Eve
Β
βWhat do you mean youβve never orgasmed before?β Nina frowns as she slurps up the last of her vodka raspberry.
βWell, IβveΒ orgasmed,β I say, saying the last word in a hushed mumble since I donβt need the whole world knowing my business. βJust not with another person.β My tone rises defensively, and I try to focus on breaking the ice cubes in my glass apart so I donβt have to make eye contact with anyone.
βJesus, Eve,β Becca says, her blue eyes wide as she pushes her dark curls back off her shoulder. βIβve probably got the least amount of experience out of all of us, and even Iβve managedββ
βYouβre also married to Ronan Kennedy,β I quickly point out. βIβm surprised you donβt cream yourself the moment you wake up next to him every morning.β
βItβs true,β Nina adds. βYour husband is all kinds of yum. Remember how many girls at Pierce Goodman used to drool over him? Including me, except I only have eyes for Peter now.β She blushes and Becca groans.
βPlease donβt give me any details of my brotherβs bedroom prowess, Iβm begging you.β
βWell, I wouldnβt because I think that would be mean to poor Eve here whoβs confiding in us that sheβs only ever slept with duds.β
βAnd just so weβre clear,β I say, collecting our empty glasses and heading back to the bar to refill them. βI doΒ notΒ have a huge amount of experience. I married young, and after we divorced, I had a couple of uneventful flings and that was that. I quit men and focused on turning this place into something I could be proud of. And with everything else Iβve got going on, I just didnβt have time for dating.β
Both Becca and Nina get up and follow me, settling on the stools across from me as I mix our drinks. Itβs currently far too early on a Saturday morning, and the last thing I should be doing right now is staying back late with a couple of old friends after hours, but sometimes a girlβs got to blow off a little steam. And as I finish mixing the drinks and set them on the counter, I already know Iβll regret it in the morning, but Iβm too far gone to care anymore.
βYou know what you should do?β Nina says, sipping her drink while talking slowly and looking sleepy. βYou should try that place where I met Peter.β
βBlind Trust?β I ask, shaking my head immediately because thereβs no way I have the budget or the time for something like that. βI donβt think so. Theyβre all about setting you up with a life partner, and all I really want to experience is good sex.β
We all giggle at that, and Becca pulls out her phone and squints at the screen. βHow about one of those one-night stand apps then? The people behind Blind Trust actually started one recently, and apparently itβs really good. Weβre kind of bummed we didnβt approach them to fund the expansion, to be honest. But Peter told one of the guys at Pierce Goodman about it, and they got in first.β
βThat part sucks,β Nina agrees. βBut I think it would have been a conflict of interest given Peter and I were their clients. The app does seem to be the best out there, though. They use the same kind of algorithm they created for dating but tailored it toward the bedroom if you get what I mean.β She gives me a wink.
βIs the app like Tinder at all?β I shake my head. βBecause, no thanks. Theyβll take one look at my pictures and give me a label I donβt want.β Lifting a tattooed arm, I run my hand through my cotton-candy pink hair to point out my outside-the-box looks.
βItβs not like Tinder,β Becca explains, angling her screen so we can all see. βItβs called βNo Encoresβ and like Nina pointed out, you get matched based on what youβre both into. There are no photos and no names. Everything is anonymous.β
βJust like how Blind Trust is in the beginning,β Nina adds.
βThat sounds like a predatorβs playground,β I say, lifting my brows because my lifeβs work has been all about creating a space where people feel safe enough to have fun and let their hair down. Willingly putting myself into a potentially unsafe situation has me coming up in hives at the thought.
βIt doesnβt have to be,β Nina says, her tight blonde curls bouncing as she shakes her head. βIt says here they do police checks on everyone before theyβre allowed a profile, and that they track your location for safety. Itβs just the two of you who arenβt allowed to exchange details. And on top of that, if you decided to meet some random guy, you know weβd have your back. We could sit at one table and keep an eye on things. You know, be your emergency backup on the ground.β
βI really donβt know. It all sounds a little too risky for me.β
βMaybe, but are you really willing to risk living the entirety of your life without a really good bonk under your belt?β Becca asks.
βBonk?β I giggle and my cheeks go bright red. Then I slap myself mentally for even admitting this whole thing out loud. βLawd, you two. Listen, Iβll think about it. OK?β
Both women smile and cheer like I actually just said Iβd do it.
βWeβll be with you every step of the way,β Becca says.
