Rebel Heir Read online

  Fuck yes, I did.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a feeling.” She leaned in, “Fuck you very much for the ride, Rush. Have a good fucking night.”

  There it was again. She said the work fuck—twice, mind you—and it travelled straight to my cock, which was now twitching.

  She was almost to her door when she turned around and shouted, “And for the record, you don’t intimidate me at all anymore.”

  “Why is that?” I yelled out the window.

  “Because anyone who has a little angel hanging from their car mirror can’t possibly be that bad.” She laughed before running the rest of the way to the entrance.

  Once she was out of sight, I allowed the smile I’d been fighting to spread across my face as I leaned my head back on the neck rest.

  The angel hanging from my rearview mirror used to belong to my grandmother before she died. She used to have it hanging in her Buick for protection until she became too old to drive. My grandmother was the kindest person I’d ever known and held me in much higher esteem than I ever deserved. I could do no wrong in her eyes. The angel was a reminder to try to live up to that, despite the fact that in reality my personality likened me more to the devil.

  The next evening while Gia was at work, I drove to her place and spent three hours fixing her piece of shit Maxima. It took three trips to the auto parts store, but I was finally able to fix her car. She’d said she needed brakes and a new tire. She failed to mention that she rode the brakes for so long that she also needed rotors and new calipers. Turned out to be a bigger task than I’d originally planned, but I knew if she didn’t have a car, I’d end up driving her home again most nights, and that would have been dangerous.

  This way I could ensure she could get home safely, and my dick could stay safely in my pants.

  After fixing her car, I ran some overdue errands and planned to work on the restaurant’s books at home for a few hours. But by eleven, I grew antsy and couldn’t sit around anymore, so I headed to The Heights. Gia needed a ride home anyway.

  On weeknights, the kitchen closed at eleven. By then, hostess duties were pretty much done, even if the waitresses had tables to finish up. I found Gia sitting at the bar talking to her friend Riley who was on the other side. It was the first time that I’d seen Riley since I almost fired her ass, but wound up hiring her friend instead.

  Her eyes grew wide as I approached. Gia mustn’t have noticed, since she didn’t turn around. I sidled up next to her, leaning my forearms on the bar.

  “Anyone fucking working around here?”

  Riley jumped and started to dry a glass that looked like it was already dry. She definitely seemed nervous. “It just quieted down. We were busy most of the night.”

  Gia, on the other hand, didn’t flinch at my sudden appearance. “You think the sun comes up just to hear you crow, don’t you?”

  I had to raise my hand to my mouth and pretend to cough in order to cover my smirk. “I’m not paying you to stand around and bullshit.”

  She turned and faced me without backing up. “That’s right. You’re not. Because my shift is over. Signed out with the big tree ten minutes ago. I stopped up at the bar to order a drink before I headed home.” She pointed her eyes down to the twenty sitting on the bar in front of her. “That makes me a patron right now. And, personally, I don’t like the way I’m being treated as a paying customer.”

  And there my dick goes again. What the fuck was wrong with me that I liked when this girl gave me attitude. A slow smile spread across my face. “You can always go to the bar down the block if you don’t like the treatment here.”

  Poor Riley’s head bounced back and forth between us so fast, and she started to look a little pale. Her eyes had grown as big as saucers. That’s right. Fear me. Teach your little friend to do the same.

  While Gia and I glared at each other, Riley stuttered an excuse to get the hell away. “Ummm…I, I…someone needs help down there.” She pointed to the other end of the bar. “I’ll see you in a little bit, Gia.”

  “Great,” Gia frowned. “Now you’ve scared away the bartender, and I can’t even get a drink.”

  I mumbled a few curses as I walked around behind the bar and grabbed a highball glass from under the counter. Adding ice, I poured some grenadine over it and filled the remainder of the glass with 7-Up before tossing a few maraschino cherries on the top. When I was done, I slid it across the bar to Gia. “Here you go. Your drink. One Shirley Temple.”

  “I wanted something harder,” she said.

  I want to give you something harder too.

  Gia flashed a devilish smile and then proceeded to dangle a cherry in front of her mouth before sucking it in. Watching those full lips close around that little cherry, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, was better foreplay than porn. It was a good thing I’d moved behind the bar to hide the growing swell in my pants.

  Goddamn it. I’m horny as shit.

  I needed to get laid. That was the problem. It had nothing to do with Little Miss Cherry Sucker. Steering my eyes away to avoid watching her finish off the cherry, my gaze innocently landed on her rack. Although my thoughts were anything but innocent. For a little thing, she had great tits. Full, round, more than a mouthful. I had the strongest urge to run around the bar and chase her, to see them bounce up and down—find out if they were real. I laughed out loud at what my staff would have thought watching that shit go down.

  Clearly, I was losing my mind.

  “What are you laughing at?” Gia squinted.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” I scrubbed two hands over my face and shook my head a few times to snap myself out of it. Then I made a mental note to text one of my hookups after seeing that Gia got home safely. Every summer, there were always a few who were down for a no-strings attached good time. Based on my appearance, women made assumptions. Fucking who they thought I was, made them feel like they were saying fuck you to their rich daddies. I needed to stick to those women and keep my mind out of the gutter when it came to my new employee.

