“Something like that. She wanted to get serious.” Jack shakes his head. “And by serious, she meant plan a destination wedding to Barbados.”
“Fuck, mate, you aren’t even engaged,” Landon says.
“Exactly,” Jack says, laughing. “And I’m counting on you assholes.” He points at his buddies. “You better never ever let me get back together with her again.”
“You guys are lucky bastards,” Landon says. “My parents are rattling me non-stop to bring a girl home.”
“To the castle?” Boss grins. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you to find someone to satisfy your parents who would also be game with an open relationship.”
“I’m not ready for all that mess. I like women on my turf, not my father’s,” Landon says, finishing his Old Fashioned.
Taking the cue, I deliver another round to the men.
“What about you, boss?” Landon asks. “You ever think about settling down?”
McQueen laughs. “Him? Settle down? Never.”
Jack joins in, high-fiving McQueen across the table.
“His idea of settling down is a one night stand … but even that—I’d have to see it to believe it,” Jack says. Then turning to Boss, he asks, “Have you ever had a woman stay the night? Like, even one time in your massive penthouse?”
“Not once,” Boss says proudly.
I feel his eyes skim over to me, and for some reason my stomach flutters. Which is beyond stupid. He just tried to screw me in a hallway and then is going on about his commitment issues. I do not need that sort of baggage in my life.
I have enough fucking issues of my own. I have ninety-nine problems and a womanizing man isn’t one of them.
By the end of the night my nerves are rattled. It’s been a long day. But the men at the table have left me a pile of chips equaling three thousand dollars.
Seriously? It would take me a few weeks to earn that on the casino floor.
I look at Carla, who’s putting the poker game away.
She shrugs. “It’s the best gig of the month. This will pay for this quarter’s preschool tuition for my daughter.” She flashes me the five thousand dollar chip they gave her.
Best gig is right.
I look over at the foursome spread out on the couches; they’re still drinking and talking. I have no clue who won the game; I was preoccupied with not fucking up the orders, and making the perfect cocktails.
“Hey, Emmy,” Boss calls. “Come over here.”
Realizing he still wants me on the clock, I walk over, ready to take more orders.
“What can I get you boys? Another round?”
“Aww, you’ve been working all night, toots,” McQueen says, patting the cushion next to him. “Sit, take a load off.”
“He’s right,” Jack agrees. “What can I get you ladies? Carla, whatcha drinking?”
“I wish, boys,” she says, grabbing her bag from where it’s stashed under the table. “But I’ve gotta get home to relieve my babysitter.” She purses her lips in a matronly way, although she doesn’t even look thirty. “Be good, be safe, okay?”
“Always,” Boss says, grinning as she exits the suite.
He looks younger now than he did in the hallway. Maybe it’s the drinks, or maybe he’s just relaxed around his friends. I bet for a guy like him, with so much money, so much privilege, it’s nice to have a place to let your guard down.
“I should probably go, too,” I say, feeling the arches of my feet screaming at me to take the heels off.
Also, even though tomorrow is a day off, I need to sit with my sister at the hospital and check in with her doctors. And it’s already two in the morning.
“One drink,” Landon pleads. “Stay for one drink. What do you like, Chardonnay? A nice Pinot?”
Boss laughs. “Way off, I know her drink of choice.”
I laugh under my breath. Who is this cocky guy who thinks he knows me so well? I mean, besides being a sex-god.
“You don’t know me, Boss-man,” I say, smiling, but I find myself lowering into the spot next to McQueen, on the seat he offered. Maybe sitting here with these men is exactly what I need. It’s been a long time since I just enjoyed myself. “But no, Landon, I’m not a wine girl.”
“Let me guess,” McQueen says. “Sex on the beach?” he asks with a straight face, and we all laugh as I shake my head.
“I bet you drink lemon drops,” Jack says. “Women love those things.”
“Nope. Not me.”
“Whiskey sour,” Boss says, definitively.
“Close.” I shrug. “But I drink whiskey, neat.”