Indecent Proposal by Molly O'Keefe - excerpt

8/11/2019 Indecent Proposal by Molly O'Keefe - excerpt

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Chapter 1

July 16, 2013

Ken Doll is back.Ryan Kaminski didnt have to look to see whoLindsey was talking about.

Ken Doll had been Lindseys obsession for the lastthree nights.

Yeah? Whats he doing? Talking on his phone?

Texting? Ignoring the rest of the world? She did notunderstand why people came to a bar to stare at theirphones and ignore people. If they didnt want to talk topeople, they should just hide out in their apartmentslike she did. Ryan scooped ice into the martini shakerand then poured in vermouth, followed by high-endvodka that cost about a weeks worth of tips, and slidon the top before giving it all a good shake.

Ken Doll looks sad, Lindsey added.Thatmade Ryan look over her shoulder at the hand-

some blond man at the far corner of the bar. For threenights hed been coming in, working on two differentphones. Making calls. Sending textsnever lookingup. Never acknowledging that he was actually in aroom full of people.

He ordered beerCorona in a bottle. Tipped doublethe bill and usually left every night without saying any-thing more than Corona and thank you.

Ken Doll would be totally unremarkablethere wereplenty of men at The Cobalt Bar spending more time on

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2 M o l l y O Ke e f e

their phones than actually talking to people, and wear-

ing beautiful tailor-made suits that clung just right totheir bodies while they did it.

But they were not nearly as interesting as Ken Doll.Because Ken Doll was just so damn pretty.His blond hair had a slight curl to it, just enough that

you knew it probably made him crazy. Piercing blueeyes. Like theyd been computer enhanced, thats howblue they were. In the soft, smooth plane of one cheekthere was a dimpleshed only seen it by accident whenhe smiled at a woman who asked to take the bar stoolto his left the other day. But the real kickertheshow-stopperwas how he moved, efficient and grace-ful, like there was simply no time to waste, because hewas A Man Who Got Things Done.

Watching him unbutton his jacket before sitting down

was like watching a mission statement. A planted flag.Gravitas.Thats what Ken Doll had that every other man in this

bar was lacking.But tonight he didnt have his phones out. He sat

there, hands pressed flat against the mahogany bar, asthe raindrops caught in his blond hair gleamed red andblue under the moody lights. He was wearing a Univer-

sity of Georgia Bulldogs tee shirt under which his shoul-ders . . . oh, that slump, it told a very sad story indeed.

Ryan poured the martini into the chilled glass,took a twist off the fresh lemon behind the bar, andput the glass on a napkin before sliding the drink overto the woman whod ordered it and collecting the twentythe woman had left on the bar.

These meaningless transactions made up her life.Over and over again.

I want to ease Ken Dolls pain. Lindsey didnt evenpretend not to watch Ken Doll while pulling a draft forone of the guys working the couches. Like. Really.



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I N D E C E N T P R O P O S A L 3

Lindsey was well suited to that task. The bars

uniformthe short leather shorts, the fishnets and tallbootstook on a whole new level of sexy with her. Shewas a twenty-one-year-old party girl from the Bronxwho could take care of herself and anyone else whowanted to have a good time.

Next to her Ryan felt old, way older than thirty-two.She felt old and crotchety and like she was only daysaway from yelling at kids to get off her lawn. Not thatshe had a lawn.

Ryan should just get out of the way and let Lindseytake care of Ken Doll.

But she didnt.Once upon another lifetime she modeled, and she still

did when she could get the work. When she couldnt,she worked at an overpriced bar inside the very swanky

Cobalt Hotel in midtown Manhattan.She knew all kinds of pretty.But there was something about pretty and sad that

got her antenna up.Switch sides with me, Lindsey said, referring to the

neat-down-the-middle split between her side of the barand Lindseys.

Nope.

Come on, Lindsey pouted. You hate the guys thatcome in here. Hes wasted on you.

This is true. Ryan had a fervent dislike for the pos-ing and the posturing, the manicured and manscapedversion of masculinity that walked into this bar. Shehated the ego and the way the men watched her bodyadmittedly on displaybut when she caught their eyes,no one was home. Or they were constantly looking pasther for someone else.

For something better.But hes not like the other guys that come in here,

Ryan said.



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This was so true; other people in the bar watched him

out of the corner of their eyes, as if they knew he wasdifferent from the rest of them. Or he was familiar andthey just couldnt remember why.

