Love & Rum

by Dani McLean

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you want with my friend?”

  “I told you. I want to see her again.”

  “Why?”

  I let out a breath. “Because I like her. And I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “And?”

  “And?”

  “I’m going to need more than that to go behind my best friend’s back, pretty boy.”

  I’d known this was unlikely to be easy, but damn. She was enjoying this, I could tell. “I don’t know what you want to hear, but I’ve met a lot of people, and I haven’t met anyone like her before. She’s just …” Interesting, incredible, the sexiest person I’d ever seen?

  “She is.” Something in my expression must have passed her test because she pulled at the strings of her apron and gestured to a booth in the corner. “I’ve got to handover to night shift. Give me a minute.”

  Ok, this was looking up. Tiffany wasn’t exactly on board yet, but she hadn’t told me where to go, and from the little I knew of her, she wasn’t the type to mince words.

  I moved over to the booth she’d directed me to. Being in the bar brought back memories of Audrey, and I wondered what the chances were of her walking in again tonight. Did she visit Tiffany here often?

  I eyed the door as I waited.

  When Tiffany returned, she set down a beer in front of both of us. “Looked like you could use one,” she offered.

  “Thanks.” I tilted my chin upwards, feeling the need for some neutral conversation. “What’s up with the roof?” I hadn’t noticed it the other night, but now that I had, I couldn’t avoid seeing the array of odds and ends adorning the ceiling. Was that a parasol next to a tricycle? “Did the decorator buy out a garage sale or something?”

  “Or something. However, you’re not far off. Story is, when Harry—that’s the owner—when his parents died, they left a chunk of money to him along with all their stuff. And because he couldn’t bear to sell off all their knick-knacks, he used them to theme the bar and pay homage to them, especially since it was only with the inheritance that he was able to open the bar to begin with.”

  “That’s sweet.” I meant it.

  “Yeah. He’s a sentimental old fool, even if he can’t run a bar for shit.” She spoke fondly. “Luckily, he has me for that.”

  A tentative silence settled between us, the kind that existed between two people who were new acquaintances. I wanted to bring up why I was here again but didn’t want to push the subject. Thankfully, Tiffany did it for me.

  “I’m not giving you her number.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment, but I suspected it was still obvious. “Ok.”

  “But I will help you.”

  “Oh.” It occurred to me what she might be implying. “I know this is going to sound like a line, but I can’t give you my phone number. No offense, but it’s not a great idea for me to hand my personal details to anyone, and as you said before, we don’t really know each other.”

  “No offense taken. Anyway, that’s not what I had in mind.”

  “So, what do you have in mind?”

  “That Audrey is her own woman, and I think she should get to decide if she’s interested in seeing you again. She shouldn’t be put into an awkward situation where she says yes to a date just because you’ve put her on the spot.”

  Well, damn. She had a point. I’d been propositioned enough by instant messages that I knew how uncomfortable it was when someone you didn’t know expected something from you.

  “So what do I do?”

  “I guess it’s time to prove you’re not just a pretty face, isn’t it?”

  Tiff reminded me so much of Sarah, and I barely stopped myself from the automatic retort that came to mind. “I guess so.”

  “And just so you know, I love that woman. I’d kill for her.” She hardened her gaze, shooting daggers at me. “I mean it. You hurt her; you lose something.”

  I appreciated her loyalty, impressed that Audrey had someone in her corner who would defend her as staunchly as Tiffany did. She was a hell of a good friend.

  “Message received. Now, I think I have an idea …”

  11

  Audrey

  The MacMillan launch was definitely making it difficult to focus on my sex life. I had half a mind to just invest in a new vibrator and call it a day, but Tiff—as always—wouldn’t let me give up. That said, even she was finding it impossible to work around my current schedule.

  It was my third late night in the office, and while a normal person would be happy that it was a Friday, possibly going out for after-work drinks or planning a big weekend, here I was at nine p.m., trying to work out how we could launch the MacMillan’s new dark rum.

  I wanted unique. I wanted new.

  Unfortunately, both of those cost time and money, and we weren’t exactly flush in either.

  But I was determined.

  MacMillan’s was an amazing little distillery whose owners’ whole heart went into making something that spoke to them. I just wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t make this the best damn launch that I could.

  Jeff and Julie had put their faith in us, signing on when David had first started this venture, and I felt obligated to repay that faith, to prove to them we were worth it, for David more than anything. I knew how much this meant to him.

  And I called David the sentimental one.

  I stared at the list of ideas that I’d written down, ranging from the traditional to the outright impossible—like a free celebrity endorsement. Two, in particular, struck me as both interesting and potentially possible: a themed cocktail event and a flight tasting tour.

  I imagined the cocktail event as an exclusive one-night-only evening hosted either at a client’s bar or a function space we used solely for the launch; we could include food and make it part degustation and part presentation.

  Whereas the flight tour would be scaled down to the essentials and hosted at a number of bars—cross-promotion was always an easy sell—and I’d target the pre-dinner, pre-theatre crowds.

  I marked the two ideas in bold and opened up a new worksheet so I could start to brainstorm what I’d need to make them happen.