  “How was the crowd tonight? Anyone give you a hard time?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  “How about the writing? Get anything done today, Shakespeare?”

  Gia pulled a small notebook out of her purse that hung on the back of the chair. She flipped through a few pages. “How do you like the name Cedric for a male hero?”

  I arched a brow. “Is he a heavyset black comedian?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s a stupid name.”

  She dug a pen out of her pocketbook and drew a slash through a word that I assumed was Cedric.

  “What about Elec?”

  “What the fuck is an Elec? Is he an electrician or something?”

  Another slash.

  “Caine?”

  “Does he kill his brother Abel in the story?”

  Slash.

  “Marley.”

  “Sing reggae?”

  Slash.

  “Simon?”

  “Nerdy dude with glasses who gets beat up a lot?”

  Gia sighed.

  I swiped the book from her hands and started to read the rest of the list aloud. “Arlin. Aster. Benson. Tile?” I lowered the book and arched a brow. “Seriously? Tile?”

  She leaned over the counter and plucked the book back from my hands. “Give me that if you’re going to make fun of me. You think it’s so easy, then tell me some good names for a hero that are unique and strong.”

  “Alright. Let me think.” I scratched at the scruff on my chin as if I was actually giving it some thought. Gia looked like she was seriously waiting to hear what I’d come up with. Poor innocent thing. I snapped my fingers. “Got the perfect name.”

  “What?” She legit seemed excited.

  “Rush. Name your character Rush.”

  She tossed the book across the bar at me. “You’re a jerk.”

  I laughed as I caught it. “That’s not news to you, swe
etheart. How the hell did you start this book without even knowing your character’s name, anyway?”

  “In the beginning he goes by a nickname. But he needs an actual name, too. Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t even pick out the names for characters in this book. How am I supposed to write it all in the next two months?”

  “You know what I think?”

  “I’m afraid to ask…”

  “I think you’re stressing yourself out. My mom is a painter. She never really made a living out of it, even though she’s really good. She waitressed at night to pay the bills, but painting has always been her passion. When I was a kid, she used to paint all day long with a smile on her face. Then she started to sell them for extra money at flea markets and stuff. It got to the point where she would have to produce a certain number by a set date to display them for sale, and she’d get all stressed out and wouldn’t be able to paint. You know what she would do?”

  “What?”

  “She’d take a few days off from painting and we’d go do fun stuff. Like go to the matinee movies—pay for the first movie and then stay all day sneaking into other movies. Or we’d go mini golfing—she kept two little putters and a few balls in the trunk of her car so we didn’t have to pay the rental fee.”

  “Aww. Your mom sounds great.”

  “She is. But that’s not the point. The point is, you need to get your nose out of your fucking book for a few days to clear your head.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  Gia rolled her eyes. “Can I at least get a drink before I head home? A real one?”

  I lifted my chin. “What do you want, pain in my ass?”

  She clapped her hands together and bopped up and down in her chair.

  Oh yeah. They’re fucking real.

  “I’ll take a Cosmo.”

  “Alright.” I reached for a martini glass. “One pussy drink coming up.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Do you have to say that?”

  “What?”

  “That word.”

  I leaned across the bar, getting my face close to hers, then lowered my voice. “You don’t like the word pussy?”

  She covered her mouth. “No. I don’t like that word. Almost as much as I don’t like the other word.”

  I grinned. “Cunt? You don’t like cunt either?”

  The corners of her mouth were upturned underneath her hand, even though she tried to pretend it offended her. “Yes, that. Don’t say that word either.”

  “Okay.” I whipped up a batch of Cosmos and poured one into the fru-fru glass the sugary crap got served in. Sliding it half way over to her side of the bar, I waited until she reached for it and then wrapped my hand firmly around the stem. “Not so fast. There’s a fee for this drink.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She slid the twenty to my side of the bar.

  I shook my head. “Nope. Your money is no good here. I have a rule. I don’t charge employees for a drink after their shift, or a meal while they’re working.”

  She looked rightly confused. “But you said there was a fee.”

  I grinned. “There is. You have to say pussy.”

  “What? No!”

  “Say it or no drink.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “Listen, you’re writing a romance book, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Well what are you going to write when they start getting it on… Baby, spread those legs, I’m gonna eat your vagina? Cause I got news for you, Shakespeare, there’s only one way to inform your woman that you want a taste—and that’s spread those legs, I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

  Gia’s mouth dropped open. I took that to mean she wanted to hear some more.

  “Actually. In some cases, depending on the mood, if it’s the foreplay before a little rough fucking maybe, you could probably use I’m gonna eat your cunt, too.”

  “You’re a pig.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not the one whose job is to write about people fucking, sweetheart.”

  “Just give me my drink.”

  I grinned and lifted the Cosmo to my lips. The shit tasted awful, but I lied, nonetheless. “Mmmm. It’s delicious.”

  “Give it to me.”