She didnt want to ease Ken Dolls pain, at least notin the way that Lindsey did. But shed been serving himfor three nights and she was dying to know his story.And hes on my side. Sorry, Linds.

She tossed a black bar towel toward a scowling Lind-sey and sauntered over to Ken Dolls corner. There wasa weird energy rolling off him tonight, and the air inthis small part of the bar was electric and still. Humid,from the water burning up from the heat of his body.

The usual? she asked, waiting for him to look up ather so she could smile.

He ran a hand through his blond hair, sending water

droplets into the air.Ill have scotch. Neat.Single malt?Finally, he looked up at her, and the distracted but

polite distance she was used to seeing in his sky-blueeyes was replaced by a sizzling, terrible grief. Or anger.She couldnt be sure. Not that it mattered, really.

Because tonight, Ken Doll burned.Whatever, he said, his voice low and broken. Just

bring me whatever.She poured him Lagavulin, and she barely had the

tumbler on the bar in front of him before he grabbed itand shot it back. Another, he said.

Two more shots later, she brought him a glass ofwater and a menu.

Thank you, he said, glancing at her through impos-sibly long eyelashes. But he pushed the menu away.

My name is Ryan, she said. Apparently Ill be thewoman getting you drunk tonight.



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His laughter was dry, like wind through November

trees, but he didnt say anything.And your name? she asked. Thats usually how it

works, in case youre unfamiliar. I tell you my name,you tell me yours.

Harri- . . . Harry. You can call me Harry. His voicewas laced with traces of the South, pecans and sweet tea.

She held out her hand, and after a moment he shookit. Nice to meet you, Harry, she said.

There were no calluses on that hand, which wasnt allthat surprising in the land of his-and-hers manicures.But every time she shook a mans hand she thought ofher dads big palms, the blisters and cuts, the thickcallusesa working mans hands.

Harrys palms were smooth and supple, but his gripwas sure and strong and he didnt do anything skeevy

so points for him.You too, Ryan.Everything okay? she asked.He blew out a long breath, laughing a little at the end,

as if he just couldnt believe how everything around himhad turned to shit. Have you ever done everything inyour power and not have it be good enough? And notjust a little bit, but have everything you are capable of

be not even close to enough?No idea, she joked, deadpan. Ever since I was a

girl I dreamt of making overpriced martinis for menwho only stare at my chest.

It took him a second, the weighty stare of his check-ing to see if she was being serious or not, but finally helaughed. A weary humphthat made her feel just a littlevictorious.

Well, its a first for me.Its no fun, is it?He shook his head, the muscles of his shoulders flex-

ing under his shirt like he was about to twitch out of his



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skin. Empathy, something she very rarely felt at work,

swarmed her.Im . . . he trailed off, his hands on the bar curled

into fists.Angry? she supplied, watching his knuckles grow

white.He nodded slowly. And sad. Mostly . . . sad.Inside, deep inside, a penny dropped and the compli-

cated mechanism of her desireof her elusive andrarely seen wantwas engaged.

Well, shit, she thought. Maybe I will be easing hispain after all.

Later, she brought him the chicken and waffles,because while hed slowed down on the Lagavulin, hehadnt stopped.

I didnt order this, he said, looking down at their

signature dish, guaranteed to soak up the alcohol in hisstomach while making him thirsty enough for more.

Comes with the scotch.Speaking of which. He held up his tumbler. At least

hed switched to scotch and water.Can I trust that your fancy New York City chef

knows what hes doing with chicken and waffles?Harry asked, not quite smiling, but not quite looking

like the world was going to crush him.Well, our chef is from Mobile, so she might know

her way around. She set the refilled tumbler back downin front of him. Its raining out?

Yeah . . . I stepped out to get some air and its catsand dogs out there.

Cats and dogs? she thought, swallowing her smile.Thats just adorable.

Rain could go either way for business, and Lord knewshe needed the money of a good night, but she was con-tent at this quiet end of her bar.

This is kind of you, he said, contemplating the food.



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Well, you seem like a nice guy.

Ive barely said two words to you.Well, I have a sixth sense about these things, and

those two words were serious and well-meaning.Serious and well-meaning is exactly me. He cocked

his head, watching her from beneath long lashes. Or apet dog; I cant be sure.

