori and gin, and threw in the appropriate mixers, and in less than a minute she set Xavier’s drink on a cocktail napkin in front of him. “Enjoy your screw.”
It took everything in Xavier’s power not to lower himself into the gutter even more by responding to the pun. Instead, he reached for the drink and took a sip. “Mmm. This is a good screw.” Okay, so he couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll have a Voodoo Sunrise,” Jeremy said, seeing if he could stump the hopeful bartender. Her hands flew to the vodka, white rum, grenadine and orange juice, and a few seconds later, she sat his drink down.
“My turn. My turn,” Q announced, and then clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I have to make this one a good one to see if you got the right stuff. I mean…clearly you got the right stuff, I mean, damn. Look at you.”
Xavier reached over and popped Quentin on the back of the head.
“Ow.”
“Just order a damn drink.” Xavier cut him a look that told him to knock it off.
“All right. Damn. There’s no reason for all this black-on-black crime.” He pumped his fist to his chest. “We’re family.”
Xavier rolled his eyes at his cousin’s nonsense. Cheryl snickered. “Take your time.”
Q turned and hit her with his dimpled smile, but before he could get his mack mojo going, Xavier elbowed him. It wasn’t like him to cock-block this hard. But he instinctively felt the alpha-male impulse to mark his territory.
“I’ll just have a Singapore Sling.” Q looked over at Xavier. “If that’s all right with you.”
Cheryl hopped right to it, while Xavier and Q exchanged looks. No words were exchanged between the cousins, but their ESP battle went something like this….
Xavier: Cuz, back the hell off. She’s mine.
Quentin: I don’t see any rings on her fingers. She’s fair game.
Xavier: Family be damned, if you don’t pump the brakes I’ll take you out back and break your face.
Quentin: A’ight. A’ight. Stop the violence.
“Your drink,” Cheryl said, setting the third drink on the counter with a flourish and settling her hands on her hips.
Q picked up his glass, sipped, smacked his lips together while pretending to be in deep thought and then sipped again.
“Well?” Cheryl asked.
“Not bad. Not bad,” Q said. “But I’m concerned about your presentation.”
Xavier groaned and then propped an elbow on the bar so that he could massage the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry,” Cheryl said. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Entertainment.” Q threw up his hands. “I know a little bit about being behind the bar and it’s been my experience that people really like it if a bartender…you know, entertains a bit.”
“Like hop on the bar and start dancing like Coyote Ugly.”
Quentin tapped his nose. “Do you dance?”
“Uh, no. I’m not interested in being a dancer. I just want to tend bar.”
“The job doesn’t entail dancing.” Xavier elbowed Q.
“What?” Q hissed. “Closed mouths don’t get fed.”
“Please ignore him,” Xavier said.
Cheryl held her smile. “Aw. He seems harmless.”
Quentin settled both his elbows on the bar and cradled his head in his hands. “I am completely harmless. Are you married?”
“Q,” Xavier warned.
“No. I’m not,” Cheryl answered.
“Boyfriend?” Quentin pressed.
“No boyfriend, unfortunately,” she said. Her gaze cut over to Xavier.
He felt another gut punch and wondered how much longer it would take before he suffered a knockout.
“But if you’re looking for more entertaining bartending…” She flipped the bottle of rum over her shoulder and then dipped her knees and caught the bottle with one hand behind her back. “I can do that, too.”
“You’re hired,” Quentin said, grinning.
“Q!” Xavier snapped. “What?”
Xavier jerked his head around toward his cousin, a look of annoyance plastered on his face. “You’re a silent partner. That means be quiet.”
“Touché.” Q shifted in his seat and straightened an invisible tie. “I’m sorry, Ms. Shepherd. Apparently, I don’t have the power to hire you. But I want you to know that I would hire you if I could.”
“Me, too,” Jeremy tossed in, draining his drink. “This is a really good Voodoo Sunrise.”
Now three sets of eyes turned toward Xavier.
