Chapter Twelve

Bryn

Tonight should have been easier, but the two new girls that Marley had hired struggled. That had left me to take up the slack since Trix had been onstage all evening. My head was pounding as I slipped my oversize hoodie over my head. It fell halfway down my thighs, covering my shorts, but I didn’t care. It was comfortable and baggy.

Being covered up after a night of being bare was a relief. I was slipping on my sandals when a knock sounded on the door before it opened. The three solid raps were Saint’s signature. I knew it was him before he entered.

“Hey,” I said. He was normally busy, cleaning the front of house and making sure things were done properly this time of night. “Is everything okay?” I asked him, taking in the scowl on his face.

He gave me a singular nod but said nothing. I picked up my bag and put the strap on my shoulder, waiting for him to speak. He was the broody sort, and I was used to his scowls and delayed talking. I always imagined that he was deep-thinking his words before saying them. I respected that. I, too, had to think about my words but for different reasons.

“We have a rule,” he stated.

I knew the rules. I hadn’t broken any. I just nodded.

“Management doesn’t date the employees,” he said.

I didn’t know of any management dating employees.

“Yeah,” I agreed, unsure of why he was in here, telling me this. He was the one who had slept with some of the dancers and didn’t follow the rule. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

He ran a hand over the top of his head and made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh. It was his frustrated noise. I had heard it many times before. Even tonight, when Blondie—that was her floor name—had dropped her second tray of drinks, then slipped in the spilled alcohol and landed on her butt.

“I’m considering changing the rules. Just need to speak to Marley about it.”

That was interesting. He hadn’t seemed to care about the rule before. I nodded again and waited.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Bryn, do you understand anything I’m saying?”

Not really, and I was confused by why we were discussing it. “Uh, you want to change the rule about management dating employees,” I replied.

He let out a low, short chuckle. “Yeah.”

I smiled, glad he was amused. He rarely laughed. He reminded me of a caged lion at times. There was a wildness just there under the surface that he kept tamed. It’d frightened me at first, but over time, I had grown accustomed to it. He was a good man. One I considered a friend, and I had very few of those.

“I want to change the fucking rule because of you,” he said.

My head snapped up then, and I stared at him. My thoughts going in several directions. My first being, I didn’t need it changed. I didn’t want to date management. Then, I realized why he was in here and that he wanted to change it because he wanted to date … me?

Oh no. No, no, no, no.

Not that. Why that?

He was my boss. He had become a friend. I liked him, but not in that way. I wasn’t sure I could like anyone in that way. I had issues with dating. I was damaged, and I wasn’t sure I could be attracted to anyone because of it. I had even opened my mind to see if women attracted me a couple years ago, but I was as numb to them as I was to men. I had never truly felt anything for a guy, except one. Once.

“Oh,” I whispered when I could see in his expression he wanted me to say something.

He gave a short laugh and shook his head. “Why does that response not surprise me?” he said.

Because I had never once flirted with him or given him any reason to believe I wanted to date him or sleep with him maybe? I didn’t say that though. Saint was very handsome, tall, well built, and dangerous-looking. He had that sexy vibe going that every woman in this place swooned over, except me and his sister. Was that it? He was attracted to me because I didn’t flirt? Was he one of those? The one female who wasn’t trying to get screwed in his office was the one he wanted?

“I’m not—I don’t d-date,” I blurted out. I took a deep breath and focused on my words. This was one of those situations where my stuttering could come out full force if I didn’t work hard to control it. “I am damaged, Saint. My childhood, it w-w-was bad.” I stopped then and inhaled sharply, frustrated by the stammering I was failing to manage.

“You’re different. You’re tough, determined, brave, but not damaged,” he said.

Afraid to speak, I shook my head. He had no idea what all I kept hidden under the surface.

“I am,” I said simply.

“I can wait. You’re worth it,” he replied.

He would be waiting forever. That wasn’t fair. If I was going to feel something for him, it would have been before now. I just wasn’t. I couldn’t.

“I am broken. I can’t.” I paused and focused hard. “I don’t think or feel the way normal people do when it comes to relationships.”

He cocked one pierced eyebrow. “That’s not true. You love hard. You love that nephew of yours so damn much that you get out there in front of strangers, topless, when you don’t like the spotlight. Your nature is shy and modest. That’s loyalty, love, willingness to put someone else before yourself. That’s what a solid relationship is built on.”

“It’s not the same,” I whispered.

Cullen was a child. Of course I loved him. He was family. It was different.

Saint shrugged. “It’s not exactly the same, but the layers are there. You’re just too scared to experience it.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t that I was too scared. Once, I hadn’t been. I would have done anything for Rio March. Maybe Saint was right that I could feel it, but again, the problem was with my past. I wasn’t just broken from my mom’s boyfriend’s sexual abuse, my mother killing him, and the abuse I’d received from my aunt. Rio had broken me too.

“I trusted … a guy once. I did feel things for him. He br-broke me too,” I admitted.

Saint’s scowl returned.

We stood there in silence while his jaw worked, as if he was trying to control his anger. I hadn’t meant to make him angry. I just needed him to understand. I wasn’t who he needed to change a rule for because we were never going to date. Now, if he wanted to change it for the girls he regularly took back to his office, then fine.

“I’m a patient man,” Saint replied.

I wanted to tell him not to be. He was wasting his time. However, controlling my stuttering was hard, the more upset I got over this, so I said nothing at all. I hated hearing my words come out uncontrolled. I hated not having the ability to get them out and fighting to say what I was thinking.

Saint left the room.

Relief that I no longer had to speak came with his absence, but I feared I would soon lose a friend. No matter how long he waited, I knew I would never be ready to feel anything more than friendship for him. How I wished that were different.