Bind (Manhattan Lux Book 1): Manhattan Lux

J
inx Yoshida
, manager of NYC’s sexiest nightclub, is always in control. That is, until someone tries to take down her club and destroy everything she’s built.

When Wyatt Calvert, ex Navy SEAL with a bum knee and mischievous grin, is called in to investigate the security breach at Glow, the job puts his skills to the test and puts him at odds with Jinx.

If they’re going to save the club, they’ll have to trust each other.

Jinx isn’t interested in a man she can’t dominate, unless she can tame him under her ropes.

Turns out, Wyatt likes ropes.

J
inx Yoshida settled back
into her tufted leather chair and put both six-inch stiletto heels up on her desk like she owned the place. She didn’t. Her boss, Jack Calvert did. But that didn’t stop Jinx from protecting Glow, New York City’s hottest nightclub, and the people who worked there, like a goddamn guard lion. At the moment, the lion was on standby, ready to be unleashed if the next few moments didn’t go well. Jinx examined a cuticle with an air of practiced boredom, folded her hands together, and raked her gaze ruthlessly over the ten o’clock appointment that was loitering in her office doorway.

His back was to her. It had been, for going on two full minutes now. Who showed up for a job interview and kept their potential new boss waiting while they flirted with the office assistant? This guy apparently, which was strike number one against him on Jinx’s mental “what I look for in an employee” scorecard.

It was a shame that Kristie, the assistant in question, wasn’t going to be conducting his interview. What with the flush in her cheeks, and the way she kept tossing those blonde extensions over her shoulder, it was clear the flirting was mutual. Jinx rolled her eyes. If she let this little scene play out much longer, Kristie was going to lick all that cotton candy gloss right off her lips, and she’d have to send this guy walking. That wasn’t ideal, since this was an emergency hire situation, and he was eminently qualified for the job.

She’d lost the club’s head of security the night before. Jack had fired the man and had him discreetly escorted from the building halfway through a busy night. The rest of the security crew kept their shit together, kept doing their jobs even though nobody knew what exactly was going on. Not even Jinx knew.

Of course, it was Jack’s call. As owner, he was totally within his rights to sack anyone, anytime. But he usually consulted Jinx first, trusted her to do her job, trusted the success and well-being of his club and its employees to her, without question. This time he’d kept her out of the loop, and that bugged the shit out of her. She’d planned on confronting Jack this morning, getting him to explain what the hell was going on, and why he was keeping her in the dark. But all her calls went to voicemail, and when she’d arrived at her office, a folder was waiting on her desk with a Post-it note on it. Two words in Jack’s handwriting were all the explanation she was going to get for now. “Hire him.”

This “interview” was just Jack’s way of soothing her pride, of pretending like she actually had some say in who she was bringing into her house.
Jack’s house
, she reminded herself. He’d made that clear with his actions last night. Jack was changing the guard. He wanted this guy in charge of the Club’s security and he hadn’t seen fit to tell her why. This interview was a charade, and both she and the guy in the doorway knew it. Which was probably why he felt like he had the right to clog it up.

“If you don’t mind.” Jinx cleared her throat and smiled when Kristie jolted, then flushed a deeper shade of pink. “Please, excuse us Kristie, I’d like to get this interview started.”

Kristie squeaked and nodded, then shuffled off down the hallway, but not before stealing another fluttery-lashed glance back over her shoulder. The man in the doorway waved goodbye, and then turned abruptly to Jinx. Flashing a smile, his features contorted into some sort of squinty-eyed eyebrow wiggle thingy that was one part James Dean and two parts ridiculous.

Jinx narrowed her eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I saw the Hello Kitty coffee mug on Kristie’s desk and was asking where she got it.”

“Big Sanrio fan are you?” Jinx asked.

“Aw no.” He laughed, a low kind of velvety rumble that had the hairs on Jinx’s arm bristling. “Nah, I’ve got a buddy with a daughter that’s really into all that. Thought I’d send her something.”

What a dork. He was trying to charm her
.
The squinty-eyed smile and “aw shucks I just love kids” was an obvious shtick to get her blushing like Kristie.