She laughed, happy to see that he was getting into thespirit of the banter. I have never had a well-meaningdog in my life. Thieves and layabouts, all of them.

I had one. As a kid. Daisey. She meant well.Oh God,he was walking down old-dead-dog mem-

ory lane.You are just all kinds of sad tonight, arent you?He spun his glass in a slow circle. I guess so.You know, she said, where I grew up there was

this bar called The Sunset right down the street. A realdive bar. Guys went in after their shifts on Friday anddidnt come out until Sunday afternoon. Well, they gotthis new daytime bartender. A real soft touch. She fellfor every hard-luck story that sat down in the corner.And then word got out that Ben Polecka came in therecrying after his wife left and the bartender gave himfree beers all afternoon. Soon, everyone was going in

there pretending to cry to get free beer. And my sister,always a bit of an entrepreneur, decides she and I shouldgo stand outside the bar and charge guys five dollars tokick them in the balls. You know, as a kind of guaran-tee of real tears.

He laughed, which of course had been the idea, but itstill came as a bit of a surprise.

How much money did you make?Five bucks, she shrugged. We were out there

for like three hours, and finally Bruce Dinkle took pityon us.

That was his real name?



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Yep.

And Bruce Dinkle paid you to kick him in the balls?He did. We bought some ice cream, and it felt like

we were on top of the world.His laughter faded and then the smile vanished, and

then the weight of the world was rolled back up on hisshoulders.

She leaned against the bar and crossed her arms overher chest, well aware that her breasts nearly spilledfrom the vest she wore, but Harrys eye didnt wander.They stayed glued to hers as if he didnt even see thebody beneath her chin. Okay, you sad sack. Tell me.Who is your best not good enough for? A wife?

No wife.Girlfriend?He shook his head, and she would be lying if she

didnt say she was relieved.A boss?Ive never had a boss.No boss? What planet is this guy from?Then who, my friend, is making you feel this way?Why? He smiled at her, looser than hed been,

but not yet totally unwound. The guy could hold hisbooze; shed give him that. You going to give them a

talking-to?I just might.What would you say?I would probably say, listen . . . She paused, wait-

ing for him to fill in the blank.He shook his head, that blond hair gleaming red

and then blue under the lights. Im afraid its . . .complicated.

Gary, her manager, glanced over from across theroom, and Ryan reached for some unprepped garnishesunder the bar and made a good show of stripping mintleaves off the stem for mojitos. Give me the gist. You



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dont have to spill state secrets, but you might feel better

getting some of this off your chest.You an expert on that too?Im a bartender, Harry. I am an expert on lots of

things. She chucked the mint stem into the trash underthe bar. Lay your burdens down, my friend.

Its my sister. Shes in trouble.Ah, oddly enough, this is a subject in which I have

plenty of experience.You have a sister who gets in trouble?I am the sister who gets in trouble. Something

buzzed up the back of her neck. A warning to shut hermouth and walk on, perhaps send Lindsey over. But sheignored it, despite having gotten so much better at heed-ing those internal warnings. She grabbed more mintjust so shed have something to do with her hands.

So, is she in big trouble or little trouble? Like if oneis dating a jerk and ten is living on the streets, wheredoes she fall?

She isnt even on that spectrum. Something in hisvoice made her realize the jokes were soon to becomeoffensive. That there was no part of this he was going tofind funny. And funny was a huge part of her armor.

And without her armor she was just vulnerable andsympathetictwo things that had gotten her in morethan her fair share of trouble.

Leave,she thought. Switch sides with Lindsey. For-get about Sad Ken Doll.

But that was impossible. His anger and grief weremagnetic.

She put down the mint.Im so sorry, Harry, she told him sincerely.Its fine. His smile revealed the dimple, and for a

moment she was distracted enough not to realize he waslying. But she had been a bartender for over a decade



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and she could smell a lie a mile away. And whatever the

situation was with his sister, it was far from fine.Thats what youve been working on for the last few

days. With the phones? Trying to help your sister?I couldnt stare at the walls of my room anymore.

All day, every day, trying . . .He sighed, pushing away the plate with the half-eaten

chicken on it. For a moment Ryan thought he was goingto walk out; he was coiled, poised to just vanish.

And that would be for the best, she thought. For her.Maybe for him. Because the last thing he probably neededwas a sister in trouble and a hangover in the morning.And the last thing she needed was this compassionthis empathy and curiosity, the rusted guts of herdesiremaking her decisions for her.

