Eve
“What do you mean you’ve never orgasmed before?” Nina frowns as she slurps up the last of her vodka raspberry.
“Well, I’ve orgasmed,” I say, saying the last word in a hushed mumble since I don’t need the whole world knowing my business. “Just not with another person.” My tone rises defensively, and I try to focus on breaking the ice cubes in my glass apart so I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone.
“Jesus, Eve,” Becca says, her blue eyes wide as she pushes her dark curls back off her shoulder. “I’ve probably got the least amount of experience out of all of us, and even I’ve managed—”
“You’re also married to Ronan Kennedy,” I quickly point out. “I’m surprised you don’t cream yourself the moment you wake up next to him every morning.”
“It’s true,” Nina adds. “Your 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.” She blushes and Becca groans.
“Please don’t give me any details of my brother’s bedroom prowess, I’m begging you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t because I think that would be mean to poor Eve here who’s confiding in us that she’s only ever slept with duds.”
“And just so we’re clear,” I say, collecting our empty glasses and heading back to the bar to refill them. “I do not 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 I’ve got going on, I just didn’t have time for dating.”
Both Becca and Nina get up and follow me, settling on the stools across from me as I mix our drinks. It’s 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 girl’s got to blow off a little steam. And as I finish mixing the drinks and set them on the counter, I already know I’ll regret it in the morning, but I’m too far gone to care anymore.
“You know what you should do?” Nina says, sipping her drink while talking slowly and looking sleepy. “You should try that place where I met Peter.”
“Blind Trust?” I ask, shaking my head immediately because there’s no way I have the budget or the time for something like that. “I don’t think so. They’re all about setting you up with a life partner, and all I really want to experience is good sex.”
We all giggle at that, and Becca pulls out her phone and squints at the screen. “How about one of those one-night stand apps then? The people behind Blind Trust actually started one recently, and apparently it’s really good. We’re kind of bummed we didn’t 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.”
“That part sucks,” Nina agrees. “But 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.” She gives me a wink.
“Is the app like Tinder at all?” I shake my head. “Because, no thanks. They’ll take one look at my pictures and give me a label I don’t want.” Lifting a tattooed arm, I run my hand through my cotton-candy pink hair to point out my outside-the-box looks.
“It’s not like Tinder,” Becca explains, angling her screen so we can all see. “It’s called ‘No Encores’ and like Nina pointed out, you get matched based on what you’re both into. There are no photos and no names. Everything is anonymous.”
“Just like how Blind Trust is in the beginning,” Nina adds.
“That sounds like a predator’s playground,” I say, lifting my brows because my life’s 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.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Nina says, her tight blonde curls bouncing as she shakes her head. “It says here they do police checks on everyone before they’re allowed a profile, and that they track your location for safety. It’s just the two of you who aren’t allowed to exchange details. And on top of that, if you decided to meet some random guy, you know we’d have your back. We could sit at one table and keep an eye on things. You know, be your emergency backup on the ground.”
“I really don’t know. It all sounds a little too risky for me.”
“Maybe, but are you really willing to risk living the entirety of your life without a really good bonk under your belt?” Becca asks.
“Bonk?” I giggle and my cheeks go bright red. Then I slap myself mentally for even admitting this whole thing out loud. “Lawd, you two. Listen, I’ll think about it. OK?”
Both women smile and cheer like I actually just said I’d do it.
“We’ll be with you every step of the way,” Becca says.
“Well, not every step,” Nina adds. “Because that would be weird. But we’ll definitely do everything we can to help you feel comfortable. We can even help you decide which guy.”
“I said think,” I remind them. “Not do.”
“Well, I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Becca says, tapping at her screen. “So much that I just signed you up and paid your membership fee.”
“Becca!” I move to grab her phone, and she grins.
“Consider it a tip for owning the best bar in the city. And you don’t have to use it, but it’ll be sitting in your messages waiting for you to fill out the questionnaire when you’re ready.”
“I don’t know whether to be mad or grateful,” I say, frowning as my phone pings with an email notification.
Nina reaches out and pats my hand. “Somewhere in the middle perhaps? But either way, you deserve to experience good sex, my friend.”
I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t 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 don’t think this is for me. Without a moment’s more hesitation, I swipe my thumb across the screen and send the email from No Encores to the trash.
There’ll be no encores for me because there won’t even be a first show.
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.
“Mr. Miller. Good weekend?” He holds his hand out to me, and I shake it.
“One of the best. And it’s all thanks to this fine place,” I say, lifting my hands up from my sides like I’m 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 I’m proud to say my mother doesn’t have to work anymore. And better than that, she’s also debt free. I don’t 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 home—with the garden of her dreams—I saw those tears in full force. My mother has been my rock since birth. And now that I’m thirty-one with a successful career as a venture capitalist, I can be hers. I’ve never felt so proud.
