Free This Life: A Novel by Maryann Reid

East Side that had been remade into a festive trilevel supper club
with dance floors. She’d agonized about what to wear, uncertain whether to view
this as a business dinner or as a first date. Finally she’d settled on a
knee-length, one-shoulder glittery black Calvin Klein dress, along with her
Gucci ballet flats.
    Matt was wearing a
black suit and, under protest, a crimson necktie.
    “This is why I like
working third shift,” Matt grumbled, tugging at the tie. “I can usually dress
for comfort instead of style, and the client doesn’t care because they’re
asleep.”
    “You’ll survive,” Blake
promised him. She spoke to the hostess just inside the door. “Excuse me, but
has a gentleman by the name of Brett Skeet already reserved a table?”
    “No, ma’am. Shall I
find a table for you and your escort, and note that Brett Skeet will be joining
you?”
    “Yes, please. My name
is Blake Bertrand.” Blake shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her arm
while the hostess snapped her fingers for a waiter and told him to prep a table
for three.
    “I thought you looked
familiar,” the hostess added, when the waiter hurried away in search of a
table. “It’s a pleasure to have you at the Vault, Ms. Bertrand. If you need
anything at all, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”
    “Thank you.” Blake
smiled her appreciation at the hostess, but the smile faded when she noticed
Matt tugging at his tie yet again. “Stop that, Matt. It’s all crooked now.”
    She was straightening
Matt’s tie when Brett’s voice, which reminded her of Duke Ellington’s smoothest
jazz pieces, sounded behind her: “Only one woman in the world can look as good
sweating and worn out as she does in a little black dress, and that’s Blake
Bertrand.”
    Blake felt her face
grow hot again. I wouldn’t have thought any man could still make me blush,
but this man sure has proved me wrong. “Hi, Brett. We just requested a
table.”
    Brett was examining
Matt. “Who is this?”
    “Matt Guidry. One of
Ms. Bertrand’s bodyguards.” Matt put out a hand and shook Brett’s.
    “One of, you say,” Brett
commented, but rather than Matt he looked at Blake.
    She caught herself
about to touch the scar on her forehead hidden by her long bangs. Putting her
hand back down, Blake took a deep breath and explained, in a hushed voice
almost lost in the dance music playing farther inside the Vault, “My ex-husband
beat me up a week before our divorce was finalized.”
    Brett let that sink in
before asking, “At the party where I met you?”
    She nodded. Words
wouldn’t come. A chill crept down her spine.
    “I should have stayed.”
Brett’s words held a hint of a growl, and his shoulders were tense, as if Lang
Bertrand stood before him, available to be punched. “I’m tempted to catch the
next flight back to Miami and beat his sorry ass right into the ground.”
    He sounds like Uncle
Thorne . Blake almost felt like smiling.
    “Hey, relax, man.
Nobody’s going to do that to Ms. Bertrand again. That’s what me and my
coworkers are here for.” Matt clapped Brett on the back, and Blake watched
Brett gradually calm down again.
    Their waiter returned
then and introduced himself. “Good evening, I’m Tim, I’ll be your waiter
tonight. I’ve got a great table ready for you, just follow me.”
    Tim led the way
upstairs to the second level, where live rock music was being performed by new
superstar Amanda Brown and her band. Blake recognized Brown from the third
season of the television show The Voice . Margot had raved about the
former backup singer for Adele until Blake watched the show herself for the
second half of the season, simply to hear the talent her best friend couldn’t
stop talking about. Just wait until Margot hears that I got lucky enough to
see her favorite new rock singer giving a concert at a nightclub!
    They had a front-row
seat, and got to hear Brown’s chart-topping single “Distances” as they looked
at the menu.