Unworthy (The Worthy Series Book 1) Page 2

  The thumping of the ever-present Miami bass dimmed as he shut the door behind him. Danny collapsed into a chair, doing a crap job at hiding the fact that his hands were shaking and he’d nearly missed the chair to end up on his ass on the floor.

  Ian strolled around the desk to the club owner’s chair and waited for the siblings to resume whatever argument they’d been in before. Only Cat wasn’t yelling at Danny now that they had privacy. Instead, she was straight as a miniature flagpole, arms crossed over her breasts and glaring at him. He reciprocated with a raised brow. “Well?” he asked, gesturing to Danny. “Have at him.”

  “Can we get a little privacy, please?” Cat’s voice had matured since the last time he’d heard her. Like whisky and cigars, it went down smooth with a little kick.

  “Not in my club,” Ian said, and leaned back to observe, folding his own arms over his chest. Cat held his gaze another minute before rolling her eyes and sighing.

  “Fine.” She turned to her brother, who looked a little sweaty and green under the office’s fluorescent lights. “I need my money back, Dan. Rent is due.”

  “What money?” Danny’s words were slurred and a little unnoticed line of saliva trailed down the side of his mouth.

  Ian’s body tightened in disgust and dismay at his one-time best friend’s state.

  “Don’t be a jackass. My rent money, Danny.” Cat’s hands fisted at her sides and she leaned over her brother. “Tips, lots of singles, an old Cheerios box. Ring any bells?”

  Ian heard Danny answering, but his attention was on Cat who’d stormed his club wearing ancient jeans that did nothing for her ass, and a stained T-shirt that inexplicably said Mo’s Tavern. Like the bar on the cartoon? How the hell had she made it through his doormen wearing that excuse of an outfit? To get into one of his parties, skin was your ticket in. Only Cat’s forearms and face were visible. He’d have to have a word with his people up front, but then the words from Danny started penetrating and Ian tried to connect the dots of what was happening here.

  It sounded as if Cat needed rent money and Danny had taken it. But why would she need rent money? Didn’t she still have the house her parents had left to her? And what was that about Cheerios? He sat forward with his forearms balanced on the desk, as Danny stumbled to his feet and pushed his way out of the office, while muttering, “Money’s gone, Catie.”

  “Danny,” Cat shouted after him, sounding every inch the spitfire Ian remembered, but when she turned back to him, tears were streaming down her face, and she was trembling from head to toe. “What am I going to do?” she murmured. “I’m so screwed.”

  Ian had never had a white knight complex. Female tears didn’t make him want to brandish a sword and solve their problems, but he’d always had a soft spot for Catherine Ross. Seeing her looking like a hot mess was doing uncomfortable things to his gut. Things he wanted to ignore but couldn’t because mostly, he wanted to grab Cat, pull her onto his lap, and wipe her tears away.

  “Sit down. How much do you need?” he finally asked. She didn’t answer at first.

  “A million dollars?”

  Ian smiled at the ridiculous request but lost the grin when he saw Cat was dead serious. “What’s going on, Cat?”

  Cat looked through her tears at the boy who used to be like a big brother, now a fully-grown, very sexy, slightly scary man. She hadn’t seen him since her eighteenth birthday party where she’d thrown herself naked at him and given him her virginity. A reverse birthday present.

  She’d lied to herself for years that it’d been her worst decision ever, but truth was that one time with Ian was better than dying and never knowing what it was like to have sex with him. At the time, she’d felt special. Seven years later, she knew there was nothing special about being a notch on Ian’s bedpost. There were a lot of notches in the 305.

  She knew he’d graduated from University of Florida then came home to become Miami’s biggest party promoter. She also knew Danny took advantage of this fact by using their friendship to get into the parties where he scored premium drugs.

  So no, she really had no use for Ian Lawrence, who maybe used to be a friend, but definitely no longer was due to the fact that he’d let Danny get to this point. Was she being fair? No. Danny had made his own bed. But Ian had handed him the sheets and blanket.