“Ahh, to be a single man in the city again,” he says, laughing in that way men do when they’re jealous of the lifestyle you lead. I laugh back. He thinks I spend every weekend bedding down with gorgeous women—and most of the time I do—and I’m fine with him thinking that. Which is why I don’t 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 don’t need any filler.
“Enjoy your day, Marv.”
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.
“Good morning, Mr. Miller,” a soft voice says from beside me, and it takes me a second to realize it’s 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.
“Morning.” I give her a nod and promptly pull my gaze away. She’s got that look in her eye that tells me she’ll slip her number in my pocket if I make eye contact too long, and since I don’t 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 I’m all the way up the top. The thirty-fifth floor—Venture Capital. It’s where the bulk of the money in this place is made, which is why we get the sweetest view.
“Sir!” My assistant brings me a coffee right away and follows me into my office, briefing me on everything that’s happening in rapid fire succession. I wonder if she’s 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 wasn’t breathing at all.
“Thank you, Alexis,” I say, giving her a smile as I take a mouthful of the just-right coffee. “This is amazing.”
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.
“Woke up and fell straight into the office, I see,” Brody, our resident bitter-and-twisted-at-forty-one partner says as he walks in without knocking.
“Do you seriously think I wear a suit all weekend?” I say, tugging at my collar for emphasis.
“You do if you never go home,” he says, sitting on the arm of a chair.
“I went home.”
“That’s unlike you. Finally worked your way through every single woman in the city?”
I shake my head and focus on the mirror in front of me as I finish off my shave. “You sound like a jealous man.”
“Jealous? No way. I’m 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 he’s trying to get every guy in the office to join.”
“Sounds perfect for you,” I tease with a grin.
Brody rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t think of anything worse. Hookups inevitably turn into hurt feelings at one point or another.”
“Not when you make it super clear that whatever you’re doing is just for fun,” I say, finishing up and tapping the shavings into the trash.
“And that works every time? You never get a girl asking you to define the relationship or wish something could turn into more when she doesn’t?”
“I’m yet to want more, but sure, I’ve had my fair share of women wanting more. But I’ve got boundaries just like they do. And when I reiterate that I have no desire for anything serious, they get to choose if they’re happy with that, or if they wanna move on.”
He lets out a sigh. “I was probably the same at your age. But things change, man. Eventually, you’ll meet a girl and want something she can’t give you. Then you’ll end up just like me.”
“Bitter, twisted, and balancing on the arm of an expensive chair?” He rolls his eyes. “Get up, please.”
“What have you got on today?” he asks as he stands on his own two feet and straightens his tie.
“A few client calls and then I’m off to my newest acquisition to learn the ropes.”
“That bar you bought into?”
“The Endearing Badger.”
“Big risk.”
“Big reward if I make it work,” I say, checking my watch because it’s 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.
“They’re early,” he grunts, saying a quick goodbye and heading toward the meeting rooms.
“He’s a pleasure as always,” Carson says, chuckling as Brody walks away.
“He’s Brody,” I say, heading toward my desk just as my assistant buzzes through to remind me I should be on a call. “I’ve gotta get to this.”
“I’ll 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.”
“The hookup app?”
He grins like the cat who got the cream. “Anonymous. No-strings-attached, pure enjoyment. Perfect for the busy man.”
“Ah, sure. I’ll check it out,” I say, shaking my head as he disappears through my door. There’s no way I’m signing up for some hookup app when I’m perfectly capable of finding women all on my own. No way. No how.
Eve
“Good morning, partner.” 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. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, and a smile that suggests he knows exactly how charming he is—or at least thinks he is. As far as I’m concerned, charm is a big red flag. I have a history poorly colored by powerful men who can have anything they want and think they’re God’s gift to women, so needing one of them to help make my expansion dreams come true really rubs me the wrong way. If it wasn’t for this guy’s connection with Becca and Nina, there’s no way I would have signed a contract with him. But even then, I still feel like he’s 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. I just hope I’m not making a mistake.
“Partner? Doesn’t the fact you talked me out of fifty-one percent of my business mean you’re more boss than partner?” 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 doesn’t mean I’m unaffected. Especially when they’re as drop-dead gorgeous as this one is. Tall, muscular, and tanned, with eyes so green they put mine—green with flecks of brown in them—to 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. “I have no desire to be your boss, Eve.” God, why does his voice have to sound like silk? “I’m here to help. And to do that”—he takes his jacket off and sets it over the back of a stool—“I need to learn everything about it from the ground up.” 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. “You want to work here? Dressed like that?” I scoff, pointing to his fancy suit before gesturing to my own worn-out T-shirt and jeans. “You, sir, are crazy.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” 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. “It’s perfectly functional. And don’t call me sir, I have a name.”