“You said that you’re in school. How many hours are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for full-time work. Medical school isn’t cheap,” she joked.
“That’s a lot of work,” he noted.
“I can handle it,” she said, thrusting her chin up. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a hard worker.”
Intelligence and determination glimmered in her maple-brown eyes as well as a hint of playful interest as she held Xavier’s bold gaze. “You say that you used to work at your uncle’s bar, but you know that working at a gentlemen’s club is a completely different animal. Patrons are going to hit on you—some are rude, some are obnoxious. Do you think you can handle that?”
Cheryl cocked her head. “I didn’t just get this body last night, Mr. King. Putting up with rude and obnoxious comments comes with the territory.”
Xavier laughed. “Good answer.”
Jeremy leaned over. “Now will you hire her?”
Xavier rolled his eyes. “Looks like if I don’t hire you, your new fan club might revolt.”
Cheryl flashed the two cousins an appreciative look. “A woman can never have too many fans. Thanks, guys.” She winked at them and they literally slid their elbows out in front of them like she’d just melted their hearts. “So does that mean I have the job?”
“It’s yours if you want it. Job starts Friday. Six o’clock sharp.”
“Great! I’ll be here!”
She finally tossed Xavier a wink and he nearly made a fool of himself, too, by gushing all over her. “Then we’ll see you Friday.”
Chapter 2
Lord have mercy.
Cheryl had never seen three finer men in all her life. When she first walked in and they turned toward her, she honestly felt like she was the winner of some kind of man-fantasy lottery. But the one who was seriously buttering her toast was the one she could barely look at. And when she finally did toss him a wink, his smile turned predatory. How on earth was she going to manage working for this man without suffering through endless fantasies of ripping his clothes off and having her way with him?
Hell, even now she wasn’t sure that she was walking a straight line toward the front door. It had a lot to do with knowing that there were three pairs of eyes following the sway of her hips and the jiggle of her ass. Of course, when she turned around at the glass door to give them a final wave, they all played it off and exchanged innocent smiles with her.
“Thanks again.” She rushed out into the parking lot to her old blue Ford Taurus, pretending that her heart wasn’t racing a mile a minute. As she climbed behind the wheel, she saw the three of them walk out of the club, as well. They looked like GQ models, laughing and joking with one another.
Cheryl’s gaze zoomed in on the tallest of the group, Xavier King, as she felt the muscles in her stomach quiver. When was the last time something like that had happened to her—junior high? She fumbled with the keys, trying to insert them into the ignition, while she took in his close-cropped hair, handsome chiseled features, smooth, milk-chocolate skin and a muscled body that was just screaming her name.
Even though he wore a bright white dress shirt and a pair of black jeans, Cheryl had no trouble picturing him stripped down to his birthday suit. How could she not? Broad chest, trim waist and powerful thighs—this was a man who hadn’t let himself go since his days of earning money in the boxing ring. He was beyond fine, but the problem was that he knew it.
She had no problem imagining women tripping over their bottom lips trying to get his attention, and no doubt he had his pick. Shoot, under the right circumstances… “Shake it off, girl. Shake it off.” Cheryl finally slipped the key into the ignition and started the car.
The men glanced in her direction and she exchanged a polite wave as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed out onto the street. No sooner had she taken a left onto the main road did her cell phone ring. “Hello.”
“Well, how did it go?” Johnnie asked.
“I got the job,” Cheryl said, unable to stop herself from sounding cocky.
“It was the Got Milk T-shirt, wasn’t it?”
“Are you insinuating that my body got me a job at a strip club instead of my amazing bartending skills?”
Johnnie laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Cheryl smiled. “Well…maybe it was more like a one-two punch.”
“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that. How far are you from the station?”
Cheryl glanced down at the clock on the console. “Be there in ten.” She disconnected the call. During the ten-minute drive, Cheryl had a hard time keeping her mind on the road and off Xavier King. How many hours did a man have to put in at the gym to get a body like that? Two hours a day—three?
