“All right, Mick. Pick out the hottest girl in here, and I’ll get her for you.”
That was Arthur, the groom’s brother and best man.
Mick grinned at him. “How are you planning to do that? And what’s going to happen if you do get her? This isn’t a strip club, man. I don’t think one of the women in here is going to give me a lap dance.”
“It’s not my fault you refused to go to the Foxy Lady.”
“Not my scene.”
“I know, I know. But can you at least flirt with a hot chick on your last night of freedom? Since you refuse to even get wasted.”
“I don’t want to be hungover on my wedding day. But I’ll tell you what—I’ll pick out a girl, and if you can talk her into coming over here, I’ll flirt with her.”
Out of the seven men sitting around the table, Arthur probably had the least chance of persuading a woman to do anything. He wasn’t bad looking, but he had one of the worst pickup track records of anyone Ian knew. He tried to start conversations about obscure comic books and science fiction shows, and although there were probably a few women in the world who would respond to that approach, you didn’t often find them in the strip clubs or trendy bars where Arthur usually tried to make his move.
After a moment, Mick pointed across the room. “Okay, that one. The redhead at the bar.”
The guys sitting on Mick’s side of the table whistled, but by the time Ian twisted his head to look, the woman was facing away from them, leaning forward to say something to the bartender.
He couldn’t see her face, but the rear view was definitely worth a second look. Lustrous red hair tumbled down her back, and her body was incredible, showcased by a tiny leather skirt and a strapless top that laced up in the back like a corset. The outfit made her look like a va-va-voom Hollywood starlet with hourglass curves and legs a mile long.
“I have the perfect opening line,” Arthur announced.
“Yeah? What is it?” Mick asked.
“She looks exactly like Red Sonja.”
“Who?”
The question came from several of the guys around the table, but Arthur didn’t hear it. He was already gone, heading towards the curvaceous redhead with the confident swagger he always used when he approached a woman.
“Who said this bachelor party wouldn’t have entertainment?” Mick said, leaning back in his chair to watch his brother’s progress around the edge of the dance floor.
“Who the hell is Red Sonja?” Ian asked, unable to take his eyes off of whatever was about to happen. It was like driving in a snowstorm and seeing a car go into a slow skid, heading towards an inevitable collision.
“Star Wars or Star Trek character is my guess,” Gabe Myers said, before tossing back a shot.
“That’s a safe bet,” Mick agreed. “This should be good.”
Ian debated the wisdom of having another shot himself. Just as he’d decided against it, Gabe slid one in front of him.
“Go for it,” his friend said. “You need something to cheer you up.”
Ian frowned. “Who says I’m not cheery?”
“Even the prospect of watching Arthur crash and burn in truly spectacular fashion hasn’t lifted you out of the pit of gloom you showed up here in. Did you have a bad day, or what?”
In spite of himself, Ian flashed back to the image he’d spent the last eight hours trying to forget—Kate Meredith waiting for the elevator, her arms around a cardboard box of her belongings.
When their eyes met, her expression went from forlorn to scathing in the blink of an eye. Then the elevator doors opened and she stepped inside before he could say a word.
Not that there’d been anything to say.
“I’m sorry I cancelled your show.”
That would have gone over big. And why the hell should he apologize because her ratings were lousy? He was the VP of programming, not a guidance counselor.
That was the problem with creative types. They thought they could sit in their ivory towers and make things up while someone else took care of the rest. They didn’t understand that no one was entitled to a living. That everything was a struggle. That you had to fight and claw your way to success.
Kate always acted like she was above all that. She hated talking about ratings and ad revenue and all the practical aspects of running a television network. And in the end, her distaste for the financial side of her business had cost her. It wasn’t enough that she had written a good children’s television show—and Life with Max was good, Ian couldn’t deny that. His nephew loved it. But that didn’t mean—
Arthur came up beside the curvy redhead and said something. She turned her head, and Ian got his first glimpse of her face.