Mine (Dressing a Billionaire Book 3): A Romantic Comedy

by Jamie Lee Scott

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m sure you could find another band in no time. Or…” Each of the men offered her incredulous glances as if she’d just bit the head off a snake and spit it in their drinks. Okay, then, Nikki’d let him be gay. For all his declarations, he was proving himself to be fairly untrustworthy.

  Keenan joined in. “I’d have to say I agree. We have auditions scheduled for another hour or so. Should we at least wait until they’re over before we make any final decisions?”

  Billy grabbed his elbow with his opposite hand. He stared at the ground. “Yeah, we probably should.” He glanced at Ryker who stood a good five or six inches taller. “Do you think we could give you a call and let you know? I’m sure you’re in, we just posted audition times and stuff, so…”

  “Yeah, no. Of course. Let me know. It’s about fair. Plus, you guys need to decide what you want, you know?” He turned and reached for Nikki’s hand, taking her fingers in his warm ones. “Thank you, Nikki, for the drink.” His low voice created doubt where she’d been so certain. He smiled, slow, gripping the glass in his other fingers.

  After a long drawn out moment, Ryker released her from the hold of his gaze. As if an afterthought, he tilted is head toward Billy. “Hey, guys, what’s the name of the band?”

  Keenan and Billy abandoned their drinks, green olives tumbling about the bottoms of the glasses. Avoiding Billy’s eyes, Keenan spoke first, “We’re not sure yet. We’ve had some ideas, but we think waiting might be better until the band has formed, get help from everyone, you know?”

  “Since our future niche is pop fans, with the right music and great looks, we may be able to appeal to a larger audience. Until that point, the gay market is our assigned niche. You’re bringing a whole new aspect of masculinity to the group.” Billy paid Ryker the compliment in a crisp business-like manner, but Keenan’s glare dripped palpable disgust. “Plus, your name will help a lot. I hope you don’t mind my excitement to completely exploit your brand.”

  “If he’s the one we choose.” Keenan added, biting the words off between clenched teeth.

  Ryker shrugged, ignoring the negativity in the black man’s tone. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to hearing from you guys, one way or the other.” His barely touched drink sweated onto her polished counter.

  The back and forth between the men irritated Nikki. Ryker would be their best bet and their worst chance. As far as she was concerned, as long as they made money, what did she care who was in the group? Man, maybe she was PMSing. “Billy, name the band after the bar. You’re starting here and I’m your sponsor. Win-win.”

  “Sprites is yours?” Ryker’s astonishment stung with the force of a backhanded slap.

  “Yep.” She arched a brow at Keenan who smirked behind his bejeweled hand.

  “You’re the owner? Of this bar?” His eyebrows pinched together. “Why are you bartending, then?”

  Satisfaction warred with the desire to lie. The reactions never got old. Men and women were always surprised she owned the bar, probably because of her age. But, no one had questioned her choice to bartend, and she’d never been forced to admit the salary of a bartender was significant enough with tips to save her from jumping into the hole head first.

  Nikki considered the task a part-time job. The money stayed with the bar. She didn’t have an answer for Ryker that wasn’t riddled with embarrassment.

  Her silence suggested Ryker’s question was rhetorical. Nikki ran a hand through her hair and looked at the door. The motion not lost on her friends.

  “Where you off to, Nikki?” Keenan pulled her in for a hug. His strong cologne, touched with exotic musk, perfect for him. Alcohol on board and Keenan was all kinds of affectionate. The empty martini glass resting on the bar was his fifth for the afternoon. On number six, he’d grab her butt and kiss her neck. Time to get out of there.

  Laughing, she pushed his shoulder from her face. “I’m going home for a few hours to get some sleep. We have a new waiter starting tonight. I think he’s here for the romantic possibilities rather than the money.” She stole one last look at Ryker. Like a diabetic at a dessert buffet, she longed to reach out and grab a taste, but gave herself a mental shake. He was no longer the lead singer of a huge rock band. He was in her bar. And he was just Ryker now. “Can you guys lock up when you’re all done?”

  “Sure thing, honey. See you tomorrow night, if we find a drummer.”