  Even though the launch would be on the smaller side, the magnitude of what was required settled in my bones. Familiar fears crept in like cold steel along my spine. I’d helped set up launches like this in the past, but this was the first time it was all on me. I couldn’t mess this up.

  Messing this up meant I wasn’t ready. That David had made a mistake.

  So, I had to work harder. I meant what I had said to David. I could handle this.

  I would handle this.

  Hmm. Maybe if I worked through the weekend, I could present to Jeff and Julie on Monday …

  Guilt sank in my stomach. I had promised myself I would start dating again, and I could hardly do that if I spent all weekend holed up in this office, could I?

  I imagined what Tiff would tell me to do, and I knew I needed to embrace this crazy plan I had decided on. I still wanted it, but wanting and doing were far from the same thing.

  Torn between work and my love life, I chose option three: procrastination.

  Which is why I spent the next twenty minutes venturing down an internet rabbit hole looking at the vast array of images of Jackson Ward.

  Who wouldn’t, though? He was tall, lean, chiseled. Like an Abercrombie model.

  Dirty blond hair that was probably cut by committee, always perfectly tousled in any number of ways. Those deep blue eyes glinting above the sharp, cocky grin that seemed to be his trademark.

  And yes, ok, I may have checked to see if he had a girlfriend. I maintained it was only to make sure I hadn’t cuckolded anyone. And if I happened to read a handful of articles that detailed his steady history of rumored relationships or confirmed flings, it was hardly my fault.

  Apparently, he’d been seen on the arm of at least a half dozen models, and I gave myself a gold star for not compari
ng myself to them, for too long at least.

  He certainly hadn’t been lying when he’d told me he didn’t do relationships. Not that I had gotten the impression otherwise, but it was nice to know he’d been honest. It meant I could keep my good view of him.

  And considering the slideshow of memories I’d been left with, I wanted nothing more than to keep that view intact.

  Images flashed across my mind of Jackson’s fingers splayed over my hips, pinning me down as his mouth worked its wicked ways between my thighs. Just remembering it had my pulse racing and my muscles contracting in response. Talk about a feast for the senses.

  Jackson had stoked a fire in me I hadn’t even believed existed. My whole sexual experience before that night boiled down to a series of missionary-style fucks, always at night, before sleep, in a bed, usually with the lights off. I had thought that was all I would experience, and I was ok with that. I never figured myself as an adventurous lover. I’d had no clue how much a well-placed bite right in the crook of my neck with just enough force to leave a mark would drive me insane to the point that even the memory of it made me squirm.

  Damnit, I really wanted to have that again.

  I opened my dating app, reminding myself not to compare every man I saw to the handsome actor who took up residence in my fantasies.

  It was more difficult than I anticipated.

  Still, I managed to set up two dates for the weekend. One for drinks on Saturday night with a banker named Beckett; the second for Sunday dinner with Chad—who was a PT, because of course, he was.

  It took effort not to back out of both.

  And, by the end of the weekend, I firmly wished I had.

  I also wished I had spent the entire weekend in the office because at least then I’d have accomplished something. But no, I had made this “get out and date again” bed, and now I was lying in it, annoyed and exhausted.

  Tiff was, unsurprisingly, after all the dirty details. “Sucked literally or figuratively?” She asked over the phone Sunday night after I’d told her how well my weekend had gone.

  I tensed from my sprawled position on my bed. I was starting to really rethink this whole sex thing, feeling hollower with every disappointing encounter. But Tiff’s refusal to judge, or let me stop looking, kept me from falling into a shame spiral.

  “We didn’t even come close to literal sucking. After Jackson, I’m finding it difficult to be interested in anyone else.”

  “Maybe you should try and hook up with him again.”

  “Funny,” I responded dryly.

  “We could find a way.” Her voice was innocent in a way that made me suspicious. And nervous.

  “No. I was lucky enough the first time. The chances of seeing him again are about one in a trillion. A trillion trillion.” I let out a long, harsh breath as I stretched my back, trying to ease out the stiffness that had set in. It was probably too late to go into the office. “I’ll just keep trying with these apps and see if I can’t strike gold twice.”

  12

  Jackson

  “Cut!” Bryson’s yell reverberated across the set. “Let’s move onto the next scene. Olivia, I need you on your mark in five.”

  “I think I’ve got it, thanks.” Liv’s tone was dry, and from anyone else, Bryson probably would have cut them down, but from Liv, he seemed to let it go.

  Done for the day, I checked my phone. Good. Plenty of time.

  “J! Glad I caught you.” Wes clapped a hand on my shoulder and walked with me as I made my way to change out of my costume. “Are you coming to this thing tonight?”

  “The drinks? Yeah, Terry told me I had to. You’re there, too, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  When Tiffany mentioned that she didn’t want to corner Audrey into an awkward situation, I’d started thinking of my options. I knew Tiffany wouldn’t want me going to Audrey’s office or her apartment, but the bar was fair play, as far as I could tell.

