usual brooding silence.
“Hot damn!” Brent hooted, slapping the table. “He’s got it bad. And for the boss’s daughter, no less. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
Daniel shoved a hand through his hair. “Nothing is going to play out. She’s Jack’s daughter. He’d crucify me.”
Brent stood to get them a refill. “All right, you’re excused from buying this round.” Slamming the empty glasses onto the packed bar, he yelled over the noise. “All right. We got a pussy-whipped man over at table five! Keep the drinks coming!”
…
“So then I said, ‘Bring me a bottle of your finest champagne!’ And then I flipped my flowing paisley shawl over my shoulder and swept from the restaurant in a sea of applause.”
“Bullshit,” Hayden decided from across the table.
Story snorted a laugh into her third—eighth?—martini. “I might be embellishing a teensy bit. For instance, paisley is terrible on me. But alas, the story is mostly true.”
“Dumped without ever seeing the dessert menu,” Hayden pouted, wiping away a fake tear.
Story tipped her glass toward her friend. “Hey, I got my cake in the end. There’s something to be said for small victories when they’re made out of chocolate.”
Her friend giggled, clearly tipsy in her own right. A complete contrast to Story’s fair looks, Hayden’s shoulder-length brown hair had been styled to perfection, her makeup tasteful and understated. She never looked anything less than put-together, even after a night of drinking. At Hayden’s suggestion, they’d started out the night dancing at a nightclub on Bowery. A few dozen unwelcome and poorly delivered pickup lines later, they decided to cut their losses and go to Quincy’s, a casual pub Jack had suggested that morning.
The alcohol hummed in her blood, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Her easy buzz combined with the steady drone of voices and music in the bar relaxed her, made her problems seem a little less serious, and she felt grateful for it.
“At least you spent three years getting laid. I couldn’t get lei’d in Hawaii.”
Story’s eyes widened. “How long?”
“Let’s just say I buy batteries in bulk. Actually, I’m thinking the next time Mother holds a charity auction, I might just hop on stage and start taking bids for a night with me. I think I could pull in at least a grand. Not to mention shocking my mother in the process. It’s a win-win.”
“Oh, honey. I’d bid on you.”
Hayden patted her hand. “I know you would, sweetie.”
“Anyway, sex is overrated.” Story sipped her drink, determined brown eyes flashing through her mind. She frowned. “At least, I’d been operating under that assumption until recently.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been single for seventy-two hours and you already got some action? I’m going to need another drink.” She signaled the waitress.
“Not technically. It’s complicated. He works with Jack.”
“And?”
Story shrugged, attempting casual. “We kissed and I don’t know…I might have orgasmed on his leg or something. It happens, right?”
Hayden spit her drink across the table. “You’re asking me ?”
Story picked up a bar napkin and dried herself off. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Fine.” She blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “His name is Daniel. I met him at the hospital where he’d previously been trying to charm the scrubs off a nurse. Then he turned all his”—she searched for the right word—“ dirty-birdy magic on me.”
“And you somehow wound up having an orgasm on his leg?”
Story buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, when you say it like that, it sounds horrible.”
Hayden waved her hand. “Never mind that now. Do you like this guy?”
“No. Yes. But I’m probably only attracted to him because he’s the exact opposite of Fisher, right?”
“Oh, hold that thought.” Hayden looked over Story’s shoulder toward
“Hot damn!” Brent hooted, slapping the table. “He’s got it bad. And for the boss’s daughter, no less. I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
Daniel shoved a hand through his hair. “Nothing is going to play out. She’s Jack’s daughter. He’d crucify me.”
Brent stood to get them a refill. “All right, you’re excused from buying this round.” Slamming the empty glasses onto the packed bar, he yelled over the noise. “All right. We got a pussy-whipped man over at table five! Keep the drinks coming!”
…
“So then I said, ‘Bring me a bottle of your finest champagne!’ And then I flipped my flowing paisley shawl over my shoulder and swept from the restaurant in a sea of applause.”
“Bullshit,” Hayden decided from across the table.
Story snorted a laugh into her third—eighth?—martini. “I might be embellishing a teensy bit. For instance, paisley is terrible on me. But alas, the story is mostly true.”
“Dumped without ever seeing the dessert menu,” Hayden pouted, wiping away a fake tear.
Story tipped her glass toward her friend. “Hey, I got my cake in the end. There’s something to be said for small victories when they’re made out of chocolate.”
Her friend giggled, clearly tipsy in her own right. A complete contrast to Story’s fair looks, Hayden’s shoulder-length brown hair had been styled to perfection, her makeup tasteful and understated. She never looked anything less than put-together, even after a night of drinking. At Hayden’s suggestion, they’d started out the night dancing at a nightclub on Bowery. A few dozen unwelcome and poorly delivered pickup lines later, they decided to cut their losses and go to Quincy’s, a casual pub Jack had suggested that morning.
The alcohol hummed in her blood, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Her easy buzz combined with the steady drone of voices and music in the bar relaxed her, made her problems seem a little less serious, and she felt grateful for it.
“At least you spent three years getting laid. I couldn’t get lei’d in Hawaii.”
Story’s eyes widened. “How long?”
“Let’s just say I buy batteries in bulk. Actually, I’m thinking the next time Mother holds a charity auction, I might just hop on stage and start taking bids for a night with me. I think I could pull in at least a grand. Not to mention shocking my mother in the process. It’s a win-win.”
“Oh, honey. I’d bid on you.”
Hayden patted her hand. “I know you would, sweetie.”
“Anyway, sex is overrated.” Story sipped her drink, determined brown eyes flashing through her mind. She frowned. “At least, I’d been operating under that assumption until recently.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been single for seventy-two hours and you already got some action? I’m going to need another drink.” She signaled the waitress.
“Not technically. It’s complicated. He works with Jack.”
“And?”
Story shrugged, attempting casual. “We kissed and I don’t know…I might have orgasmed on his leg or something. It happens, right?”
Hayden spit her drink across the table. “You’re asking me ?”
Story picked up a bar napkin and dried herself off. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Fine.” She blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “His name is Daniel. I met him at the hospital where he’d previously been trying to charm the scrubs off a nurse. Then he turned all his”—she searched for the right word—“ dirty-birdy magic on me.”
“And you somehow wound up having an orgasm on his leg?”
Story buried her face in her hands. “Oh God, when you say it like that, it sounds horrible.”
Hayden waved her hand. “Never mind that now. Do you like this guy?”
“No. Yes. But I’m probably only attracted to him because he’s the exact opposite of Fisher, right?”
“Oh, hold that thought.” Hayden looked over Story’s shoulder toward
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