Page 14 of Waste of Worth

“Fine, just tired. Will you do it?”

Theo shrugged. “Do I have to act like I’m interested?”

“Are you?”

“Hardly.”

“Then no, just vet them. I only need one to fill Chrissy’s spot for the duration of her pregnancy. Make sure whichever one gets the job knows that once Chrissy decides to come back to work, their position will no longer be needed.”

“Got it,” Theo said over his shoulder, already leaving Dino behind.

Dino stared at his brother’s back as Theo disappeared down the hallway.

Story of his life … He was always watching people walk away; he had yet to find a person he wanted to follow after.

“What’ll it be, boss?”

Dino took a seat on the bar stool, waving at the many bottles behind the bartender. “Vodka, straight.”

Tossing the bar rag over his shoulder, the man turned to ready Dino’s drink. In less than a minute, Dino was sipping on the best vodka the club stocked, and the thumping in his temples began to lessen.

If only for a short while …

Out of the corner of his eye, Dino watched as Theo sat down in a private, roped off section of the club to do what he’d been asked.

It was only when he heard his brother call out a name, asking for the woman to come out from the back, did Dino really pay attention.

“Karen Martin, you’re up first, sweetheart.”

Dino blinked, his glass freezing as he tipped it up for another drink.

Karen.

He hadn’t heard that name spoken once in how many months?

Three now, at least.

It had to be random, he thought. Had to be. There were more Karens in Chicago than the one Dino had met months ago, and purposely chose to ignore because she did nothing more than make him smile.

Besides, hadn’t she said she was a photographer?

She was, and he knew she was.

He had no reason to get bothered and uncomfortable, simply because another woman shared the same name as her.

Except …

Dino’s throat tightened, and he sat a little straighter on the barstool.

Except it was the same Karen he’d met all those months ago in the cemetery that walked out on the stage wearing a black lace ensemble that showed off just about everything. On their own accord, Dino’s gaze traveled up the long length of tanned legs, the swell of hips, and a curve of a delicate waist. Slender fingers wrapped tightly around the metal pole when a song started up in the background, drawing Dino’s attention to the black fingernail polish she wore.

Jesus.

Why was she here?

She was a photographer, not a stripper!

Better yet, why did it bother Dino so goddamn much?