βWell, notΒ everyΒ step,β Nina adds. βBecause that would be weird. But weβll definitely do everything we can to help you feel comfortable. We can even help you decide which guy.β
βI saidΒ think,β I remind them. βNot do.β
βWell, Iβve got a good feeling about this one,β Becca says, tapping at her screen. βSo much that I just signed you up and paid your membership fee.β
βBecca!β I move to grab her phone, and she grins.
βConsider it a tip for owning the best bar in the city. And you donβt have to use it, but itβll be sitting in your messages waiting for you to fill out the questionnaire when youβre ready.β
βI donβt know whether to be mad or grateful,β I say, frowning as my phone pings with an email notification.
Nina reaches out and pats my hand. βSomewhere in the middle perhaps? But either way, you deserve to experience good sex, my friend.β
I open my mouth to say something, but I donβt really have any words. I just stare at the welcome email feeling speechless and unsure.
Nina and Becca take that moment to say goodbye and head out the front door. It auto-locks behind them and I let out a sigh. I know Becca meant well, and I love her for wanting to help, but I just donβt think this is for me. Without a momentβs more hesitation, I swipe my thumb across the screen and send the email from No Encores to the trash.
Thereβll be no encores for me because there wonβt even be a first show.
Β
Drew
With a whistle on my lips and a bounce in my step, I head into the foyer of Pierce Goodman after having one of the most satisfying weekends of my life. I grin when I catch the eye of the security guard watching on and give him a wink as we all swipe our entry passes.
βMr. Miller. Good weekend?β He holds his hand out to me, and I shake it.
βOne of the best. And itβs all thanks to this fine place,β I say, lifting my hands up from my sides like Iβm praising the very ground we walk on. And in a way I am. I grew up dirt poor with a single mother who worked three jobs just to help me pay my way through college. Landing a job at Pierce Goodman right out of college was the break in our luck we needed. Five years of hard work and a promotion to partner later, and Iβm proud to say my mother doesnβt have to work anymore. And better than that, sheβs also debt free. I donβt think a person born into money could ever understand how beautiful those tears of relief when that pressure is lifted off truly are. And when I took my mom to a gorgeous little community in New Jersey this weekend to surprise her with a fully paid for homeβwith the garden of her dreamsβI saw those tears in full force. My mother has been my rock since birth. And now that Iβm thirty-one with a successful career as a venture capitalist, I can be hers. Iβve never felt so proud.
βAhh, to be a single man in the city again,β he says, laughing in that way men do when theyβre jealous of the lifestyle you lead. I laugh back. He thinks I spend every weekend bedding down with gorgeous womenβand most of the time I doβand Iβm fine with him thinking that. Which is why I donβt correct him. I know I come off as cocky a lot of the time, but a bragger, I am not. So I keep this weekend with my mom close to my chest. Special moments with special people are not to be shared around to make ourselves look good. In this building, my work speaks for itself. I donβt need any filler.
βEnjoy your day, Marv.β
I quicken my step and make it into the next elevator before the doors close, then straighten my tie as I take a deep, happy inhale watching the numbers go up.
βGood morning, Mr. Miller,β a soft voice says from beside me, and it takes me a second to realize itβs the five-foot-nothing woman beside me. She cranes her head back to meet my six-foot-two height and smiles with glossy red lips.
βMorning.β I give her a nod and promptly pull my gaze away. Sheβs got that look in her eye that tells me sheβll slip her number in my pocket if I make eye contact too long, and since I donβt dip my pen in the company inkwell, acting oblivious is my best option.
The doors open on the admin floor, and most of the elevator empties. The rest of us ride to our appropriate levels, and I stay on until Iβm all the way up the top. The thirty-fifth floorβVenture Capital. Itβs where the bulk of the money in this place is made, which is why we get the sweetest view.
βSir!β My assistant brings me a coffee right away and follows me into my office, briefing me on everything thatβs happening in rapid fire succession. I wonder if sheβs taken a single breath since greeting me, and when she sucks in a massive one at the end of her spiel, I realize that no, she wasnβt breathing at all.
βThank you, Alexis,β I say, giving her a smile as I take a mouthful of the just-right coffee. βThis is amazing.β
She giggles and does some weird curtsy before scurrying out of my office and leaving me be. I take the time to pull my electric razor out of the drawer to give my face the once over. I swear to God, I grow stubble at an abnormal rate.
βWoke up and fell straight into the office, I see,β Brody, our resident bitter-and-twisted-at-forty-one partner says as he walks in without knocking.
βDo you seriously think I wear a suit all weekend?β I say, tugging at my collar for emphasis.
