Hurts So Good Read Free

last chair turned up, the hardwood floor swept clean, and every waitress gone, Andrea surveyed the aftermath of a nightmare. Glasses were scattered from one end to the other of the long mahogany bar. Ashtrays brimmed with crushed-out butts. Behind her, bottles were in disarray: scotch, beer, wine, vodka, and liqueurs she'd never even heard of before they'd been ordered. On the floor lay puddles of spilled drinks.
    "Buy you a drink?" asked Lou, the pianist and last musician to leave. "Looks like you could use one, chile."
    "Thanks, Lou, but if I never see another highball again, it'll be too soon." She summoned a weary smile as he leaned against the bar. His chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners, he smiled with the innate kindness she'd sensed in him when he'd welcomed her aboard. She could use some kindness. Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. Even her skin hurt.
    But what hurt most was feeling like a failure.
    "Now, chile, don't you fret, 'cause Big Daddy's here to help. I'll get dis, you get dat, an' 'fore you know it, we'll have the place shinier than a new penny."
    Andrea suppressed the urge to throw her arms around his neck in thanks. She'd never had a daddy, much less a Big Daddy who was as cuddly as her frayed teddy bear with the stuffings long hugged out of it.
    "Lou, you're a sweetheart to offer, but I've got it under control." Yeah, right, just like that time your Ivy League scholarship got revoked. "I just hope Mr. Grey doesn't decide to fire me." She darted a furtive glance at the empty stage. "Is he gone?"
    "Slick? Hell no, he ain't gone—this here's where he lives. And he ain't about to fire you, I guarantee it."
    "You're sure?" she asked, taking hope.
    "He ain't no Goody Two-shoes but—"
    "Thought you'd flown the coup, Lou. You're not drinking up my profits are... you?"
    Neil's eyes squinted as he took in the state of the bar. His surroundings had been no more than a blur while he'd been onstage. His energy had been concentrated on performing—and ignoring the redhead who he'd hoped would be gone by the time he left the office. Since the interview she'd been stuck on his brain like a needle grooved into a record.
    He was beat and disgusted after tallying up the night's take and splitting the profits. Christine had another check on its way to L.A.
    And a whole new set of dart holes right between the eyes.
    "Must've been a real animal party I missed. Looks like a frat-house keg orgy minus the stripped-off togas."
    "Mr. Grey, please, I can explain—"
    "Aw, quit your stewin', Neil. Give the poor chile a break. Cain't you see—"
    "What I see, Lou, is that it's time you headed home to Liza. Catch you on the flip side?"
    As Neil closed the distance, he saw Lou pat Andrea's pale hands and whisper something before turning and sending him a distinct, silent message. Big Daddy was the best piano player around, and if the young upstart didn't give the little gal a break. Nimble Fingers was taking a powder.
    As the two men slapped palms, Lou muttered, "Watch yo' mouth and mind yo' manners. Ain't all women bad. Cut her some slack, Slick."
    "You giving me a choice?"
    "Sho' I am. Be nice or be sorry. You got an ax to grind fo' sho', but it's wearin' thin on them who don't deserve it. Behave."
    Neil grimaced as he locked up behind Big Daddy. The only real daddy he'd ever had, the man who took him off the streets. Mentor and friend, the old giant seldom made demands, but when he did, Neil always gave in.
    "Rough night?" he asked as he strode behind the bar—and promptly stepped on a cherry. Looking down, he saw the spilled liquor and shuddered. What he was seeing was a waste of food and money, and that was a sin he couldn't abide.
    "I'm really sorry, Mr. Grey." The wide eyes pleading for his understanding and the mussed hair that looked as though a thousand fingers had raked it overrode the memory of his childhood poverty. He put his anger on hold. "I know it's a mess, but I did my best. You can dock my salary for however much