Book Review — Four Seconds To Lose by KA Tucker

❤  SERIES READING ORDER ❤

Each book in the series is about a different couple and can be read as a standalone but I recommend reading them in order because they are interconnected.

#1 TEN TINY BREATHS
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#2 ONE TINY LIE
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#3 FOUR SECONDS TO LOSE
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#4 FIVE WAYS TO FALL
Ben’s Book. To be released June 24, 2014.
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 ❤  EXCERPT ❤

Chapter 2 ~ Charlie’s POV

He’s just standing there, boring holes into my face.

Given I’ve never laid eyes on him before, I don’t know what his normal complexion looks like but I’ll bet it’s not the sickly white pallor that I see now.

Like he’s seen a ghost.

I try to catch Ginger’s eye, to see if she thinks his reaction is strange, but I can’t.

“Sorry…I knocked but you didn’t answer,” she offers in apology. It’s true, she did knock and we waited for close to a minute before entering. I don’t know what he was doing in his office—behind the closed door with a sign that reads “boss man” and pair of lacy underwear pinned to it—but, by the stunned look on his face, we’ve interrupted something. A glance down confirms that his belt is at least buckled.

“This is my friend, Charlie, who I told you about.” Ginger’s long, slender fingers point to me and I force a bright smile. “Friend” sounds a bit misleading, seeing as everything I’ve ever told Ginger about me is a deliberate lie.

I only met her three weeks ago. Her beginner pole dancing class was just finishing up and she stayed on to watch the advanced class. I guess I impressed her because she sat through the entire hour and then talked my ear off in the change room after about how good I am. I took her proffered number with no intentions to call. The next week, Ginger cornered me after class and wouldn’t leave until I went out to lunch with her. Last week, she coerced me into shopping. There’s nothing wrong with her. I’d say she’s in her mid to late twenties, so quite a bit older than me. She has an easy, genuine laugh and a sarcastic sense of humor. She’s persistent, too. I just didn’t plan on getting to know people, seeing as I won’t be in Miami long.  But I guess you could say that we’ve become friends—lies and all.

It’s ironic that we met when we did, actually. By my pole-dancing skills and looks, Ginger automatically assumed I was a stripper. There was no judgement in those bright green eyes when she asked which club I worked at. That’s why I admitted to the few unappealing adult clubs I had applied to and the appalling “interview” at one called Sin City. The one I had run out of. Her pixie-like face lit up, which was not the reaction I was expecting. Then she explained that she bartended at the well-revered Penny’s Palace and offered to get me a job. She asked about my experience and I, of course, lied. I told her that I had worked in Vegas.

I haven’t been back to Vegas since I was six. I have certainly never stripped there.

After my experience with Sin City, I wasn’t sure if I could go through with it. But Ginger promised me that the owner, Cain, is like none other. The way she talks about him, I’d think he holds some sort of ‘boss of the millennium’ award.

But he’s still staring me down.

He hasn’t blinked, once.

I catch the almost indiscernible shake of his head before he offers in a clipped tone, “Charlie. Right. Hi.”

“Hi.” I was cool and confident coming in here, leveraging countless hours of acting classes to ready my wide, friendly smile. Now though, under this man’s steely gaze, I hear the wobble with that one tiny word. I step forward and hold my hand out.

His coffee-colored eyes finally pry themselves from my face to glare down at my hand—without moving—and I fight the urge to retract it. Ginger swore that this guy was first class but… he still makes his money off the sex trade. A lot of things get shaken under this roof and hands are probably not one of them. I never did shake the hand of that slime ball at Sin City—Rick— before he instructed me to climb onto his lap two minutes into my interview. I shouldn’t be surprised by this guy’s reaction.

These owners are all the same.

I take a breath, reminding myself that I’ve handled my fair share of degenerates and can do this.

Hell, I’m a degenerate.

As if snapping out of a daze, Cain finally accepts my hand in his, his coffee-colored eyes locked on mine. “Hi Charlie. I’m sorry. You just…startled me. You look a lot like someone I know.” There’s a pause. “Like someone I knew,” he corrects himself softly. His voice carries with it a smooth, educated sound, which surprises me, given our surroundings.

“Okay, well, I’ll just be at the bar, getting things set up.” Ginger scoots out of the office, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with this man. I take a few calming breaths. I’m going to throttle her.

I don’t know what to expect now. Ginger didn’t tell me much about Cain, other than that he’s really nice and honest, he treats his employees very well, and if I’m going to dance in Miami, then Penny’s is the place to work. She did say that he sometimes comes off as intimidating but he’s just reserved. And he’s got a lot on his plate, running this place.

She certainly left out details about his physical appearance, I realize, as my gaze skates over his frame to see the well-defined curves beneath a fitted button down black dress shirt and black dress pants. As if that body isn’t enough, his face is flawless—angular cheekbones and a sharp jaw combine to give him a masculine yet almost pretty look. He’s like a sculpture—and about as opposite to Sin City Rick as you can get.

Basically, Cain is panty-dropping hot.

That your boss is panty-dropping hot is an odd thing to leave out of the equation. Cain’s the type of guy that makes you lose your words and your train of thought when he walks by. Except Ginger, it would seem.

But attractive or not, I’m feeling all kinds of uncomfortable right now, as Cain’s hard, intelligent eyes slowly roll over my body, appraising me. Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back. I hold my chin up. I look him straight in the eye. I do all the things I know to do to appear confident. I will not cower under the intense scrutiny. If I’m going to be up on his stage, taking my clothes off for his customers, I can’t be unnerved by this.

And so I stand and let him pass silent judgment while I survey his office, taking in all the shelves, crammed with boxes. Aside from the large desk on one end and a black leather couch tucked into a corner, it seems like a storage room. Looking at him, I’d expect something sleek and tidy.

“Ginger said you have experience?” His tone is more gentle than it was when we first stepped in.

I answer without hesitation. “Yes, one year in Vegas. At The Playhouse.”  I fight the urge to start twirling one of my loose blond curls. I know my tells and that’s one that says I’m lying. Ginger warned me, under no circumstances, to lie to Cain Ford, because he always finds out anyway and it pisses him off when he does. It’s kind of impossible to heed that warning though, given my situation.

Plus, I am a very proficient liar.

And I’m banking on him not doing an in-depth reference check. Short of divine intervention, he won’t find a Charlie Rourke that worked at The Playhouse in Vegas.

Because Charlie Rourke doesn’t exist.