She was sure that if she had a magnifying glass or a jeweler’s loupe, she wouldn’t have been able to find a single ounce of fat anywhere on his body. And Lawd have mercy, that chest. Not only was it wide, but he had just the right kind of muscles that didn’t make him look like a steroid freak. They looked like the perfect place for a woman to lay her head down on every night.
Before Cheryl knew it, she was getting herself so hot and worked up that she had to turn on the air conditioner to try and cool off. By the time she reached the police station, she was reasonably composed, but she wouldn’t have turned down a cold shower if the opportunity presented itself.
She parked, cut off the engine and reached over to the glove compartment to retrieve her badge and police-issue Glock before climbing out of the car. But the minute she walked into the precinct, she drew more than her fair share of stares from her male colleagues.
“Yo, Grier. I got some milk for you,” Officer Daniel Banks hollered with his arms outstretched. “What’s my prize?”
There was a ripple of laughter across the precinct floor.
Cheryl gave his ignorant ass the bird and kept it moving toward her department.
Her partner, Officer Johnnie Walsh, hung up the phone on her desk and then glanced over at the ridiculously large clock on the wall. “Eight minutes. Not bad.”
“I aim to please,” Cheryl said, plopping down into the chair beside her partner’s desk. “Have I missed anything?”
Johnnie leaned her five-foot-four frame back in her chair and exhaled a long breath. “Nothing that has anything to do with our case, if that’s what you mean. But the mayor and the chief of police are in the lieutenant’s office right now giving him a dressing-down over that botched armored-car robbery yesterday. Two cops down and the perpetrators getting away means the lieutenant isn’t going to have much ass left to sit on for the rest of the year.”
Cheryl glanced at the lieutenant’s closed door and shook her head. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
Johnnie laughed. “I take it that means you and the big man haven’t kissed and made up yet?”
“That is never going to happen.”
Johnnie shrugged and gave her the “I told you so” look a couple of seconds before it tumbled out her mouth. “I told you not to get involved in an office romance. Let alone with someone you work for.”
Cheryl performed her customary head bob and eye roll. What else could she do? Johnnie had warned her repeatedly and she had ignored her repeatedly. Mainly because as far as Cheryl was concerned, her mother had been right: she had to learn to do things the hard way. It was one of the unfortunate side effects of never taking no for an answer, wanting to do things her way and having issues with authority figures. Combine all of those traits and it meant that Cheryl almost always stayed in trouble.
Johnnie’s phone rang and she quickly picked it up.
Cheryl started to turn her head away from the door when it suddenly jerked open and the mayor and chief of police strode out like twin tornadoes ripping through the office. All eyes followed them until they were out of sight before looking back at Lieutenant Jason Mackey, who was last to exit his office.
To Cheryl’s inquisitive eye, it looked like Jason Mackey’s superiors had done more than just chew his butt off. They had beaten every ounce of confidence out of his usually cocky demeanor. “Aww,” Cheryl said, low enough for Johnnie’s ears only. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
Johnnie placed a hand over the mouthpiece. “The keyword is almost.”
Cheryl turned back around and flashed a smile. “Good ear.”
Johnnie removed her hand and said into the line, “We’re on our way.” She hung up and climbed out of her seat. “Let’s go.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Cheryl pitched herself out of the chair and followed her partner into the department’s smallest conference room. On a corkboard were photos and diagrams of how the police department believed Operation Striptease broke down. As Cheryl took her seat in one of the metal folding chairs, she stared at pictures of the suspected mules, Mario and Alejandro Gutierrez, hauling everything from marijuana, cocaine and heroine out of Mexico to the runners, Kendrick Hodges and Jermaine Wallace. From there, things tended to get a little tricky. Who was trafficking drugs and distributing them to the dancers and clientele at a number of strip clubs, lounges and gentlemen’s clubs? More importantly, just how far up the chain did the illegal activity go? Cheryl had a little run-in with Hodges last year—picked him up on a breaking-and-entering charge. He was a mean son of a bitch who hated cops. She didn’t look forward to crossing paths with him again.
