A Chance At Redemption (Madison Square Book 3) Read online

I sighed, more than a little irritated by the repetitive questioning. “No, I’m Liam Sinclair, her boss.”

  “Oh Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “She’s been asking for you.” The doc looked over at the nurse and smiled. “I’ll handle this, Noreen. Follow me, Mr. Sinclair.”

  I followed the doc through the emergency room doors, past bays of people in various states of unrest before he stopped beside a green curtain. He pulled it back, revealing Bridget looking pale and ashen, her right leg propped up on a pillow.

  “Bridget. Oh, thank God.” I sighed. “You all right?

  She shook her head and looked up at the doc to explain. “I’m afraid your friend has a fractured tibia,” he said. “She’ll be fine but she’s going to have to stay off that leg for a few months.”

  My eyes widened. A few months? Shit! How was I going to run the bar without her for a few months? As soon as the thought entered my mind I cursed myself for being a selfish prick. Bridget was laid up in the hospital with a broken leg and I was worried about the bar. Some friend I am.

  I stayed with her while they set her leg in a cast and then I drove her home. I helped her into the house and got her settled, telling her to rest and to call me if she needed anything.

  Fuck. Not only did I need a new bartender, but now I needed a waitress too.

  Chapter 3

  Gwen

  I was down to my last eight hundred bucks and Daddy still hadn’t caved on the whole cutting me off thing, the bastard.

  I’d lived blissfully in denial the first week and decided to cheer myself, up with a new pair of Louboutins. There was a small twinge of regret in my stomach as I filled out the twelve-hundred-dollar check, but I really did believe that Daddy would come through in the end.

  Oh, how wrong I was. I was broke with no job prospects, a quickly diminishing bank balance, and a gorgeous pair of extremely expensive shoes as my only asset. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  I reached for my phone and scrolled through my contacts list hoping someone might have a job for me or even just some money. I’m not above being someone’s sugar baby, provided they didn’t expect anything sexual. I’m not a whore. Well, I’d consider it, if the guy was cute.

  I’d scrolled all the way through the M’s without any luck, but then a name in the P’s caught my eye and I immediately opened a text.

  Gwen: Hey there stud.

  Peter: Hey babe.

  Gwen: I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing me just a teensy weensy little favor. I’ll make it worth your while.

  Peter: Why don’t you head on over to my place so we can discuss my terms.

  I rolled my eyes. What an ass. Peter Russell was a dipshit and a pretentious one at that. We went out a few times and messed around, mostly to fuck with that bitch Alex who’d gotten me fired.

  I wasn’t interested in seeing him again, but I was desperate. He worked for one of the largest publishing houses in the city and was my last hope of finding a job.

  Gwen: Be there in 30.

  I glanced over at my laptop, which was still open to my online banking account, the balance mocking me from the screen. Eight hundred bucks was nothing. It wouldn’t even cover a third of my rent, let alone food, car insurance, and my cell phone bill.

  I jumped up from my ruffled duvet cover and headed into my closet. I picked out the shortest, tightest dress I could find and slipped on my new Louboutins for luck, then headed out to charm my way into a job.

  ***

  I leaned on the buzzer of Peter’s building, the loud noise echoing through the concrete entryway. He lived in a trendy loft downtown in a converted old warehouse. It was nice enough, but I wouldn’t be caught dead living in a place like this. I don’t care how trendy it was or how much renovation was done, he still lived in an old warehouse that smelled faintly of shoe polish.

  The door clicked and I pulled it open making my way toward the elevator, scrunching my nose in disgust at the generic abstract splatter paintings that hung on the light gray walls of the lobby. So cheap.

  The elevator ride was short and the doors opened directly into Peter’s loft. The place was bachelor pad hell. Leather couch, glass coffee table circa 1985, and an insanely large TV that I knew for a fact was compensating for his less than impressive penis.

  I stepped out of the elevator, fixing a smile to my face, trying my best not to roll my eyes at the ridiculous cliché I’d just entered.

  “Gwen,” Peter said emerging from the kitchen with a slimy smile on his face. Suck it up, Gwen, you need him.

  “Hey, baby,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck, and pressing my boobs into his chest.

  His gaze dipped to the cleavage that spilled from my low neckline and I knew I had him just where I wanted.

  “You’re looking sexy as usual, baby,” Peter said as he slipped his hand down my back, gripping my ass hard as he pulled me in close, reeking of beer and weed.

  I swallowed thickly to keep the bile from rising up in the back of my throat and smiled sweetly up at him as his fingers began to search for the edge of my already too-short dress.

  “Thanks, handsome.” I threaded my fingers through his greasy product-filled hair. “I missed you,” I said with a little extra pout.

  “Did you now?” His sleazy smile widened and he pulled me in tighter so I could feel his erection against my hip.

  I nodded. “Well, then we will just have to make up for lost time, won’t we?”

  Peter’s lips crashed to mine in a hard, sloppy kiss. His tongue thrust into my mouth like a slimy fish flopping around on a boat. I gave him my best performance moaning and pulling at his hair like I couldn’t get enough.