  Still, the crush she’d harbored forever fanned back to life at seeing his big body across the scarred wooden desk with curiosity and maybe sympathy in his eyes. The temptation to unburden herself and offload her problems was great, but what was the point? It wasn’t as if she’d accept money from Ian.

  She rose, the full effect of working a long shift finally hitting now that the adrenaline of chasing her brother to South Beach had worn off. Her hand pressed on the desk, steadying herself. Suddenly Ian was around her side of the room, pushing her exhausted body back into the chair.

  “Sit, Cat. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Danny stole my rent money,” she finally muttered, fighting and losing against a yawn.

  “And…”

  Was he a moron? What did he think would happen if her brother stole her rent money? “And I’m already behind on utilities. I’ll get kicked out if I can’t pay.” She was suddenly wide awake as Ian reached into his back pocket, pulled out a sleek, black leather wallet, counted out a few hundred-dollar bills, and laid them on the desk.

  “Pay me back when you can.”

  She glanced down at the ten crisp, clean hundred-dollar bills and started to laugh—well, laughter with tears leaking from her eyes, so not really laughter, but hysterics. One-thousand …how the hell did Ian think she’d pay that kind of money back?

  “What?” he asked sharply. “Take the fucking money, Cat.”

  “Hell no,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “One, because I didn’t earn it, and two, because I’d never be able to pay you back.”

  Silence. Then Ian blinked at her. “What the fuck is going on, Cat? You have money from your parents.”

  When she didn’t answer and stared steadily at him, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you?”

  She remained quiet and then decided what the hell? Who better to tell than a really longtime friend? Let him feel the burn of what he’d had a hand in.

  “Danny was my guardian, Ian. After high school when you were off at college, he made some messed up decisions. Like the drugs. It’s an expensive habit. All that pot you two smoked. It was a fun party thing for you. For Danny? It’s a lifestyle.” She shrugged. “Money’s gone. He sold the house a long time ago. I’ve been on my own since high school.”

  “What about your aunt? The one who was supposed to take care of you while Danny went to college?” Except they both knew Danny had only made it one semester at the U before dropping out to major in cocaine.

  “My mother’s sister was more focused on her family back in Cuba,” she said. “I think she was hoping to use my money to pull strings and get the rest of the family over here. I would’ve been happy to help, except I didn’t have control of the money. Danny did. Aunt Ros lived with us for a while until she was done with us.” Another shrug and then she found the energy to take another step and find her way home, leaving Ian’s money on the table.

  “Cat, get back here,” he called before her big toe hit the doorway.

  She peeked over her shoulder back at him, noting the Benjamins were gone from the desk. Ian had always been quick. “What are you going to do, Ian? I told you my sob story. It’s no worse than loads of people here in Miami. At least I had fifteen years of good before I got the shaft. At least I had a taste of the good life. Gives me something to want to get back to. Gives me dreams.”

  “You used to dream of college and dancing. What are your dreams now?” Ian asked, his deep voice washing over her.

  She frowned. She’d lied to Ian just now. Dreams were for people who had time and money. She only had the day-to-day grind of work, worry, rinse, repeat. Jeez, what would she dream about if she
had the time?

  “Rent money would be a good start. Getting Danny into rehab, a place to live where my landlord didn’t feel as if he could walk in any time of day even when I was sleeping.” Now she was getting on a roll and barely registered Ian’s frown when she mentioned her pervy landlord. “My parents alive again. A house with a pool. A steady job where my ass didn’t get pinched or fondled. Oh, and world peace.”

  That second-to-last dream turned Ian’s frown into a full-blown scowl. Hypocrite. Like the girls in his employ weren’t paid to get more than their asses fondled?

  “I can’t raise your parents from the dead, and I won’t buy you a house, but I can give you a job,” he said.

  She stared at him. “Doing what exactly?”

  He gestured to the chair. “Sit your ass down, and let’s talk.”

  She shook her head. “Is this guilt speaking? I would’ve given you everything seven years ago. Now I want nothing from you.”