βYou do if you never go home,β he says, sitting on the arm of a chair.
βI went home.β
βThatβs unlike you. Finally worked your way through every single woman in the city?β
I shake my head and focus on the mirror in front of me as I finish off my shave. βYou sound like a jealous man.β
βJealous? No way. Iβm long past that fast and easy lifestyle most of you partake in. Which reminds me, Carson signed some hookup app that launched locally to rave reviews. Now he wants to take it global, and heβs trying to get every guy in the office to join.β
βSounds perfect for you,β I tease with a grin.
Brody rolls his eyes. βI couldnβt think of anything worse. Hookups inevitably turn into hurt feelings at one point or another.β
βNot when you make it super clear that whatever youβre doing is just for fun,β I say, finishing up and tapping the shavings into the trash.
βAnd that works every time? You never get a girl asking you to define the relationship or wish something could turn into more when she doesnβt?β
βIβm yet to want more, but sure, Iβve had my fair share of women wanting more. But Iβve got boundaries just like they do. And when I reiterate that I have no desire for anything serious, they get to choose if theyβre happy with that, or if they wanna move on.β
He lets out a sigh. βI was probably the same at your age. But things change, man. Eventually, youβll meet a girl and want something she canβt give you. Then youβll end up just like me.β
βBitter, twisted, and balancing on the arm of an expensive chair?β He rolls his eyes. βGet up, please.β
βWhat have you got on today?β he asks as he stands on his own two feet and straightens his tie.
βA few client calls and then Iβm off to my newest acquisition to learn the ropes.β
βThat bar you bought into?β
βThe Endearing Badger.β
βBig risk.β
βBig reward if I make it work,β I say, checking my watch because itβs almost time for my first meeting.
Carson appears at the door, knocking twice before telling Brody his potential client just turned up to present their pitch.
βTheyβre early,β he grunts, saying a quick goodbye and heading toward the meeting rooms.
βHeβs a pleasure as always,β Carson says, chuckling as Brody walks away.
βHeβs Brody,β I say, heading toward my desk just as my assistant buzzes through to remind me I should be on a call. βIβve gotta get to this.β
βIβll get out of your hair then. But hey, check your inbox when you get a chance. The app I bought into is invite-only for guys. I sent you a code.β
βThe hookup app?β
He grins like the cat who got the cream. βAnonymous. No-strings-attached, pure enjoyment. Perfect for the busy man.β
βAh, sure. Iβll check it out,β I say, shaking my head as he disappears through my door. Thereβs no way Iβm signing up for some hookup app when Iβm perfectly capable of finding women all on my own. No way. No how.
Β
Eve
βGood morning, partner.β The scent of expensive aftershave touches my nose and makes my lip curl on instinct as Drew Miller from Pierce Goodman saunters into my bar the moment it opens. Heβs wearing a suit that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, and a smile that suggests he knowsΒ exactlyΒ how charming he isβor at least thinks he is. As far as Iβm concerned, charm is a big red flag. I have a history poorly colored by powerful men who can have anything they want and think theyβre Godβs gift to women, so needing one of them to help make my expansion dreams come true really rubs me the wrong way. If it wasnβt for this guyβs connection with Becca and Nina, thereβs no way I would have signed a contract with him. But even then, I still feel like heβs taking me for a ride. I hate that something I used to own all of has suddenly been more than halved. And all this guy had to do to get it was wander in with promises on his tongue and a wallet full of cash. He knows nothing of the blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifice it took for me to get where I am today.Β I just hope Iβm not making a mistake.
βPartner? Doesnβt the fact you talked me out of fifty-oneΒ percent of my business mean youβre more boss than partner?β I look up at Drew and hate that the moment his green eyes meet mine, I get a jolt of attraction right down to my core. Just because I have a bad history with charming, wealthy men doesnβt mean Iβm unaffected. Especially when theyβre as drop-dead gorgeous as this one is. Tall, muscular, and tanned, with eyes so green they put mineβgreen with flecks of brown in themβto shame. He could easily make a bomb as a model if he ever decided to quit the finance game.
Drew smiles and slides his hands into his pants pockets. βI have no desire to be your boss, Eve.βΒ God, why does his voice have to sound like silk?Β βIβm here to help. And to do thatββhe takes his jacket off and sets it over the back of a stoolββI need to learn everything about it from the ground up.β I watch with a salivating mouth as he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.