“Let’s get to it, shall we?” she said, flipping the folder open.

“Yeah sure,” he said. “I know it’s just a formality, but hey, you do what you’ve got to do. Whatever you want to know. I’m all yours.”

“Thank you,” Jinx said, lifting her gaze to his, a sneer twitching at the corner of her lips. “Mr. Wyatt Smith,” she said, trying to shake off her irritation. “Your resume is impressive.”

It was too. All the right boxes were ticked, and all his references checked out. Former Navy SEAL, lots of security experience. Overqualified really, since most nightclubs don’t have a practical need for special ops. On paper, he was perfect. In person, she was not so sure.

Wyatt Smith laughed again, thrust his hands in his pockets, and crossed her office in two long strides. Jinx watched with fascination as he took his time unfolding legs and arms, arranging them awkwardly on the small chair. There was a term for it, the phenomenon she was observing right now. One of those hashtags her sister was so chronically fond of. When six-foot-something-ridiculous of hulking muscled man meat struts into your office, and claims the chair across from you like it’s the fucking Iron Throne—there’s gotta be a hashtag for that kind of bravado right?

“Ms. Yoshida. Thank you. And again, sorry about the Hello Kitty delay.” He grinned, popped up from his chair slightly and thrust out his hand across the desk.

Jinx ignored the hand and narrowed her eyes. Standing, she picked up his folder and ran a finger down the first sheet inside.

“Mr. Smith—”

“Wyatt,” he said, sitting back down. “Or Wy even. That’s fine.”

“Mr. Smith,” she repeated blandly.

He shrugged, dislodging a lock of blond hair so it dangled low over one eyebrow. Brushing it away he did that squinty thing again, those sparkling baby blues projecting a mixture of humor, sincerity, and just a hint of awkwardness.

Jinx smirked and squinted back. This guy was good, but he was
not
fooling her.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something about him that had her senses tingling. That laugh of his, it set off alarm bells in her head. Her inner guard lion had perked it’s ears at the sound, and was on high alert now, crouching at the base of her spine growling
“Something’s not right here.”

Or maybe the tingling was just hurt pride.

But there was something about him that had bothered her the minute he’d walked in. It wasn’t just the cockiness in his stride or the informality of his manner, there was something else. He seemed familiar somehow, which was odd, because she never forgot a face. And yet…No, she still couldn’t place it. Her best move was to keep him talking. That way, she could observe and size him up.

Perching on the edge of her desk Jinx arched one eyebrow and tilted her head. She’d get the answers she wanted, one way or another. And if necessary, the lion would use its claws.

* * *

D
ark brown eyes
. So dark they were almost black. And big. Biggest he’d ever seen really. Prettiest too. Long lashes, some kind of fancy eye makeup that enhanced the shape nature had given her, and kind of made her look like a cat. She sighed and narrowed her eyes, which meant she was studying him. Trying to puzzle him out.

It was there in her gaze, the first hints of recognition. She’d have it figured out within the next ten minutes he guessed. Which was fine, and in the long run it would make things much easier. But she was going to be all kinds of spitting mad first, which again, was fine, as long as it didn’t last too long or get too violent. As he recalled, Jinx had a mean right hook and a fondness for rope.

He’d told Jack this was a bad idea, told him they could trust Jinx with the truth. Wyatt had checked her out and as far as he was concerned, she was clean. Definitely not a part of the massive security breach they’d discovered a few months ago. But, typical Jack, he wanted to do things his way, and he insisted that keeping Wyatt’s real purpose at the club a secret was the best plan. Anything more, he said, was too messy. Wyatt disagreed, strenuously. That was why even though he had strict orders from Jack to maintain his cover, he’d decided to blow it the minute he saw that beautiful face.

“Mr. Smith?” She prompted, and he realized he’d been lost in thought a little too long.

“Yeah. Mr. Smith. That’s fine too,” he said. “To be honest I don’t care much for either Wyatt or Wy.”

Leaning back in the chair, Wyatt stretched his legs wide and hooked both thumbs in the top pockets of his denims.