  He stared at her unhappily. “I fucked up, Cat. I didn’t appreciate—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “You didn’t. Do me a favor and stay out of my life. If you want to help, don’t let Danny at your parties.”

  He nodded, because there was nothing else to say. She didn’t want his apologies or to rehash the past.

  “Goodbye, Ian.”

  He raised a hand but didn’t speak. Cat turned to leave, a wave of sadness crashing over her because this was the end of her dream in which she and Ian ended up living happily ever after. Why couldn’t he be the hero who ignored her words, saw through her to her deepest darkest fantasies, and leaped over the desk to beg her to stay? Instead he was the asshole who let her go.

  Ian turned his key in the lock of the tall double-wide wood door, painted a shade between turquoise and steel blue. His mother had tried to match the color of the Miami sky on a sunny day. She’d mostly succeeded, he guessed.

  Letting himself into his parents’ home, he glanced around the white and glass entrance. His feet thumped on the light limestone floor. No parents in view. They were probably out back by the pool.

  With the ease of someone who’d walked the path a million times—and he had, given that he’d grown up here—he strolled past the living room, through the kitchen and out to the pool area. Sun flooded the house. It was typical Miami design with large, open rooms flowing into each other, all facing floor-to-ceiling glass sliding doors that overlooked a turquoise pool surrounded by even more ivory limestone.

  Mom and Dad sat around the round wicker-and-glass table sipping on mimosas. South Floridians were legally obligated to drink mimosas on Sunday morning, especially when sitting poolside with the omnipresent overhead fans on high.

  “Ian,” his mom called. “Mimosa?”

  He shuffled into a seat between his mom and dad as he did nearly every Sunday morning. “Nah,” he muttered. He reached for the carafe of coffee.

  “You’re late,” his dad said. “Long night?”

  A wealth of information and judgment in two simple words.

  He hadn’t slept well since Thursday, reliving his disturbing conversation with Cat and beating himself up for letting Danny spiral out of control. “Didn’t work last night,” he finally said. Not that his dad saw his job as work, and sure enough…

  “Didn’t ask if you worked,” Dad said. “Asked if you were out late. Though in your case, not sure there’s a difference.”

  An angry retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, but his mom’s toe nudged his foot, and he swallowed the words back. Using a spoon, he dug in the pitcher of ice water, scooping out some ice cubes and plunking them into his coffee.

  “Milk?” his mom asked.

  He accepted the proffered pitcher without a word. He reached across the glass tabletop for the bowl filled with fresh bagels. His mom always pre-cut the bagels before serving them. Likely she didn’t trust her men with sharp knives. Smart.

  “Where’s Kyle?” he asked, concentrating on smearing cream cheese across his half of a garlic bagel.

  “He texted. He’ll be here soon,” his mom said.

  “He was working late,” Dad said.

  The mouthful of bagel prevented him from revealing that his little brother’s version of working late was less about showing real estate and more about getting drunk. But God forbid he out his little brother who was Mr. Perfect in the eyes of his father.

  If Ian told the truth about Kyle, he’d be blamed for jealousy. Not that he was. Hell no. Kyle was welcome to the cushy office next to Dad’s with the view straight down Miracle Mile.

  He kept his mouth busy chewing bagel and drinking iced coffee, while his mother tried to smooth over the silent hostility by chattering about the latest opening at the Lowe Art Museum.

  Why did he show up every week to get emotionally abused by his father? Oh yeah, ’cause he loved his family. It hadn’t always been this rough with his dad. They used to get along great.

  Until after college when Ian’s dad had wrapped up a key to his office and proudly given it as a graduation gift. Ian had turned him down to do his own thing.

  Things soured after that. He and his dad got along fine as long as they didn’t talk about work, his brother, Ian’s job, or real estate. It made for some awkward silences around the Sunday brunch table.

  One day soon Ian hoped his dad would see his job for the moneymaker it was and stop getting on his case. It wasn’t as if he planned to do it forever. He wasn’t going to be a forty-year-old pretending to be much younger as he tucked his kids in and went to parties to earn a buck.

  He had an exit strategy.

