Free Fool That I Am by Paulette Oakes Page B

fundraisers, and any other special event
hosted by the club. It had become so popular with the upper crust that Daniel
had been able to entice a well-known chef from NYC to move to Louisville to
take over the restaurant. Celebrities flocked to the club during their stay in
the city for events or concerts and their Kentucky Derby party had been the
hottest ticket in town with pictures of celebrities showing up in national
magazines. The dress code was strict for members and guests alike: suits or
tuxes for men and either dresses or pantsuits for the women. It was very posh,
very exclusive, and very coveted by anyone who was anyone.
    Billie was even more confused by Daniel’s insistence on
having her as a lounge singer after reading more information on the club. She
came from down-to-earth, hard-working people that put little to no emphasis on
wealth or financial success. Her parents were not poor by any means, but they
lived comfortably and frugally managed to put away money in their savings
accounts while paying this month’s bills with last month’s money. She had been
raised to put more stock in happiness than in material goods, so Billie was not
impressed by the flashy wasteful spending of the mega-rich or even the almost
rich people she had seen growing up.
    Regardless of how she felt about working there, however, she
still felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach when she pulled up to the
almost-deserted club at 1:45 pm. She could see a shiny, black Lexus sedan in
the parking lot and surmised it must be Daniel’s, even though she pictured him
driving something more luxurious like a Jaguar or Porsche. Normally, she never
gave her own car a second thought, but today, she felt like it stuck out like a
sore thumb sitting in the same lot where BMW’s, Mercedes, Rolls, and other
luxury cars usually were parked while guarded by off-duty police officers.
    The building was sleek and modern, all tinted glass and
silver fittings, yet there was also a retro feel to the place. There was no
outward sign or neon lettering announcing the club name except for elegant
script on the front door. Billie anxiously checked her appearance one last time
in the reflection on the glass door before it was opened from the inside by a
big bruiser of a man who was obviously amused.
    “You must be Ms. Hardesty,” the mountain of muscle said to
her with an outstretched ham-fist. He was built like an MMA fighter with a
broad chest and huge arms that tapered down to a narrow waist before flaring
back out to form thick, corded thighs. His light brown hair was buzzed close to
his scalp and tribal tattoos snaked down both arms: one in the form of a tiger
and the other in the form of a dragon. He was wearing all black from his tight
tee shirt and black jeans down to his black construction boots. His face was
ruggedly handsome, even though his nose had obviously been broken a few times,
but his features softened dramatically when he smiled and changed him from
scary to heartbreaker in the blink of an eye.
    Billie cautiously placed her own hand in his and was
surprised at how gently he gripped her hand for a shake. “Yes, my name is
Billie Jean Hardesty. Please, call me Billie,” she replied, answering his grin
with her own.
    “It is definitely a pleasure to meet you, Billie. My name is
Henry Nelson, but everyone calls me Hank. I’m head of security here at the
club. I’m afraid there’s been some mistake, though, ma’am. I’mma have to speak
to Danny Boy about you,” he warned her severely, crossing his bulging arms over
his pecs.
    Billie sucked in a surprised breath and fought down panicky
tremors. “I knew it. I told Daniel that I didn’t belong here, but he wouldn’t
take no for an answer. I’ll just go back-“
    “Wait, now!” Hank interrupted her, laughing, “You got me all
wrong, babe. It’s just that Danny told me you were beautiful, but he didn’t say
you were fucking sex on heels. Pardon my French.”
    She blinked in shock