Chapter 5
NANCY
The bartender slides a drink over to his long fingers and he wraps them around a clear fizzy drink, his jaw impossibly tight.
“Asshole, eh? Strong words from a woman who can’t help but turn forty shades of red every time she curses. As for ‘what am I doing here’? Welp, I had a feeling I was going to get fired tonight so I planned on grabbing a few things.” He pats the inside of a leather jacket without looking down. “But don’t worry. I’ll take this seltzer to go. Just thought a fired man could use a celebratory non-alcoholic drink before he takes off.”
“What, you’re toasting now to being fired?”
“Maybe I’m toasting to never having to argue with you about bar tabs again…” He gazes downwards. “Did you ever think about that?”
I had.
I’d thought a lot about the prospect of arguing with Andrew again. About how our heated exchanges had started to morph into a different type of heat.
A type of heat that had me up late at night, pillow squeezed between my thighs.
I just didn’t think we’d wind up arguing again so soon.
Me firing Andrew was supposed to solve a lot of problems—most of all, that.
I lean closer to him, letting the liquor do the talking, enjoying that for once in my overly-planned life I don’t have to think.
Have to strategize. Have to do anything but feel.
My heart beats hard.
“Well, there’s no option of arguing with me, if you’d just leave. And how’d you get in anyway? This is an invitation only event.”
“Technically, I was on the schedule tonight, Nancy,” he says my name with an edge. “Besides, I don’t see you yelling at any other employees who aren’t exactly working like they should.”
He gestures in the direction of the big breasted ruby redhead who is currently soaking up all of Eric’s attention.
And God himself couldn’t stop the sneer that carves into my face.
My chest tightens as I watch the two of them.
“Well,” I comment lighter than I feel, “I don’t expect much from Sheena. She hasn’t exactly been a model employee since she started a few weeks ago.”
Andrew grins. “I was talking about Eric. Our new manager seems to be enjoying the attention…a little too much, don’t you think?”
I bristle.
“You think he’s attracted to Sheena? Sheena? The woman who doesn’t know the difference between ‘y-o-u-r’ and ‘y-o-u-r-e’?”
“Judgmental much?”
“It’s not judgment if it’s true. And, until last week, I didn’t even think dunce was your type. My mistake.”
His gaze goes back to me—hot and pointed. His eyes rake over my skin. “And how would you know about my type, hm?”
I straighten, wishing I could brush the heat of his gaze off me.
I shrug. “I don’t… I’m just saying that out of all the men who fit Sheena’s profile, my guess is that it would be you over Eric. Eric has more sense than Sheena. I can promise you that.”
Andrew doesn’t peer over, sniffing. “It’s not really my concern anyway. I won’t be here for long, anyway. Eric can enjoy whatever he likes.”
“I see then. You taking a pale ale break between beds?”
He grins—a slow motion. “You’re feisty when you drink. But no, it’s exactly like I said, I just came here for something. Something I forgot to do before I left. Something I needed to talk to Sophia about. And a drink. I’m not exactly breaking and entering.”
“Well, Sophia isn’t here.”
“So, I heard.”
“What do you want my best friend for?”
Andrew blinks. “Why do you want to know?” He shifts, one side of his full mouth curving. His eyes roam over my face, leaving a trail of heat that has me thinking about all my late-nights alone. Thinking about him. He licks his lips. “Anne Cassidy Anderson…” he says my name like a prayer. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous now…” He waits. “Are you?”
I wet my bottom lip, ready to answer, praying Sophia doesn’t come out of my mouth.
But a hand comes down hard between us, landing on Andrew’s shoulder.
I peer up to look for its owner, my tongue turning to mush when I realize who it is.
That guy Eric seemed obsessed with…
Reed Hutton.
Only, this time, he’s drunk—the scent of bourbon wafting off him in waves.
Eyes glazed, he staggers on his Ferragamo-covered feet, his yellowing smile wide as he huffs a gust of dark liquor in my direction. He slurs.
“Goddammit, it is you! A fuck—” he hiccups, “—fucking Fletcher in the flesh. Didn’t recognize you with all that peach fuzz you grew on your face. What’s it been? Five years? Seven? Holy fuck… I thought you were dead. A man would have to be to give up all the prime snatch I heard you gave up when you left the scene.” He glances over at me, his stare hardening, eyes hungry. “But…if this—if she—is the reason you went missing from society, then I totally get it. I must not have looked at her properly when she came over the first time. She,” he points almost directly into my face, “might be the most prime piece of pussy I’ve seen around here in a long time. And that’s saying something…seeing as how I’ve bought and slept with over half of New York’s agency models. And they’re not cheap, I’ll tell you that.”
He laughs at his own joke, guffawing out loud.
But the laughter doesn’t last long as it travels through the air. Not at all.
Because in seconds, Andrew stands from the barstool, sending it screeching across the hardwood floor.
He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t wait. Doesn’t pause another moment before cocking a closed fist back…and swinging it full force.
Right at Reed Hutton’s face.
And it connects, sending the richest man in the room backwards and shattering tonight’s “success” into two.
—
NANCY
Manhattan, New York
Friday night
Andrew leans over the producer, hissing low.
“If you ever talk like that about her again, I will—”
“Stop, Andrew! Stop, stop, stop.” I hear