He was going for approachability. Show the subject some body language that says you’re comfortable, and they’ll start to feel the same. Except he wasn’t comfortable, because this freaking stupid retro-revival torture device some snotty designer had dubbed a chair felt like it had been punched out of one solid block of steel. Looked like it too.

And now his knee was aching.

“It’s a family name,” he continued. “It was special to my Mom. But there’s not a lot of Wyatt’s in Connecticut, so I got teased. Guess that’s why I never warmed to it.”

“Hashtag manspreading,” Jinx said, her gaze largely unfocused but vaguely centered on the area of his crotch.

“I’m sorry what?” Wyatt straightened in the chair.

“What you’re doing Mr. Smith.” Jinx gestured to his legs. “That’s called manspreading. Laying claim to more than your fair share of available space because you’re a man and you feel entitled.”

“Sorry.” Wyatt drew his legs together and shifted forward. “I thought it was called sitting.”

Shit.
She did not like him.

Regroup. Try again. Ask her something about herself.
Connect.

“Well what about you? You don’t like your given name either? Right?”

She stared at him, eyes narrowing scarily.

“I mean, I assume your parents didn’t name you Jinx. Kind of heavy emotional burden to lay on an infant.” He laughed.

Nothing. Still, she stared.

Dammit.
He was gonna have to ramp up the ole charm if he was going to have any hope of soothing the blow when she realized the epic dupe currently in progress. That meant going old school—dimples and, as his Mom used to say, “all the fine manners befitting of a gentleman”. Mostly dimples.

“Ma’am I think we got off on the wrong foot here, I promise I’m not trying to spread any man—”

“Ma’am?” He winced when she clapped the folder shut and slapped it on the desk. “Ma’am? Really? How old do you think I am?”

“I dunno,” Wyatt scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I uh…”
Stall for time buddy,
he thought.
No way you can answer that question correctly.
Shit…what—

“Never mind. That doesn’t matter.”

Her tone had him snapping his head up. It was bitter, with an edge of triumph. Something had just changed. If the climate in the room had been cool when he’d walked in, it was positively arctic now. That meant…

She knew.

He heard the deadbolt snick home before his hand even reached the knob. There must be a remote switch or a button under that desk somewhere. If his stupid knee hadn’t been acting up Wyatt would’ve been out that door and blown the building before she could lock him in.
Fucking crappy designer chair!

“Sit. Back. Down.” The command was punctuated by a staccato crackle that had his memory flashing back to the last time he’d been hit by a Taser. Two months ago, in this same office. No way would he ever forget
that
Taser.

“That was you.” Wyatt said, raising his arms slowly and turning back to the chair. He’d meant it as an acknowledgement, the first step towards getting everyone’s cards out on the table.

“Absolutely,” she said, her tone so emphatic that he knew she’d taken him the wrong way. He was going to have to spar for a bit, see if he couldn’t back her down off of boiling mad to low simmer.

Jinx came out from behind the desk, and stood just a few feet from him. Feet planted shoulder width apart, long dark hair falling around her like a cape, she had both hands on the Taser, and was wielding the thing like it was a lightsaber and she was Queen of the known universe.
Damn
…that was sexy.

“I’d say we
definitely
need to just start this whole thing over.” Wyatt grinned, added a little wink, and waggled his eyebrows.
Good ole charm.
Tentatively, he held out his hand again. “Nice to meet you. Wyatt Sm—”

Jinx Tasered him.

Evidently, she was not into charm.

At least this is more comfortable than that chair
, Wyatt thought as he jerked to the floor, watching Jinx’s heels approach across the marble tiles. Click. Click. Click. A sexy death knell. When he stopped spasming, she poked him with the front of her shoe. Peekaboo pumps. Red glitter polish.

Even her toes were hot.

“What now?” he asked, looking up as she prodded him over with her foot. “Gonna call the cops?”

“Ha! No, no cops. You’re not getting off that easy.”

That was good. Jack did not want the cops involved at this point, not before they really knew what was going on. The cops would just fuck it all up.