I blink and swallow to shake it off quickly. βYou want to work here? Dressed like that?β I scoff, pointing to his fancy suit before gesturing to my own worn-out T-shirt and jeans. βYou, sir, are crazy.β
βWhatβs wrong with what Iβm wearing?β He looks down and lifts the toes of his shiny shoes off the sticky floor. It sounds like when my beautician tears a strip of wax off my legs during my monthly visit. βItβs perfectly functional. And donβt call me sir, I have a name.β
βAs long as you donβt mind it stinking like sweat and liquor at the end of the day, then I guess youβll be great,Β sir.β
He half rolls his eyes. βI think I can manage not to spill on myself at my age,β he says. βJust put me to work. Whatβs first on the to-do list?β
With a resigned sigh, I give him a shrugβitβs his funeral. βYou ever tapped a keg before?β
βNope. But Iβm guessing Iβm about to.β
To the man's credit, after we finish with the morningβs restock, I put him to work as the busboy, and he only reacts once when a drunk turns and slams right into him, sloshing beer all over that crisp white shirt and silk tie. The tie disappears after that, and the top two buttons of his shirt get loosened too. Then he just continues clearing tables and running the dishwasher over and over and over again, the way someone learning from the bottom up would do.
If it were another life or even another time in this one, I might take pity on him and give him something less hands-on and messy to do. But then I remember he owns a controlling share of this place, so the least he can do is fully understand every role before he tries implementing any changes. And to his credit, he's taking it like a champ. When I told him he'd be busboy, Iβd expected a little pushback. But now we're eight hours in and counting, and he's still pushing through.
βIs there a reason you send everyone including security home while youβre closing up?β he asks when the doors are closed and locked, and we're the last two left on the premises.
βBecause Iβm quite capable of closing alone. The only reason youβre here is because youβre learning.β
βI get that. But since you have a policy of making sure your patrons get home safely, why doesnβt that policy extend to you as well?β
βOh, I see. Youβre worried little ole me is gonna get accosted on my way home.β
βThat did cross my mind,β he says, his voice taking on a roughened edge as he pauses his sweeping and meets my eyes.
βWhile appreciated, Mr. Miller, I assure you Iβm quite safe. When I took over this place, I converted the lodging rooms upstairs into a little apartment. So my travel time is pretty short and devoid of riffraff.β
βThatβs comforting to know,β he says, going back to sweeping the dirty floor.
βIβm more worried for you, to be honest. Out on the street at this time of the morning with that suit. You reek of money.β
βI reek of beer.β
A small smile jumps at the corners of my mouth. βThatΒ isΒ a fact. And I do have to admit Iβm kind of impressed.β
He stops sweeping again and looks up as I hit the button on the register to begin the cashing out process. βYouβre impressed that I reek of beer or that I know how to sweep a floor?β
I laugh at that. βIβm impressed with your work ethic. I didnβt expect you to make it through an entire shift of cleaning without complaining about it.β
βI gathered that,β he says, going back to sweeping.
βDoes that mean youΒ wantedΒ to complain, but were refusing to be the one to lose our game of chicken?β
βGame?β He gives me a half grin as he crouches down to fill the dustpan. βIs that what this is?β
βPerhaps.β I bounce a shoulder as I tear off the printed receipt that details all the cash I should have on hand and the sales for the night. βBut I guess it was more of a test. You said you wanted to learn from the bottom up, so β¦β
βYou gave me the worst job in the place,β he finishes, pushing to stand. βListen, I get it. This isnβt the first business Iβve bought into where the owner feels like they have something to prove.β
My mouth drops open and I scoff. βI donβt think that at all. I have nothing to prove to anyone. To you, or anyone.β
βYou know, the things we take offense to are often the things we donβt want to admit to thinking about ourselves. Even if theyβre just a little bit true.β He walks over and dumps the contents of the dustpan into the trash.
I scoff again. βYou have no idea what youβre talking about.β
βI think I do. You took one look at me and decided Iβve never gotten my hands dirty in my life, that I was born into money, right? So, you gave me the shit-kicker job to try and show me that it takes more than cash to make a business like yours work. And I get it, you probably worked your way up from nothing to get this place to what it is. So having a suit come in here with the intent of telling you what to do to make this place bigger and betterβeven though you asked for itβfeels a little confronting. But the big newsflash here is that I was born dirt poor, and it was my brains, good grades, and hard work that got me to where I am today. And while I also donβt feel that I have a damn thing to prove to anyone since my resume should speak for itself, Iβm also not averse to getting my hands, my clothes, or even my shoes dirty to understand the businesses Iβve bought into. Itβs called being thorough, Ms. Hathaway. And I think youβll find that, despite what you may think or feel about me as a person, in all areas of life, I am very,Β veryΒ thorough.β
This time Iβm gasping.Β Why did that sound so dirty?