  He kissed his way down my chin to my neck, leaving a sticky trail of saliva. I rolled my eyes, mentally counting how many showers I would need to wash the stench of his sweat and spit off me when this was over. Which, based on my previous experiences with Peter, I knew wouldn’t be long. Lucky for me.

  He tugged at my zipper and my dress hit the floor exposing my naked skin beneath. I’d forgone underwear to avoid the unsightly panty lines that would no doubt have shown through the tight little number. Plus, it was a time saver—less to remove.

  I slipped my hands beneath his shirt, pushing it up his chest and over his head, my fingers lingering on the delectable abs that were wasted on this asshole. I’d give him this—the man had a body to die for and a face to match, but his appeal stopped as soon as he opened those perfect lips.

  Once his shirt was gone Peter wasted no time ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. He reached for my hand, sliding it down his chest and wrapped my fingers around him, as I pushed the twinge of regret way, way down inside.

  I groaned at the thought of having to fake my way through this again. Peter smiled against my lips misinterpreting my groan for one of pleasure rather than disgust.

  “That’s right, baby,” he said, breathing heavily. “You want that big cock, don’t you?”

  Jesus, this guy was delusional.

  “Yeah,” I moaned. “I want it.”

  He kissed me again, his lips and tongue devouring my mouth as he walked me backward toward the arm of the couch. When my knees hit the cold leather Peter broke the kiss, spun me around, and pushed me down over the armrest.

  I landed on my elbows my ass perched high in the air as he reached into a jar on the side table for a condom.

  I blew a strand of hair from my eyes as I waited for him to finish up. He gripped my hips and thrust into me slamming his hips against my ass, while I gave an Oscar-worthy performance moaning and screaming his name. I seriously doubted this dumbass had ever given a woman a real orgasm in his entire life.

  Four more pumps and he was done, groaning, his body shaking as he emptied himself into the condom. He pulled himself from my body and I stood up, making sure to take deep, ragged breaths to keep up the illusion of having just been ravaged.

  “Fuck, that was great,” he said, breathless as he rid himself of the condom and
slipped back into his jeans.

  I kept quiet, but smiled as I slid into my dress and tugged up the zipper.

  Peter collapsed exhausted onto the couch and ran a hand through his hair. I took a seat next to him and ran my finger down the center of his chest.

  “So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked.

  “Well, I heard your firm is looking to expand its marketing department. I was hoping you could pass along my résumé, maybe put in a good word for me.”

  He reached for my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingertips. “Anything for you, babe.”

  I smiled. Publishing was not exactly the job of my dreams, but it was respectable and would probably pay enough to cover my bills long enough to show my dad that I was responsible and could take care of myself. Surely, he didn’t expect me to support myself forever.

  ***

  It’d been a week since I’d heard from Peter and I was starting to worry. My rent was due next week and I’d already had to shell out two hundred dollars to keep my phone on. I sent him a text inviting him to dinner and luckily he responded offering to meet me at some swanky place downtown. I was game; a job and a free meal sounded pretty good to me at this point.

  I arrived early and ordered a dry martini as I waited for Peter to arrive. I saw him push through the door, his eyes focused down at his cell as his thumbs flew across the screen. He looked up, spotted me, then focused back on his phone as he made his way to the table.

  I smiled as he approached and dropped into the seat across from me. No kiss hello, no smile, no nothing. Such a dick.

  “So,” I prompted.

  “So, what?”

  “So, when do I start?”

  “Start?”

  “The job, silly,” I said playfully slapping his arm.

  Peter frowned, staring at me like he had no clue what I was talking about. My smile fell and I fixed him with a pointed look.

  “You did talk to your boss about me, didn’t you?”

  Peter laughed. “You were serious about that?”

  “Of course, I was serious,” I shouted. “What the fuck, Peter?”

  He shrugged. “Figured it was just a booty call.”

  “I need that job.”

  “Sorry, babe, that position was filled weeks ago.”

  My face was frozen in shock. Weeks ago. The position was filled weeks ago. That meant that he knew the job was taken when I asked. Mother fucker!

  Rage flooded my body as I stared at that bastard’s smug grin. I snapped. I snatched my drink from the table and tossed it right in his face.

  He coughed and sputtered, wiping the gin from his eyes. “You bitch!”

  I glared at him, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall and shot to my feet, making a run for the bathroom before the flood began. I’d already made a fool of myself in front of Peter by begging for his help. No way was I going to give the asshole the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  I pushed through the bathroom door and headed for the nearest stall, slamming the door behind me, and sinking down onto the toilet.

  That slimy bastard was my last hope. My last shot of finding a job. What was I supposed to do now?

  Tears flooded down my face as despair washed over me. I was broke, Daddy cut me off, no one would hire me, and I was out of options.

  I searched through my bag for my phone, scrolling through my contacts again for someone, anyone who might help me, but just like last time I was coming up empty.

  Valerie worked for that brokerage firm downtown, maybe she could.…

  No, I slept with her husband at that club opening last year. Not that I was the only one who’d banged the son of a bitch. He’d fucked his way through most of her friends by their first anniversary.