“As long as you don’t mind it stinking like sweat and liquor at the end of the day, then I guess you’ll be great, sir.”
He half rolls his eyes. “I think I can manage not to spill on myself at my age,” he says. “Just put me to work. What’s first on the to-do list?”
With a resigned sigh, I give him a shrug—it’s his funeral. “You ever tapped a keg before?”
“Nope. But I’m guessing I’m about to.”
To the man's credit, after we finish with the morning’s 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, I’d expected a little pushback. But now we're eight hours in and counting, and he's still pushing through.
“Is there a reason you send everyone including security home while you’re closing up?” he asks when the doors are closed and locked, and we're the last two left on the premises.
“Because I’m quite capable of closing alone. The only reason you’re here is because you’re learning.”
“I get that. But since you have a policy of making sure your patrons get home safely, why doesn’t that policy extend to you as well?”
“Oh, I see. You’re worried little ole me is gonna get accosted on my way home.”
“That did cross my mind,” he says, his voice taking on a roughened edge as he pauses his sweeping and meets my eyes.
“While appreciated, Mr. Miller, I assure you I’m 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.”
“That’s comforting to know,” he says, going back to sweeping the dirty floor.
“I’m more worried for you, to be honest. Out on the street at this time of the morning with that suit. You reek of money.”
“I reek of beer.”
A small smile jumps at the corners of my mouth. “That is a fact. And I do have to admit I’m kind of impressed.”
He stops sweeping again and looks up as I hit the button on the register to begin the cashing out process. “You’re impressed that I reek of beer or that I know how to sweep a floor?”
I laugh at that. “I’m impressed with your work ethic. I didn’t expect you to make it through an entire shift of cleaning without complaining about it.”
“I gathered that,” he says, going back to sweeping.
“Does that mean you wanted to complain, but were refusing to be the one to lose our game of chicken?”
“Game?” He gives me a half grin as he crouches down to fill the dustpan. “Is that what this is?”
“Perhaps.” 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. “But I guess it was more of a test. You said you wanted to learn from the bottom up, so …”
“You gave me the worst job in the place,” he finishes, pushing to stand. “Listen, I get it. This isn’t the first business I’ve bought into where the owner feels like they have something to prove.”
My mouth drops open and I scoff. “I don’t think that at all. I have nothing to prove to anyone. To you, or anyone.”
“You know, the things we take offense to are often the things we don’t want to admit to thinking about ourselves. Even if they’re just a little bit true.” He walks over and dumps the contents of the dustpan into the trash.
I scoff again. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do. You took one look at me and decided I’ve 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 better—even though you asked for it—feels 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 don’t feel that I have a damn thing to prove to anyone since my resume should speak for itself, I’m also not averse to getting my hands, my clothes, or even my shoes dirty to understand the businesses I’ve bought into. It’s called being thorough, Ms. Hathaway. And I think you’ll find that, despite what you may think or feel about me as a person, in all areas of life, I am very, very thorough.”
This time I’m gasping. Why did that sound so dirty?
Getting myself together, I clear my throat and lift my nose in the air. “If that’s true, then why is there still a line of dirt on the floor from where you were just sweeping?”
He arches a brow and looks from me to the dusty-looking line that would have snuck under the dustpan when he filled it. “Maybe that was a test of my own,” he starts. “To check if you’re thorough too.”
“Sure thing, buddy,” I say, noting the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that signals he’s fighting a smile.
He walks over and scoops up the missed dirt. “Hey, at least I’ve leveled up to ‘buddy’ now. I’m gonna call that progress,” he says, giving me a panty-melting grin as he bags up the trash and heads out back toward the dumpster. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t turn and watch that taut ass of his walk away.
Drew
By the time Friday night rolls around, I’m exhausted from working eighteen-hour days on little to no sleep. Those hours aren’t 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 I’m dead on my feet and counting down the hours until the bar closes its doors, and I have two blissful days where I’m not expected to go anywhere. I honestly can’t wait.
Especially since it means I’ll 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 to—or bark at—me. I think I’m cramping her style.
“Restock,” 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, we’re one person short tonight, which means there’s barely a peaceful moment to scratch your ass. Note to self—hire more staff so this doesn’t happen again. The place can certainly afford it. I don’t understand why Eve pulls the long hours she does. But then, people don’t really understand why I work as much as I do either. I guess it’s 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 just does not stop. And even though I run for an hour and visit the gym most days, even I’m struggling to keep up.
If my mother were to meet her, she’d say she had a body built for hard work. Eve has what some might call a ‘sturdy’ figure, with solid limbs and a thick waist, all topped off with a buxom chest and booty.