  “Kyle.” Dad stood with a wide smile on his face to greet Ian’s younger brother who shuffled onto the patio, sunglasses covering his eyes, unbuttoned linen shirt baring his abs, and a pair of ancient Reef flip flops on his feet.

  “Hey, bro,” Ian said, clapping hands with his brother as Kyle approached and found his own seat, opposite Ian.

  There was silence as Kyle purloined his mother’s mimosa, downed it in one gulp then turned to the coffee, milk, and sugar, making it a fucking ritual.

  “How’d the showing go?” Dad asked Kyle. “They gonna take it?”

  “Which one?” Kyle asked with a grin around the rim of his coffee mug. “1701 or Brickell?” He paused for dramatic affect. “Nah, doesn’t matter. I leased both.”

  Ian grabbed another bagel while his brother and dad exchanged high fives and big smiles. No one asked what his latest party’s take was and Ian wasn’t sharing anyway.

  “How are things with you, Ian?” his mom asked pointedly. “Things must be hectic with Art Basel coming up.”

  Hectic was an understatement. It was his single busiest week of the year. Hands down. Once a year, the art world gathered in the 305 to view, buy, and sell important work. This being Miami, it was also an excuse to throw party after party and turn everything into an event.

  I.D. Productions had their tag on nearly two events a day, for six days in a row. As Drew said, sleep was an unnecessary luxury.

  “Yeah, we’ve got a lotta shit going on,” he said, earning an ungentle tap on the back of his head for language. “Ow, Mom.”

  “Can you get me in to Uncle’s for the barbeque battle?” Kyle asked.

  “Sure.” Ian shrugged. Kyle’s name was always added to the bouncer’s VIP list, but Kyle rarely took advantage of the connection. He preferred to do his partying away from the protective eyes of his big brother.

  “Cool, thanks.”

  “Hey, guess who I ran into this week?” Ian said, mostly addressing his mom.

  “Who?”

  “Catherine Ross.” It was like his brain was no longer in control of his mouth, and he was spewing garbage.

  Immediately, Mom’s expression softened at remembering the girl who’d lost her parents. “How is she?”

  “Is she still hot?” Kyle asked.

  “Not great and shut up,” Ian said, first to his mother, then to his brother.

  “What?” Kyle held up
his hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “She was adorable. I was a sophomore when she was a freshman, and she was the subject of much locker room discussion.”

  “Don’t be a pig, Kyle,” Mom said.

  “Honestly, she’s not doing great,” Ian repeated. “I was thinking we could invite her for Thanksgiving dinner.” He was? Where the hell had that thought popped into his mind from? Cat had barely wanted to see him across a crowded room, let alone spend an intimate family holiday with him.

  “Of course,” Dad said. “Invite Danny, too.”

  Ian stared at his plate, while Kyle snorted a laugh.

  “Unless you stuff the turkey with coke and cannabis, Daniel Ross isn’t coming to Thanksgiving,” Kyle said.

  “You’re one to talk,” Ian muttered so only his brother could hear, and earned a dirty scowl. The shit of it was that he deserved Cat’s wrath. He’d taken what she’d so generously offered on her eighteenth birthday and then ran. He wanted to punch himself when thinking about it. “On second thought, I don’t think it’s such a great idea,” he said. “They’re probably going to their aunt’s house.” Total lie.

  “The aunt that they hate?” Mom asked in disbelief. “That settles it. I’m inviting them.”

  After brunch, when his brother had ducked out with “business” commitments—a woman he’d left in his bed—Ian stayed behind to help his mother with the dishes. Or rather, he’d been close on his brother’s heels, when Mom said, “Ian, stay behind. I want to talk to you.”

  Curious, but wary, Ian froze at the doorway of his parents’ home and followed his mother to the kitchen. They’d all already cleared the brunch dishes from the pool area table and everything was stacked waiting to be put in the stainless steel dishwasher next to the sink.

  He strode to it now and tugged it open, thankful to see it empty and ready to be loaded. His back was to his mother, but her words still made him tense.

  “What’s going on with you?” she asked, her voice penetrating.