“They broke in through a back window and then smashed all the glass at the bar and all the alcohol too. They’ve trashed the bar completely, slashed the fabric on a stack of seats, carved up the tables, and sprayed graffiti over every surface they could find. This actually looks more like vandalism than a break-in.”
“Anything missing?”
“Not that I can see. Maybe they got the shits because they couldn’t get into the safe, and that’s why they trashed everything. You gonna be here soon?”
“Yeah. In about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.”
She ends the call as abruptly as she always does. Scarlett might frustrate the hell out of me most of the time, but she’s not big on small talk, and that’s something I appreciate about her.
I grab my keys and make the short ride from my place in New Farm to the Valley where Trilogy’s located. When I get there, I see that Scarlett wasn’t exaggerating when she said it’s a fucking mess. That was a given, though. Scarlett doesn’t exaggerate about anything except how good her memory is.
She’s in the kitchen when I arrive, on her hands and knees with her ass in the air, said ass barely covered by skin-tight leather pants. The sight takes me by surprise. Not because she’s down on the floor like she is—I’ve seen that before—but because of what she’s wearing.
“You forget your shirt today?”
I’m staring at a whole lot of skin.
Skin I don’t wanna be staring at.
My eyes are everywhere.
On the tiniest boob tube covering her breasts.
On the tattoos I’ve never seen.
On her long dark hair that’s falling all over the place in a way I like that I wish I didn’t.
When she doesn’t answer me, because she’s always fucking got AirPods in listening to music, I press my boot against her Chucks.
She tilts her head to look at me, her usual scowl in place, and pulls her AirPods out. “What?”
“Where’s your shirt?”
More scowling. “I spilled tea on it.”
My brain struggles to focus. It could be that I’m trying to figure out why Scarlett has the word “London” tattooed down her side from her breast to her hip. It could be that Harlow’s words from last night have smashed back into my thoughts. Or it could be that I’m fighting like fuck not to glue my eyes to her tits.
Scarlett and I were not made for each other. Harlow’s wrong about that. I know that as sure as I know anything. I might be attracted to Scarlett, but hell, any man would be. She’s beautiful. However, she’s also frustratingly argumentative and downright hostile at times. Definitely not the woman for me.
I’m saved by Scott, who calls, dragging my attention back to what we’re dealing with this morning.
“Got your text,” he says when I answer his call. “How bad is it?”
“I just arrived. What I’m seeing so far isn’t good. Massive damage. There’s no way we’re opening today.”
“Not even if I pull every member onto cleaning up?”
Scarlett pushes up off the floor and stands, her hands on her hips, her eyes on mine, her body in my fucking face. It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep my eyes on hers.
“Wilder,” Scott says, pulling me back to our conversation. “Can you make this happen? We can’t afford to lose tonight.”
He’s right. The entire restaurant has been booked out by an event organiser who will bring us a lot of new business if she’s happy with how tonight goes.
“I’ll make this happen. Send me everyone you can afford to put on it.”
“I’m also sending Liam over. He’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Liam works with Zane Stone, who runs Stone Security, a security company the club sometimes calls on for help. I figured Scott would call on them to investigate this when he told me not to report it to the cops.
“This is going to hurt the bank. You sure you don’t wanna involve the cops and the insurance company?”
“No cops. We’ve got too much going on that they don’t need to get anywhere near.”
“Yeah, agreed.” My gaze shifts to Scarlett again as she moves her hands from her hips to fold her arms in front of her. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“I’m busy all day going over shit with King. Whatever you need to do to make this happen, do it.”
“Will do.” I end the call and immediately pull up Gunnar’s number on my phone.
Before I can call him, Scarlett says, “We’re cleaning this up today