him as a kid didn’t give a damn about him anymore. Probably a pretty big one. But he couldn’t help it.
Knowing little Izzie had been crazy about him had been a constant during his teenage years. A given. Just another part of his reality. Certainly nothing he’d ever taken advantage of or embarrassed her about. It had just been...kinda cute, thinking there was a girl out there doodling his name in her school notebook. Innocent. Simple.
Man, he hated that that girl wouldn’t even look at him now. Especially because he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve her coldness. No, he hadn’t recognized her. But he also hadn’t recognized the kid who had delivered the newspaper and now ran a newsstand on the corner. Or a couple of guys he’d played basketball with at St. Raphael’s.
Mark thought he did deserve it. Not because he hadn’t recognized her, but because he’d counted on her childhood feelings to give him an edge with Izzie the adult.
Hell, maybe he was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have teased her, been so sure of her. He’d known enough women to know how they felt about being taken for granted. He should have taken her out to dinner before kissing her like he needed the air in her lungs to keep on living.
So he needed to start over with Izzie. Start slow, like he would with any other woman he’d just met.
It might not be easy. Because she already affected him more than any woman he’d ever met. He’d dreamed about her this week, thought about her, gone out of his way to walk past the bakery in the hope of bumping into her.
“Tables have definitely turned,” he muttered aloud when he walked through the private employees’ entrance into the back of the club. “Which is probably just the way she wants it.”
Yeah, she could be stringing him along out of revenge. But somehow, Nick didn’t think that was the case.
She hadn’t been able to hide her feelings behind those incredibly expressive brown eyes. Though she’d sent him away after their kiss, she still wanted him. But something was preventing her from doing anything about it.
He just had to find out what.
“Nick, you’re right on time!” The club owner, a beefy, good-natured guy with a Santa Claus–like belly laugh, emerged from his office and extended his hand.
Nick shook it. “Mr. Black.”
“Call me Harry.”
“Harry, then. Thanks again for the opportunity.”
The other man waved a hand in unconcern. “Your big brother, he’s one of the few honest contractors I’ve met in this city. Did beautiful work at a fair price. And if he says you’re up to the job, I trust him completely.”
Nick had already bought his brother, Joe, a beer in thanks for setting up his interview. He wished he’d made it a pitcher.
“All the paperwork’s done, you check out exactly like Joe said you would,” Harry said as he gestured Nick toward a seat in his office. “Now, you’re clear on what I need from you?”
Nick nodded. “Have there been problems recently?”
Harry tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded. “The Rose has made a stir. Men want to see her and there have been a few incidents.”
Nick stiffened reflexively, even though he hadn’t met the woman yet. “Incidents?”
“Nothing too serious, thank God. But a couple of grabs, dressing-room prowlers. A few disturbing notes.” Harry shook his head, looking disgusted. “Can’t imagine any man saying stuff that crude to any woman. But she was a sport about it, laughed it off.” Staring pointedly, he added, “That’s one reason I hired you—she tends to not take it seriously. And I want someone else to.”
“I will,” Nick replied, confident of his own words.
Harry nodded, obviously convinced. “Other than that, there’s not too much trouble on a nightly basis. A guy’d have to be drunk as a skunk or just plain stupid to think he could go after one of the girls at the risk of taking one of the bouncers on. But we don’t let anybody get drunk as a skunk in my joint.” He chuckled. “And stupid people can’t afford it.”
That wasn’t a surprise. When Nick had come in last weekend, he’d noticed the upscale feel of the club. Far from being seedy or shadowy, like most strip joints, this place was elegantly comfortable, from the earth-toned leather furniture to the framed pieces of classy-looking art on the walls. The prices reflected the ambiance; this was no after-work beer joint.
“I wanted to introduce you to the Rose, but