A Beautiful Distraction(6)

She pulled the throw blanket from the back of the sofa down over her and wedged herself deep into the back cushions. Hopefully sleep would find her tonight.





CHAPTER TWO


Fallon’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of a knock on her door. She sat up and gathered her surroundings, her eyes shifting to the side and focusing in on the disheveled stack of papers cluttering her desk. That’s right—she was in her office.

Standing up, Fallon groggily crossed the short distance to the door, and the thick, plush carpet felt warm under her cold toes, only adding to her desire to curl back up on the couch. Her eyes were heavy from sleep, and she blinked a few times in an attempt to clear her vision.

Stifling a yawn, she pulled the door open. “Naomi?” she asked when she saw the door-knocking culprit.

Naomi shouldered the door open a little more and walked in. “Hey, boss.”

Sure, come on in, Fallon thought, slightly annoyed, as she pushed the heavy door closed behind her.

“Is there a reason you’re here at the ass crack of dawn?” She walked back to the sofa and plopped down, tucking her legs up underneath her. By the way her lids almost refused to stay open, she couldn’t have been asleep more than a few hours.

“I was at the gym—you know how I teach the early-morning kickboxing class on Fridays. Anyway, I was driving home and I saw your car.” She raised her brows and cocked her head accusingly. “Girl, did you sleep here?”

“What gave it away? The nightgown or the bed head?” Fallon grumbled, pulling the throw blanket up over her bare legs. Mornings had become her worst nightmare ever since she took over the club after Frank, the former owner, died. That crazy old man had left her the club, probably knowing she had nothing else of any importance in her life. If anyone understood and appreciated how much Velour meant to Fallon, it was Frank. He might have been an old pervert who loved his beautiful young women as much as he loved his liquor, but he ran one hell of a club.

She yawned again. Late nights and early mornings didn’t go well together.

Naomi laughed. “Yeah, you’re lookin’ rough. Come on. Get dressed. Let’s grab some food.”

Fallon groaned. Naomi was way too perky for her liking. Women who walked with a pep in their step gave her visions of shoving her five-inch Prada heel up their asses. She’d love to see that pep in their step with a stiletto between their cheeks.

She rubbed her hands over the blanket, pushing the warm fabric against her chilled legs. “It’s too early,” she stated, letting the obvious conclusion go unsaid.

Pulling the headband from her head and readjusting it back in place, Naomi sighed. “Come on. You ain’t gotta look all pretty. Just throw that hair up in a ponytail and pull on some jeans and let’s go. I’m hungry and Lord knows you need to eat.”

As if Naomi needed further incentive to persuade Fallon to go with her, her stomach rumbled loudly. Naomi was right: she needed to eat. She hadn’t eaten dinner the night before and her stomach had taken a cacophonous lashing as punishment.

“I want Chinese.” She groaned, scooting down so her head was resting on the armrest of the sofa and pulling the blanket up a little higher. Fallon’s choice of breakfast cuisine never included actual breakfast food. She was more of a cold pizza and leftover Chinese kind of girl, and Chinese sounded delicious. Still, falling back into dreamless sleep sounded much better.

“I will kick your skinny rear if you dare try to eat that garbage in front of me. Come on. We can stop by the farmers’ market and get some fresh fruit.” There Naomi went again with her health tirade. That woman was bound and determined to turn everyone at the club into a vegan.

Lifting her eyes in the most effective glare she could produce for holy-shit-it’s-early, Fallon snorted. “No, thank you.” Naomi was about two very real seconds away from becoming better acquainted with Prada.

Naomi’s butt found its way onto Fallon’s desk chair and she swiveled it around to face her. “You’re a grouch, you know that?”

If Fallon had had something hard, and preferably sharp, within reach, she would have thrown it at Perky Miss Perkster’s head. “Have you considered that this might be the norm for people who were rudely awakened before the sun was up?”

Naomi’s eyes shifted to the ceiling and her mouth puckered to the side as if she was actually pondering that very scenario. Smart-ass. “No, I haven’t,” she answered matter-of-factly. “But I have considered that it’s the norm for overworked skinny white females with no active social life—or sex life for that matter.”