Getting myself together, I clear my throat and lift my nose in the air. βIf thatβs true, then why is there still a line of dirt on the floor from where you were just sweeping?β
He arches a brow and looks from me to the dusty-looking line that would have snuck under the dustpan when he filled it. βMaybe that was a test of my own,β he starts. βTo check if youβre thorough too.β
βSure thing, buddy,β I say, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that signals heβs fighting a smile.
He walks over and scoops up the missed dirt. βHey, at least Iβve leveled up to βbuddyβ now. Iβm gonna call that progress,β he says, giving me a panty-melting grin as he bags up the trash and heads out back toward the dumpster. Iβd be lying if I said I didnβt turn and watch that taut ass of his walk away.
Β
Drew
By the time Friday night rolls around, Iβm exhausted from working eighteen-hour days on little to no sleep. Those hours arenβt all done at The Endearing Badger. I clock several hours before the bar even opens its doors since I have other clients and still need to show my face at Pierce Goodman. So Iβm dead on my feet and counting down the hours until the bar closes its doors, and I have two blissful days where Iβm not expected to go anywhere. I honestly canβt wait.
Especially since it means Iβll probably get the chance to spend time with a woman who can actually stand the sight of me. Something Eve still seems to be struggling with since she barely says two words more than necessary whenever she needs to speak toβor bark atβme. I think Iβm cramping her style.
βRestock,β Eve calls out, tapping the near-empty fridge with her foot while she expertly serves a gaggle of thirsty customers.
I give her a nod and head straight for the storeroom to grab a case of pre-mixed spirits from the walk-in cooler. Even with me here, weβre one person short tonight, which means thereβs barely a peaceful moment to scratch your ass.Β Note to selfβhire more staff so this doesnβt happen again.Β The place can certainly afford it. I donβt understand why Eve pulls the long hours she does. But then, people donβt really understand why I work as much as I do either. I guess itβs a drive thing. Something Eve definitely has a lot of.
Despite the fact she would rather ignore me than interact with me, I have managed to develop a lot of admiration for her work ethic. The woman justΒ does notΒ stop. And even though I run for an hour and visit the gym most days, even Iβm struggling to keep up.
If my mother were to meet her, sheβd say she had a body built for hard work. Eve has what some might call a βsturdyβ figure, with solid limbs and a thick waist, all topped off with a buxom chest and booty.
I donβt know if itβs the punk rocker hair, the desire to see what happens to her tattoos after theyβve disappeared under the sleeves of her T-shirt, or the fact she seems so incredibly unimpressed by me, but something about her gets me going. Iβve caught myself fantasizing about fucking her more than once over the past few days.
Although, that could also be because I havenβt been laid in over a week. Between surprising my mother with her new house and jumping straight into this new work project, Iβve surprisingly been more interested in sleeping than fucking at the end of each day. Thatβs an oddity in itself.
The walk-in connects to the bar fridges to make refilling faster and less intrusive, so I kneel in front of the racks and tear the case of bottles open, backfilling the shelf as fast as humanly possible.
βPick up the pace!β Eveβs voice enters the cold storage from the opening on the bar side.Β See? Sheβs impossible to keep up with.
As I continue working, checking any other shelves running low and restocking them too, I wonder ifΒ thatβsΒ the real reason Iβm fantasizing about breaking my no-clients code when it comes to Eveβwould she be impossible to keep up with in bed too?
βDonβt be stupid,β I mutter to myself, physically shaking my head to try and get the idea right out of it. As much as I like to be an equal opportunity lover of all women-kind. I do have to maintainΒ someΒ boundaries. And fucking up a deal that could be worth millions just because I couldnβt keep my dick in my pants is one of them. No way. Eveβno matter how round and juicy a meal she isβis most definitely off the table.
Finishing up, I quickly break down the boxes and head back out into the bar, jumping in and serving where I can. Back in my college days, I worked the campus barβI lied when I said I couldnβt tap a keg earlier in the week. So, it isnβt a stretch to recall those old skills and churn the drinks out like the old days. But it doesnβt escape me that the competitive streak thatβs alive and well inside me is trying to outpace the master behind the bar herself.
