“If things were this bad, if you needed money …” Now I was the one trailing off.
Dammit. Why was one simple conversation so impossible?
"I'm doing fine. We're managing," she added.
I was pretty sure managing was code for barely scraping by. Fuck that. I'd fucked up her life once, if I could help her out now, I would. Whether she wanted that help or not. I'd like to see her try and stop me.
"That's too damn bad," I barked. "I have a responsibility to you, and Marcus wouldn’t like this." My chin cut toward the action on the stage, where two girls were now performing an erotic dance together.
She closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again. Hardened green determination cut straight through me. "Marcus isn’t here," she pointed out.
As if I could ever forget that fact. It still haunted me every day.
I shoved my business card at her.
"Redstone," she repeated, looking down at it.
"That has my private cell number on it."
"I don't want this. I don't want your help." She handed the card back, setting it on the small table between us.
"Please, reconsider, if things are that bad, I’ll come by. Bring by groceries and dinner.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late for that.”
“We can figure this out. I’d like to see the baby.”
“I have to get back to work.” Finley rose to her feet, clearly done with me and my offer for help. Groceries were a poor substitute for the husband she lost. She knew it. I knew it. And her tone left little room for argument.
Her standing here only highlighted my every mistake. It was my failure – the reason she had to resort to this. It was my responsibility to fix it. Even if she hated me ... even if she wanted nothing to do with me.
“Please.” I slipped my business card under the elastic of her G-string, just above her hip, my fingers grazing the softest skin I’d ever felt. Damn. “Take this. Just in case.”
Without a word, she turned away, marched back to the stage, and took her spot beside another dancer, falling in to the most risqué version of line dancing I’d ever seen.
Disgusted and unable to stand by and watch her, I turned for the exit and left, my fists clenching in time with the pulsing music.
Chapter Two
Finley
Despite it being Saturday, and my day off, I was still angry over my run-in with Greyson Archer last night. God, what an asshole.
I wasn’t just mad because he’d seen me naked. I was mad because he’d seen me vulnerable. Barely hanging on. Hardly able to make ends meet and put food on the table for two people. Back when I was married and had Marcus, life was so different. Now I lived paycheck to paycheck in a crappy apartment and struggled to make rent. My daughter’s clothes and toys were all secondhand and I hadn’t had a haircut in months. There just wasn’t extra money for frills.
It was bad enough that he was responsible for the mission that lost me my husband, but then he had to throw his money in my face. Offering to help.
Fuck that. This momma takes care of her own.
“Mommy?” Maple asked.
That was one of two words that my daughter now said, and I knew I’d never get tired of hearing it.
“Yes, baby?” I stroked her pale blonde hair back from her face as she gazed up at me with the big green eyes she’d inherited from me. “Should we make dinner?”
She nodded and toddled into the kitchen.
Peering into the fridge to look for ingredients, my thoughts began to wander.
Greyson. I hadn’t seen him since the funeral, and I’d forgotten the effect he could have on me. He was six foot four inches of solid muscle with dark eyes that always looked haunted and an aura that screamed badass.
Well, he might be a former SEAL, but that didn’t mean he got to march into my life and dole out orders. There had been a time when I'd thought Greyson was a stand-up guy. Marcus had obviously trusted him. But look where that trust had gotten him—a cold six feet under. And now Greyson was the kind of pathetic asshole who hung out at trashy strip joints and bothered the dancers. If he had ever been a hero, he was certainly a zero now. No matter how stunningly attractive he was, or how good he smelled.
Shaking the thoughts away, I grabbed a sticky jar of grape jelly and a loaf of bread. God, last night had been crazy. He’d seen me at my worst – and I’d just sat there and listened to him ramble on without standing up for myself.
Up on stage, I was a professional performer wearing my work uniform. I had nothing to be self-conscious about. But somehow, just the sight of Greyson pierced my armor. Suddenly I was just a half-naked woman, sitting alone in a dark corner with a man...almost rubbing my ass in his lap. A shiver ran through me. I'd been relieved and oddly disappointed when he took back his request for a lap dance.
Well, none of that mattered anyway. After almost two years without a word from him, I had to believe that last night was a one-time thing. I wouldn’t hear from him again.
I could see right through that offer of his. He only gave a shit about our position because he felt responsible for putting us there in the first place. Well, good—he was responsible. He should feel bad. All the more reason why I didn't need to help soothe his guilt. I stroked men's egos enough at work, and I got paid well for it. I'd be damned if I gave Greyson that service for free. I had better things to focus my emotional energy on. Whatever favors he did us, they wouldn't be worth it in the end.