I don’t know if it’s the punk rocker hair, the desire to see what happens to her tattoos after they’ve 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. I’ve caught myself fantasizing about fucking her more than once over the past few days.
Although, that could also be because I haven’t been laid in over a week. Between surprising my mother with her new house and jumping straight into this new work project, I’ve surprisingly been more interested in sleeping than fucking at the end of each day. That’s 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.
“Pick up the pace!” Eve’s voice enters the cold storage from the opening on the bar side. See? She’s impossible to keep up with.
As I continue working, checking any other shelves running low and restocking them too, I wonder if that’s the real reason I’m fantasizing about breaking my no-clients code when it comes to Eve—would she be impossible to keep up with in bed too?
“Don’t be stupid,” 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 maintain some boundaries. And fucking up a deal that could be worth millions just because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants is one of them. No way. Eve—no matter how round and juicy a meal she is—is 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 bar—I lied when I said I couldn’t tap a keg earlier in the week. So, it isn’t a stretch to recall those old skills and churn the drinks out like the old days. But it doesn’t escape me that the competitive streak that’s alive and well inside me is trying to outpace the master behind the bar herself.
“Two beers on tap, two rum and coke, and a cranberry vodka soda.”
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 I’m ready to punch in the numbers and take payment.
“Keep the change, suit,” the guy says, smirking in amusement over my showing off. Even I’m impressed with myself and take a second to enjoy the moment while I drop the cash in the register.
“One leaves another arrives. Keep it moving,” Eve pipes up, sliding right into the register the moment I vacate it. Guess she’s not impressed by my bar skills either.
I don’t let that stop me from having fun though. Normally on a Friday night, I’d 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, I’ve got to find my fun somewhere. And showing off for the patrons while I pretend I’m Tom Cruise in Cocktail—one of my mom’s favorite movies—is my way of making the most of the situation.
“How did you get that bottle to slide down your arm without dropping it?” Marley, one of the other two bartenders asks when we’re closing up.
“I swear, I spent the whole night fascinated and also waiting for you to smash a glass or something,” 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.
“Back 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,” I say, glad someone in this place appreciates my skills, unlike our illustrious captain who’s speaking quietly by the door with one of the security guards.
“Don’t get too bent up about her. She’s always like that,” Marley says, giving my arm a squeeze. “You did good for your first Friday shift. And the customers loved it.”
I open my mouth to thank her, but then I stop suddenly, her words and meaning behind them sinking in. “Wait. You think I work here?”
She pulls her head back and frowns, exchanging glances with Aiden. “Um, yeah?”
“Would be kinda weird you serving drinks all night if you don’t work here,” 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 I’ve got a stack of missed calls and messages from my team asking where I am. I unlock my screen and remind them I’m on the job while simultaneously answering Aiden and Marley. “I don’t work here. I own it—well, fifty-one percent of it.”
“You what?” they both blurt out in unison.
“What the hell? Eve! You never told us this place was in trouble,” Aiden calls across the room.
Eve immediately locks eyes with mine and sets her mouth in a straight line. “It’s not.”
“Then why sell?”
“You guys ever watched that show Shark Tank?” I ask after shoving my cell back into my pocket.
They both nod.
“Well, I’m the guy who sits in the chair and listens to the pitch then decides whether I want to invest or not.”
“Oh, I get it,” Marley breathes. “You buy little businesses and make them bigger. I didn’t know you had plans to make this place bigger, Eve.”
“That’s because I only told my friends.”
Marley gasps in mock horror. “I’m not your friend?”
“Have we ever hung out outside of work?” Eve places her hands on her hips and lifts her brow as she approaches the other side of the bar.
“Well … no,” Marley replies.
“Then that’s probably why I haven’t shared my hopes and dreams with you.”
“But you shared them with this guy.” She thumbs in my direction.
“Not really,” I say, feeling my cell buzz yet again. “I found out via Eve’s friends and then kind of strong-armed her into letting me help.”
“Help,” Eve repeats with a heavy sigh. “Why do I get a cold chill down my spine whenever you refer to it like that?”
“I’m in the business of making dreams come true, Eve,” I say, quickly reading the message then telling Carson to count me out. He’s trying to get me to drop what I’m doing and join them for an hour or two, but I’m too beat for anything besides finishing up here and going straight home to bed. I’ve got a massive week of planning ahead of me, and I don’t want to start it more exhausted than I already am. “I can’t believe you’ve spent an entire week with me and you’re still questioning my motives.”
“Anyone can play nice for a week,” she says. “I’m just waiting for what comes next.”
“What comes next?” Aiden repeats with a frown.
“Change,” I say, giving them all my most charming smile. “The thing that comes next is change, my friends. And I promise you, you’re all gonna love me for it.” I look around at the way they exchange uncertain glances. “Eventually, anyway.”