In no time at all, Cheryl’s gaze shot up to the top of the board where striking pictures of Xavier King and Quentin Hinton were posted. Each had a large question mark made with a wide, black Sharpie next to their faces. While other members of their team and even some from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation task force filtered into the room, Cheryl couldn’t pull her gaze away from Xavier’s handsome face.
Johnnie leaned over and whispered, “Between you and me, is Xavier King that fine in person?”
Immediately, the corners of Cheryl’s lips curled. “Honey, his pictures don’t nearly do him justice.”
Johnnie leaned in so close that Cheryl felt like her partner was invading her personal space. “Ooooh. I know that look.” Johnnie groaned, shaking her head. “I know that look.”
“What?” Cheryl’s brows knitted. “What look?”
“That bitch in heat look,” Johnnie spat out. She had never been one to mince words. “You know, the one you always get two seconds before you land in hot water.”
Cheryl nodded and began rolling her eyes again.
Johnnie’s groan became louder before she hissed, “Get that silly-ass look off your face. Get your hormones in check and your mind on the J-O-B.”
“Since when don’t I do my job?” Cheryl asked, looking at her partner and friend.
Johnnie crossed her arms. “All I’m saying is that I’ve been gunning for that sergeant’s badge and this case can make it happen. Don’t screw it up.”
“Again. When it comes to my job, I do my job.”
“And when it comes to good-looking men, you lose your head,” Johnnie reminded her. On cue, Lieutenant Mackey strolled his arrogant butt into the squad room and their eyes connected for a brief second before another officer captured his attention with a question.
Jason Mackey, six foot one with a smooth, dark-chocolate complexion, had first attracted Cheryl’s attention five years ago when she joined the force, mainly because he knew how to wield his power and authority like no one she’d ever met before. Ignoring common sense and unsolicited advice from her partner, she gave in to their obvious physical attraction and proceeded to have a six-month affair that was totally against department policy.
Their first night together was great. The other five months and twenty-nine days was a complete nightmare. She suffered endless migraines and gut-wrenching regret. Mackey, however, was head over heels in love. Cheryl had to learn the hard way how bad and sticky it was to try to end an office romance—though Jason Mackey seemed hardly over it.
Slowly, she realized that Mackey was working his way around the room. She found herself feverishly praying for the meeting to hurry up and get started. But Cheryl wasn’t that lucky.
“Officer Grier.” Mackey’s eyes roamed over her face before slowly following the contours of her curvy body. “Now, why am I not surprised that you didn’t have a problem landing a job at The Dollhouse?”
She smiled. “Because you know that I’m good at whatever I put my mind to.” That didn’t come out right.
Mackey immediately hiked up a brow. “You know…now that you’ve mentioned it… You do have a point there.”
From the corner of her eye, Cheryl saw Johnnie pretending to gag. However, when Mackey cast his gaze over at her partner, she had a straight face and quickly feigned an innocent smile. That alone was enough for him to continue to look at her suspiciously.
“So, uh, what was your impression of Mr. King and Mr. Hinton?” Mackey asked, returning his gaze to Cheryl. “Any red flags we should know of?”
“No. Actually, they seem like three normal—”
“Three?”
“Yeah. Uh, Xavier’s younger brother was there, as well. Jeremy King. When I applied for the job, Xavier was with Quentin and Jeremy.”
“Think the younger brother might have a hand in all of this?”
Cheryl started to shake her head.
“I mean, don’t the other King brothers own The Dollhouse’s other locations in Las Vegas and Los Angeles? What if they have a whole network set up?”
Mackey was getting that ambitious look in his eyes. No doubt expanding the scope of the investigation, as visions of a major drug bust danced like sugarplums in his head. The fame and the national recognition could land him something like head of Homeland Security.