  I’d love to give it to you.

  I cupped my hand to my ear. “What’s that? Did you say pussy?” I sipped again.

  She wanted to be angry, tried her damndest to look pissed off, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “Stop drinking my drink!”

  “Say it.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Is that any way to talk to your boss?” I took another sip—the damn little glass was half empty even with my baby sips. What did I overcharge for these four-sip things again? Fifteen bucks?

  “Is that any way to talk to your employee? With that language? I could probably sue you for sexual harassment.”

  “You know what I think about people who fight in court over something that could easily be settled by two adults?”

  “What?”

  I leaned in. “I think they’re pussies.”

  We glared at each other for a few seconds, then both burst out in a fit of laughter. We laughed our asses off, until Riley walked back to our end of the bar. She smiled. “What’s so funny?”

  Gia snort laughed. “Rush is a pussy!”

  I plucked another glass from the rack and filled it to the brim while tears ran down my face. “Here you go, Shakespeare. You’ve earned it.”

  Gia didn’t give me a hard time about driving her home. That might’ve been because it was doubtful she could’ve walked the distance. After only two little Cosmos she was pretty damn tipsy. I realized just how drunk she was when she asked me to stop at the store on the way home.

  “Hey…puuuuussssssy...” She hiccupped. “…can you stop at 7-Eleven?”

  I looked over at her and laughed. “Sure, my little cunt, I’d be happy to.”

  We both burst out laughing as she played with the little angel that dangled from my mirror as we drove.

  “Where’d you get this?” she asked.

  “My grandmother. When she died, my mom told me I could take anything I wanted of hers. Jewelry or whatever.” I lifted my chin toward the angel. “That’s what I took. She had it hanging in her car. She was the sweetest lady. But cut her off while driving and she’d let out a string of curses that could make a trucker blush. When she calmed down, she’d kiss two fingers and touch the angel.” I shrugged. “It just reminds me of her.”

  “So you get your penchant for foul language from your grandmother, huh?”

  I chuckled. “Never thought of it. But maybe I do.”

  “Huh,”she said, as if she’d just realized something.

  I side glanced over at her and back to the road. “What?”

  “You’re a man.”

  “I’m glad you noticed.” I smirked. “It’s probably my lack of a pussy that gave it away.”

  “I meant you’re a man, and you talk about your mom so nicely and remember your grandmother so fondly. And yet you don’t get along with your dad.”

  “And…”

  “It’s the opposite for me. I have no maternal role models. My mother took off when I was two. I don’t even remember her really. I never met my grandmother on her side. My dad raised me alone, and his mother lives in Italy, so I only met her a few times when she would come visit. And I don’t speak Italian that well, and she doesn’t speak English.”

  “Your mother took off when you were two?” I pulled into the 7-Eleven parking lot and parked.

  “Yep. I found a letter she wrote to my dad saying she was missing the maternal gene and wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She had packed a bag and took off. Never heard from her again.”

  “Shit. That’s worse than my asshole of a father.”

  She sighed. “Parents.” Opening the car door, she asked, “You want anything? I’ll just be two minutes.”

  “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

&nbs
p; A few minutes later she came back to the car. I was curious what we’d stopped for, but figured it might be tampons or something so I didn’t ask. Although my curiosity was satisfied when she opened the brown paper bag and whipped out a huge bag of Swedish fish. She tore the thing open like she was starving.

  “That’s what we stopped for? Candy?”

  “What else do you go to 7-Eleven for at midnight?” she said.

  “Umm. You go for tampons, condoms, or beer. That’s what a midnight 7-Eleven run is for.”

  She shoved the bag toward me. “Fish?”

  “No thanks. I don’t eat candy.”

  “What?” She said it like I just admitted I’d killed someone.

  “I’m not into sweets. I don’t even know how you drink that Cosmo crap. Taste like pure sugar to me.”

  She tore a fish’s head off with her teeth. “That’s what makes it so delicious.”

  I shrugged, staring at her teeth. I bet they’d feel fucking awesome sinking into my flesh. Clearing my throat, I diverted my eyes back to driving and backed out of the parking spot. “To each his own. Just not my thing.”

  She pulled another fish from the bag and waved it at me while she spoke with her mouth full. “What’s your thing?”

  “My thing?”

  “Yeah. Everyone has a vice. I eat sweets when I’m happy or sad. What do you do?”

  “Not sure I have a vice that goes with happy or sad, but I smoke more when I’m pissed off.” I also liked to fuck hard, when I felt rage—which was usually when I was forced to be anywhere in the vicinity of my father. But I decided to leave the latter off, considering Gia was my employee.

  “You should really give that up. It’s so bad for your health.”

  “So is candy. You gonna give that up?”

  “Maybe…maybe we should get a little bet going to see who can give up their vice longer.”

  I pulled up in front of her house—my house—and put it in park, but left the engine idling. “Oh yeah. What would the bet be for? What do I win?”

  Gia tapped her finger to her lips. “Hmmm. I don’t know. Let me give it some thought.”

  I rested one arm on top of the steering wheel. “You do that.”