βTwo beers on tap, two rum and coke, and a cranberry vodka soda.β
I nod as the guy next in line yells out his order, setting the cold beer glasses under the tap at the same time I grab the rum glasses and give them a little flip in the air to add some finesse. Then I start off both beers to limit the froth cap, keep an eye on that while I pour rum into the glasses, then shut off the beer taps one after the other while I add the coke to the glasses. A spin on my heel has me reaching into the bar fridge for the pink-canned cocktail, and then Iβm ready to punch in the numbers and take payment.
βKeep the change, suit,β the guy says, smirking in amusement over my showing off. Even Iβm impressed with myself and take a second to enjoy the moment while I drop the cash in the register.
βOne leaves another arrives. Keep it moving,β Eve pipes up, sliding right into the register the moment I vacate it. Guess sheβs not impressed by my bar skills either.
I donβt let that stop me from having fun though. Normally on a Friday night, Iβd be at a cocktail bar called Banked Up with my team doing the whole Wall St. schmooze and flex before zeroing in on some fine, young thing and spending the rest of the weekend sweaty and working off all the stress in my body. So, without that little ritual in place, Iβve got to find my fun somewhere. And showing off for the patrons while I pretend Iβm Tom Cruise in Cocktailβone of my momβs favorite moviesβis my way of making the most of the situation.
βHow did you get that bottle to slide down your arm without dropping it?β Marley, one of the other two bartenders asks when weβre closing up.
βI swear, I spent the whole night fascinated and also waiting for you to smash a glass or something,β Aiden, the second of the two, adds while he transfers a tray of clean glasses out of the dishwasher and loads a dirty tray in.
βBack in the day, I made enough mistakes that I got tired of losing most of my paycheck to them. So I got real good, real fast,β I say, glad someone in this place appreciates my skills, unlike our illustrious captain whoβs speaking quietly by the door with one of the security guards.
βDonβt get too bent up about her. Sheβs always like that,β Marley says, giving my arm a squeeze. βYou did good for your first Friday shift. And the customers loved it.β
I open my mouth to thank her, but then I stop suddenly, her words and meaning behind them sinking in. βWait. You think IΒ workΒ here?β
She pulls her head back and frowns, exchanging glances with Aiden. βUm, yeah?β
βWould be kinda weird you serving drinks all night if you donβt work here,β Aiden adds as he pulls the lever down and starts the next dishwasher cycle up.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find Iβve got a stack of missed calls and messages from my team asking where I am. I unlock my screen and remind them Iβm on the job while simultaneously answering Aiden and Marley. βI donβt work here. I own itβwell, fifty-one percent of it.β
βYouΒ what?β they both blurt out in unison.
βWhat the hell? Eve! You never told us this place was in trouble,β Aiden calls across the room.
Eve immediately locks eyes with mine and sets her mouth in a straight line. βItβs not.β
βThen why sell?β
βYou guys ever watched that showΒ Shark Tank?β I ask after shoving my cell back into my pocket.
They both nod.
βWell, Iβm the guy who sits in the chair and listens to the pitch then decides whether I want to invest or not.β
βOh, I get it,β Marley breathes. βYou buy little businesses and make them bigger. I didnβt know you had plans to make this place bigger, Eve.β
βThatβs because I only told my friends.β
Marley gasps in mock horror. βIβm not your friend?β
βHave we ever hung out outside of work?β Eve places her hands on her hips and lifts her brow as she approaches the other side of the bar.
βWell β¦ no,β Marley replies.
βThen thatβs probably why I havenβt shared my hopes and dreams with you.β
βBut you shared them with this guy.β She thumbs in my direction.
βNot really,β I say, feeling my cell buzz yet again. βI found out via Eveβs friends and then kind of strong-armed her into letting me help.β
βHelp,β Eve repeats with a heavy sigh. βWhy do I get a cold chill down my spine whenever you refer to it like that?β
βIβm in the business of making dreams come true, Eve,β I say, quickly reading the message then telling Carson to count me out. Heβs trying to get me to drop what Iβm doing and join them for an hour or two, but Iβm too beat for anything besides finishing up here and going straight home to bed. Iβve got a massive week of planning ahead of me, and I donβt want to start it more exhausted than I already am. βI canβt believe youβve spent an entire week with me and youβre still questioning my motives.β
βAnyone can play nice for a week,β she says. βIβm just waiting for what comes next.β
βWhat comesΒ next?β Aiden repeats with a frown.
βChange,β I say, giving them all my most charming smile. βThe thing that comes next is change, my friends. And I promise you, youβre all gonna love me for it.β I look around at the way they exchange uncertain glances. βEventually, anyway.β
