Page 30 of Maverick

As I merge into traffic, I can't shake the knot of tension between my shoulder blades. I sneak a glance at Alexis, chin resting on her palm as she stares vacantly out the window. She's been through hell with this custody case, and it's far from over.

"Was he always like that?" I ask her. What the hell did she ever see in him? A lot of the women from the club predate me. I instituted drug testing, just to make sure anyone working for me was healthy, but otherwise, if they were willing to go along with the changes I made, they were welcome to stay.

All of them did. But just because there's no drugs in my place doesn't mean there aren't other problems. Most women don't grow up dreaming of being strippers. They fall into it because it's good money, and allows them to support themselves, but it sure as fuck isn't something most of them want to put on a resume. There's still a lot of stigma around it, so I know being able to call themselves dancers at my club, rather than strippers, matters.

But those problems they were dealing with before I came along? The deadbeat families or boyfriends, the debt, the lack of options, they don't just magically go away.

She sighs and rests her head on the window. "Was he always a colossal asshole?" Her lips curve sadly. "No, he wasn't. Though I guess, looking back, he's always been a bit of a jerk. But I looked past it. When it was directed at someone else, it was easier to ignore. I told myself it's just the way he is in restaurants, or the way he talks to other guys."

"In my experience, the way someone treats waitstaff or anyone else in the service industry is a good indicator of the kind of person they are. You must see it all the time too, at the club?"

"Um…I guess?"

"Think about it. A big group of guys come in, and they make rude comments to you, act suggestive, and generally make assholes of themselves. They're like that in the rest of their lives too, even if they try to hide it." Something about a club makes men reveal themselves. If they're assholes, that comes out pretty fucking quick. The combination of booze and beautiful women acts like a truth serum.

"And the ones that say thank you, and please, and who just laugh if someone spills a drink on them?"

"Those are the good guys. I see it all the time in my business. The most secure men are the ones that treat people with respect. I mean all kinds of secure. Financially, emotionally, all of it."

"You always talk nicely to us. I've never seen you raise your voice. Not once."

"I don't need to. I get my point across just fine without it."

"So I should be looking for someone like you?"

Something in her tone sets off a warning signal in the back of my brain. "Someone who's secure in who they are, sure. But you need someone a lot younger than I am. Someone closer to your age."

"You're not that old. Women my age date men in their thirties all the time."

"Maybe." Shit. What do I do here? This is going in a direction I have no interest in going? "But dating someone young enough to be my daughter? Not for me."

"I'm not that young," she mumbles, but thankfully lets it drop. Fuck, that could have been bad.

She's a good kid. But she's a kid. Barely twenty three and she already has a child. The last thing she needs is a jaded old man like me. Rationally, I know thirty-eight isn't old, but I feel ancient most days. And the last thing I need is an employee chasing after me. She's a wonderful girl…for someone a decade younger than I am.

Plus, dating an employee? Bad idea.

I'm a fucking hypocrite.

I spenda few hours at the office, my mind split between the case files in front of me and a certain brunette turned blonde with kind eyes. I'm not sure how much work I actually accomplish, but I'm pretty damn good at looking busy.

There’s a firm rap on my door, and Colton pokes his head in. “Hey man, I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

“Of course.” I close the file in front of me, and fold my hands on my desk as Colton paces my office. He’s worked up, but not angry, so I just let him do his thing until he’s ready to speak.

“I want to adopt Mia.”

I’m shocked, and yet I’m not. He and Evie are married, and Mia already calls him daddy. It’s the logical thing. It’s just fast.

“Okay. And you’ve talked with Evie about it?”

“Not specifically. I just,” he groans and rubs the back of his neck. “I want to give them my name. Both of them. Evie has it, but she doesn’t really use it since Mia is a Collins.” He drops into the chair in front of my desk. “I want everyone to know I’m theirs. I want all the ties. I want all of the paper.”

“I get that man. I really do. I can get the paperwork started, but you really have to talk to Evie, and make sure she’s on board.”

“What if she says no?” he asks in a near whisper, expression tight. Colton’s regular state could generally be described as enthusiastic, or chaotic. He can go to stone cold in less than a heartbeat when it involves protecting his family.

But this expression? It’s different. I’ve never seen him look so unsure. And immediately I want to make it better. “You are a good man, Colt. The best. And you’re already a fucking great dad. Why wouldn’t Evie want you to be Mia’s daddy for real?”

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