But then he relaxed back into his chair. Back into the

moment with her.She exhaled the breath she hadnt realized shed been

holding.Not that its done much good. I dont know if Im

going to be able to help her.There was an invisible barrier down the middle of the

bar. This one and every other upscale bar in the fiveboroughs. The barrier was well documented not only in

The Cobalt Bar employee handbook, but also in herown rule book: no fraternizing with the drinkers. A les-son shed learned twice the hard way.

But she shoved her fist right through that barrier andput her hand over his. To her surprise, he grabbed herfingers and held them tight in his, like a lifeline he wasterribly in need of.

Shes . . . shes my baby sister. And she hasnt neededanything from me in so long and now . . . now that shedoes, now that she really needs me, I might not be ableto help her. Its killing me.

Everything, the empathy and the desire and the shock



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I N D E C E N T P R O P O S A L 1 1

of his touch, twisted and turned inside her, making

her ache. Making her wish there wasnt a bar betweenthem, that she could wrap her arms around him prop-erly.

She squeezed his hand instead. Do you have anyother family? she asked. Someone else who can helpyou?

I am heading home tomorrow morning to talk tothem. His tone indicated that this was a bad, badthing.

They wont be able to help?Help or hurtit could go either way. Smart money

is on hurt.She stood there, silently bearing witness to his grief.

Letting him grip her hand so hard their knuckles rubbedup against each others.

Its so crazy, and my mother . . . Mother is not goingto handle this well. Shes never approved of my sister,and this is going to put her right over the edge. He shother a wry look and then sighed. The one bright spot is,I think I know a guy who can help.

Thats good, she said.Well, there is a decent chance that he will laugh in

my face and tell me to go fuck myself. And then . . . He

hung his head, wiping his hand across his face. OhGod, then I have no idea what Im going to do.

Screw the barrier. Screw the rule book. Screw the restof the bar.She lifted her hand from his grip and touchedhis cheek, the perfect bone structure of his jaw. The finescruff of his beard felt good against her palm.

The man needed some sympathy. Some human con-nection. Hed been wrestling with what seemed like anightmare for the last three days. And she . . . maybeshe, who lived behind a solid glass wall of rules createdby shitty past experience, could use a little human con-nection, too.



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1 2 M o l l y O Ke e f e

He wont, she said. Youll convince him.

He turned his face and whispered, How do youknow that? into her hand.

The sensation of his breath between her fingers siz-zled up her arm and across her chest, settling in herbelly, where it smoldered and burned.

Because Im a little sister, too. And my big brotherwould tear down the world to help me. Thats what big

brothers do.She smiled into his bloodshot blue eyes when heopened them.

The thick air crackled with the power of all the des-perate grief and anger he was throwing off.

She felt the touch of his gaze across her face. Her lipsand eyes, the cheekbones that had earned her quite a bitof money. Her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and

falling over her shoulders like a luxurious cape.What he saw wasnt really her. It was a quirk of genet-

ics, a lucky break in the womb. To have her mothersnose and her fathers eyes. Her grandmothers bonestructure and her grandfathers outrageous thick, shinyhair.

It was just what she looked like. The tools she used to

make a living.And it had taken her years of destroying nearly every

relationship that ever meant anything to realize that.Youre the most beautiful woman Ive ever seen.She pulled her hands free of his. The moment of in-

tense connection between them was fading to some-thing slightly more manageable. Attraction and appeal.A rare camaraderie, but at least she wasnt ready tocrawl over the bar into his lap.

Thats the scotch talking.Give me some credit. Its not just your looks, Ryan.

Youre lovely. For no good reason, that made her flus-



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tered, made her feel stupid for reaching across the bar-

rier.The rules were in place for a reason, after all.Ryan! Lindsey said. A little help?Ryan turned to see Lindsey inundated with gray-suited

Wall Street types, so she gave Harry a quick smile andheaded over to help her.

Getting a little cozy, arent you? Lindsey asked, hereyes twinkling. She was a good sport, Lindsey. As longas someone had the chance to get lucky, she was happy.

Hes a nice guy.They always are. But listen. She jerked his chin

across the bar where their manager, Gary, was talkingto a few of the regulars in the corner. Garys watchingyou, so just be careful. He fired Will last month forgoing home with that crazy bitch from Saks.