  Maybe Cynthia, but she was a stripper and I hadn’t hit rock bottom quite that hard yet.

  The bathroom door opened, startling me and I dropped my phone. It landed hard on the tile floor with a sickening crack. I winced and reached down, picked up the phone, and turned it over. A huge spider web of cracks spread from the corner of the screen, which miraculously still worked.

  That’s when the sobbing started. The tears flowed down my cheeks, soaking into my hair. I sniffled and whimpered, staring down at the cracked screen.

  A knock sounded on the door of my stall. “Everything okay in there?”

  “Just go away,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

  I wiped at my nose with the back of my hand, as another whimper slipped from my lips.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  Jesus, what’s with this woman? Can’t she see I’m upset? I sighed and focused on her last season Gucci pumps under the stall door. She wasn’t going anywhere, the nosy bitch.

  I took a deep breath and got to my feet. Wiping the tears from my face, I unlocked the door and pushed past her, heading straight for the sink.

  One look in the mirror at my ragged reflection was all it took for the tears to start again. I bent over the sink as the sobbing continued.

  I felt a hand on my back, rubbing the space between my shoulder blades. It was oddly comforting considering I had no idea who this bitch was.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said.

  “No, it won’t.” I violently shook my head and turned to face her. “Nothing is okay. I have no job, no money, and no prospects. How am I supposed to live?” I leaned forward and buried my face into the strange woman’s shoulder, not caring if I ruined her blouse. It was some cheap poly blend, anyway. I was probably doing her a favor.

  “Oh, okay,” she said, seeming surprised as she awkwardly patted my back.

  Eventually I pulled away and faced her. She was older, probably late thirties, short dark hair, and bright blue eyes. Her lips turned up in a small half smile. “Better?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Now, do you want to tell me what happened?”

  My face crumpled as the sobbing threatened to begin again. I couldn’t believe I was crying on some lady’s shoulder in a public restroom. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

  A look of concern took over her face and she gripped my arms to steady me. “Okay, take a deep breath.”

  I followed her instructions, breathing in and out, my nerves seeming to settle a bit with every breath.

  “Now start at the beginning.”

  “I lost my j…job,” I stammered.

  She nodded for me to continue.

  “And my dad cut me off.” I took a deep breath. “He said I’m an adult and that I needed to start paying my own way.”

  “I can’t say I disagree with him,” she said, her lips turned up in an uncomfortable smile.

  I scoffed. What does she know? This bitch had no right to judge me. “Now I’m down to my last five hundred bucks, with no way to pay any of my bills and no job.”

  “Have you looked for a job?”

  “Of course I have! Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve applied everywhere, sent out hundreds of résumés and nothing. It’s like the whole world is against me.”

  “What kind of job are you looking for?”

  “Anything at this point. I have a degree in marketing, but I’ll take any job I can get.”

  The stranger looked down and pursed her lips, seeming to mull over something. She folded her arms across her chest and took a step toward me.

  “I’ll tell you what. My brother and I just bought a bar over near Madison Square. He runs the day to day, I’m really more of a silent partner. We’ve been meaning to hire some new staff. Our only waitress broke her leg last week and will be out for a while. I might be able to fit you in the schedule, on a trial bases of course.”

  “You want to give me a job?” I asked, shocked by her offer.

  “A probationary one, but yes.”

  “You want me to be a waitress at a bar?” I asked.

  The stranger raised her eyebrows and nodded her head.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” she repeated.
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br />   “Why do you want to help me?” Was this bitch nuts? Who offers a job to a sobbing woman in a bathroom?

  She frowned, then shrugged her shoulders. “Why not? You need a job and I need a waitress.”

  I frowned, trying to figure out her motives. Talk about bizarre. Don’t get me wrong, I was desperate. I needed a job in the worst way. I just never thought I would get one by ugly crying on a stranger’s shoulder. “Okay. Thank you, I guess,” I said, still a little apprehensive about the whole thing

  “You’re welcome.” She opened her clutch, pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “Come by this address tomorrow. Ask for Liam and he will fill you in on the details.” I nodded and she stepped forward, dropping a hand on my shoulder. “Things will get better,” she said, then gave me a small smile and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” I called as she reached for the knob. “What’s your name?”

  She turned and laughed. “Madison Buchanan,” she said, offering me her hand.

  “Gwen Stevens.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Gwen.”

  I nodded, my head still spinning from the surreal turn this day had taken.

  Madison smiled and turned, pushing through the door and leaving me alone again. I looked back at the mirror and took a deep breath before staring down at the card she’d given me. It was simple enough, black with an old-style typeface that showed an address and the name—The Den.

  The Den was a dive bar near Madison Square. I’d been there twice before, once to mess with Alex and the second time I ended up going home with her uber-gorgeous friend, now fiancé, Drew. This had potential for disaster written all over it, but I was out of options.

  “Fuck.” I sighed, dropping my head back to look up at the ceiling. Things had finally seemed to be working out for me, but regardless of Madison’s kindness there was no way I was going to keep this job if Alex McCabe had anything to say about it.

  Chapter 4