  When Terry had mentioned they were planning a semi-formal schmooze fest to lubricate some deals, especially with some high-profile producers he wanted to get on the good side of, I’d seen my opportunity, and hey, had he heard of this bar downtown? Because I think it might be perfect.

  Terry took care of the rest.

  Now I just hoped Tiffany would get Audrey there like she’d said she would.

  My phone rang in the cab on my way to the bar, and I answered immediately when I saw the caller ID.

  Sarah was already talking by the time the phone got to my ear. “You’re not going to bring some airhead to my wedding, are you?”

  “Oh, hello, Sarah, how are you?” I joked. Throughout the wedding planning, Sarah had been the picture of calm and collected. Mostly. Every once in a while, a little bridezilla would appear.

  “Sorry, yes, hi, Jace, how are you, blah blah blah. You’re not, are you? Because I have to confirm seating numbers tomorrow, and I know we gave you a plus one, but if you’re thinking of bringing one of those side chicks you always seem to have around ”–

  “Now that’s just rude.”

  She sighed. “I want to be supportive, Jace. I really do, but this is going to be our whole family, and it’s not fair on them or us if you show up with someone who can’t handle all that. You know how we are.” I did. “And you deserve someone who can be one of us. Someday.” Her voice was strained, and it helped reduce my irritation. With the wedding getting closer, her stress levels surely had been rising.

  “It’s ok, Sarah. I …” How to phrase this … “I don’t know if I’ll have a date, but I promise if I do, she’ll be cool.”

  “Ok, good. Well, I’ll keep you as a plus one, and then we can always stick one of the second cousins next to you if you don’t have a date. Oh, hey! Whatever happened with your goddess?”

  “My what?”

  “The woman who had you brooding last weekend? The one you stupidly let get away?”

  “I’m, uh, I’m working on it.”

  “Well, you better not mess it up this time.”

  No. No messing up this time.

  The agency had done well. There were at least a hundred people here, some I knew well and others I only knew by reputation.

  The first thing I needed to do was check in with Tiffany, who was overseeing the bar staff.

  “Are you sure she’s going to come?” I asked, nodding my thanks as she passed me a glass of soda water. I preferred to be sober at these types of events.

  Tiffany let out a dry laugh. “Definitely. She’s a bleeding heart. As soon as I told her we had two staff call in sick, she was offering to get down here to help.” When she notices my surprised expression, she added, “It’s not the first time.”

  Warmth bloomed in my chest. It fit perfectly with the impression Audrey had made on me so far. Smart, sexy, generous.

  “Will she be annoyed you lied to her?”

  “Are you kidding? This is like some shit straight out of a movie. Besides, it’s kind of romantic, and she deserves a little excitement for a change.” I didn’t hide my smile at her kind gesture. “And if you ever tell Audrey that I said that, I’ll use your balls as a garnish.”

  “Noted.” I stifled my chuckle. I could definitely see why Audrey liked Tiffany so much. They were lucky to have each other.

  While I waited, I made the rounds, chatting to a handful of people I recognized. Eventually, Terry pulled me away to introduce me to a producer working on a graphic novel adaption for Netflix and was interested in getting me on board.

  The producer was nice enough, a stunning older Vietnamese woman who had an acerbic wit, which I appreciated, but I couldn’t gather any real excitement for the project. Still, I wasn’t one to burn bridges, so we chatted politely, and I agreed to look over the script.

  I turned back toward the bar, snaking my way through the crowd to ensure I was close enough to see Audrey when she arrived. A commanding voice stopped me.

  “Jackson Ward. Terry tells me I should be talking to you about a
role in my next film.”

  In the last five years of having Terry as my agent, most conversations started this way. I’d long learned to roll with it, but as I turned around to face the person who’d greeted me this way, I was momentarily startled.

  Addison fucking Michaels was standing in front of me.

  Holy shit.

  I held out a hand. “Mr. Michaels, it’s great to meet you.”

  His grip was firm. “And you. I should admit, I don’t watch your show, but my wife seems to enjoy it. She said you’re quite good.”

  Well, damn. Thank you, Mrs. Michaels. “Thank you, or uh, thank her.”

  “And you’re interested in Subversive.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I am. It’s a fantastic script, sir.”

  “Thank you, I agree. What role, in particular, are you interested in? I wouldn’t have expected someone with your … current trajectory to find anything of interest in a film like this.”

  “I can see why you would think that,” I agreed. “But I would also argue that roles like Parker don’t come across very often, and it’s the exact type of character that made me want to act in the first place.”

  “What about him appeals to you?”

  “The way I see it, his conflict doesn’t stem from having to be in control, from what I’ve researched, that’s a misnomer for d/s relationships. Instead, the conflict comes from betraying the trust built between them, which is so crucial for people in those arrangements. So he has no problem taking charge, never did, but he struggles with every decision that requires manipulating or lying to her because it goes against everything they’ve had up to this point.”

  “That’s an interesting take.” His expression gave nothing away, so I could only hope I hadn’t completely misread between the lines in the script. Knowing how much this meant to Addison, if I’d missed the mark, it would be hard to convince him to give me a chance at the role.

  Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I looked over to find Tiffany gesturing at me.