As if he heard, Gary looked over. Gary was a niceenough guy, but the rules were pretty ironclad and hecould lose his job for ignoring them.

The rush at the bar lasted a good hour and finallyaround ten p.m. slowed down to a trickle. Lindsey sentout another martini, a watermelon margarita, and threemore Coronas and checked her watch. Its cuttingtime, she said.

Youve been here since three, Ryan said, becausethe first one in was usually the first one to go home un-less they were working a double. She set dirty glasswareunder the bar in the gray bins and then handed them toSam, who was heading back to the kitchen.

Grab me some lemons, would you? And more mintand more thyme. Thanks.

Sam, a notorious flirt, winked at her, taking the binswith him.

Yeah, but I dont have a hot guy at the end of the barwaiting for me, Lindsey said.

Ryan looked over her shoulder to where Harry sat,



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14 Mol l y O Ke efe

looking at his phone, nursing a Corona, the chicken and

waffles forgotten at his elbow.I dont.Ugh, denial is so boring, Lindsey said, grabbing two

more pint glasses and starting the intricate pour-and-wait system for Guinness. Get into my back pocket.

Ryan reached into the tight pocket of Lindseys shortsand pulled out two sticks of gum, a twenty-dollar bill,and a condom.

Go, Lindsey said. Stock my garnishes and thentake Sad Ken Doll someplace and cheer him up.

It had been a long time since Ryan had gone homewith a guy. Picking up at a bar was for other women,younger women. Women who hadnt been burned quiteas effectively as she had.

There was also the small matter of losing her job if

management found out.But as with every job, there were ways of getting

around management, if a woman wanted to bad enough.She glanced back at Harry and caught him staring

at her.His eyes flared and the bar fell away again, the whole

world disappeared. He had some kind of magical powerwhen he really looked at her, a way of making her feel

like the only woman on the planet. And hundreds oflesser men had tried and never, ever come close to doingthat. Of engaging the old and rusted machine of herdesire.

This man did it with one look.A sudden breathlessness seized her, and the fifteen

minutes she had left on her shift was too much. Thetime it would take her to get up to his room was toomuch. The fact that heserious and well-meaningmight not take her up on what she was going to offerwas a reality she had no interest in.

She wanted himhis scruffy face, the burning anger



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in his eyes, the beautiful symmetry of his body, the de-

licious humanity of his grief.Without a second thought, she slipped the condom in

her own pocket.Thanks, Linds, she said.No problem. She wiggled her butt while Ryan

tucked the twenty back in her pocket.An asshole at the bar whistled.Oh, you wish, buddy, Lindsey said.Hey, the guy said, leaning across the bar toward

Ryan. You look really familiar to me.Because you were in here last week.No . . . My friend, he jerked his thumb over his

shoulder, vaguely referencing one of the other guys insuits with manicured hands behind him. He says youwere the Lips Girl like fifteen years ago. Is that true?

Can you do the thing? The sloganYour friend is wrong, she lied, and dismissed the

guy by turning her back on him. There were biggerthings on her horizon than trying to put a shine on an-cient history.

Ryan walked over to Harry and picked up his plate ofhalf-eaten dinner.

No wife? she asked. No girlfriend? No woman

waiting at home for you? Dont bother lyingIll beable to tell.

He shook his head.Are you gay?That made him smile, and again she felt that little

spike of pleasure. Of a job well done. Im not gay, andno one is waiting for me, Ryan.

Are you staying at the hotel? she asked.His burning blue eyes met hers, and there was no con-

fusion; he knew what she was asking.I am.Im getting off in about fifteen minutes.



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Harry stood, a new urgency in his movement. He

tossed several bills on the bar, but she pushed themback at him.

Its on me, she said. The Sister in Trouble special.By the shocked and blank look on his face it was ob-

vious no one ever joked with him, and she wondered ifhe had any friends. Why would a man like him in whatseemed to be the worst three days of his life show upalone at her bar?

But when he did laugh, it was a good one. Full-throatedand deep, the kind of laugh that made other peoplesmile. But not Manager Gary, who walked by givingRyan a serious warning glare.

She took Harrys plate and stepped away.Room 534, he said.She nodded once, the number tucked away.

Ryan? he said.Yes?Hurry.



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INDECEN

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Indecent Proposal by Molly O'Keefe - excerpt

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