by TC Matson
He looks down at himself. “You think? I feel like I’m attending a funeral in it.”
Black shirt. Black pants. I agree with him.
She leans in closer to him and whispers something in his ear. Whatever it was has his eyes flashing wide, and he licks his lips. “I’ll be off in an hour. They shift us around on the weekends.”
Her face pinches in confusion. “I’ve never heard of a bar rotating their bartenders.”
“Tonight, James and I came in at five. We’ll get off at eleven. The other two bartenders will work from eleven to three. Tomorrow, we switch.” He shrugs. “The tips are balanced that way. I like it.” He bends to her ear, his lips moving against her skin as he whispers something.
See? Invisible.
“I’m heading to the bathroom,” I say as I slide out of the booth.
I wash my hands and dry them before pushing out of the bathroom. Immediately, I slam against a solid frame.
“Oh!” I gasp, losing my balance and stumbling backward.
A hard grip lands on my shoulder and steadies me. Deep and dark, catastrophic brown eyes smile at me.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” I stammer.
His chiseled face shifts, his lips pulling up into a sinful smile. “No need to apologize,” he says, keeping his hand on my shoulder. “Are you good? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
His voice is deep and sexy, his eyes steely but in a confident way. He’s hot, super fricking hot.
“Only my pride.” I scrunch my face before flashing a smile. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
There’s a familiarity about him, but I can’t place my thumb on it. I know I’ve seen him before, and I’m not talking about resembling the starring image in my fantasies. I feel like I should know him, and with a handsome face like his, there’s no way I should forget it.
When he takes his hand away and moves it for me to shake, I immediately want its warmth back. “I’m Zachary.”
“Zoey.” His hand envelopes mine, squeezing gently.
“That’s a beautiful name.” His eyes narrow with titillating intent and I all but want to throw myself against him. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
My cheeks are on fire.
“Can I buy you a drink?” His voice is deep and husky, burning desire into my core.
“Sure,” I reply a little breathless.
Garret hasn’t made it back from Britney as we slide up to the bar. “Do you like shots?” he asks and I nod. “Hard or soft?”
I blink up to him, feeling aroused by his choice of words. “Hard.” I bite my lip.
He watches my mouth with a raised brow, and then licks his lips before ripping his gaze away and ordering two shots of tequila.
I slam it back, the liquid setting fire to my throat as courage drips into my soul. He asks what I’m drinking and orders it, but when the bartender slides it over, Zachary holds it hostage, moving it closer to him.
“I just bought you a drink, which means you have to come back to my table and drink it with me.”
Oh, he’s a sly dog.
I rock back on my heel and rest my hand on my hip. “Is that so?”
“Chapter nine, article four-point seven page ninety-eight: Who receives said bought drink must enjoy it with the buyer.” He spreads his arms to the side, grinning like the charmer he is. “It’s written.”
I purse my lips. “Do you have said handbook?”
His lips tug up victoriously. “I do at my table.”
Oh, he’s good.
I puff a giggle. “Then lead the way.”
Satisfaction is all over his handsome face as he guides me by the elbow toward an entrance to another room.
“Zoey…” He tastes my name slowly. “Would you happen to work at Langley Security?”
My gait skips and cements me in spot. “Um, yeah?”
He smothers a laugh and flashes a megawatt smile. “Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”
With my elbow in his hand, he starts walking but I tug back. “We need to define fun. Fun can mean anything,” I stammer, afraid he’s got the wrong idea of me.
He shakes his head. “Definitely not what you were just thinking.” He laughs. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this, Zoey.”
Could be the way he says my name, or the sexy spell he’s been utilizing, but something about him I trust. I rub my lips together as I glance around before giving in.
We enter the room, my pulse high from the wariness of the unknown, the uncertainty pushing my curiosity. There are several tables lining a long wall of connecting black leather booths. TVs are hanging everywhere, the largest on the far back wall with commentators from Fox News Sports with the captions running the ticker below them.
We turn the corner into a smaller room tucked off the side and my heart leaps to the back of my throat.
Easton Langley…
Suddenly, the face of Zachary registers.
“Oh my god,” I stop, turning my back toward Easton to hide my face. “You’re Zachary Calloway. I knew I recognized you.”
A deep rumble vibrates his throat. “The one and only.”
“I’m not going over there,” I say. “It’ll be awkward.”
“Aw. Play with me, Zoey,” he whines super sexily. “This will be fun. Go with it.”
“Awkward is your definition of fun? Please tell me how.”
He grins. “Trust me,” he whispers with a wink.
I give in. What for? The hell if I know.
Easton’s grinning at a brunette with a little pink shirt holding down her boobs when we approach. He glances up to Zachary before shifting his view to me. Instantly, his face freezes, surprise widening his green eyes, and his smile melts away forming a straight line.
“This is Zoey,” Zachary introduces me straight-faced and pulls out my seat.
My nerves are through the roof, a tremble running the length of my body.
Easton shifts, removing his arm from around the woman. “Zoey.” He nods, his voice firm, before glaring at Zachary.
Zachary looks smug as he hangs his arm over the back of my chair and leans in close. “I seem to have misplaced the handbook,” he whispers with his mouth next to my ear.
Easton’s jaw juts as he clenches it. Anger begins to highlight the outer edge of his green irises. He’s not as cool and collected as he normally is. Instead he’s rigid and tense.
I swallow, hoping like hell Zachary knows what he’s doing, and then grin to him. “Guess I have to take your word for it.” My voice quivers slightly.
He tips his beer. “Trust me. If it isn’t in there, I’ll make sure to have it added before you read it. Tell me, Zoey. What do you do for a living?” His expression is cunning, his tone deliberate.
Something in Easton switches—his edges rounding off as the tenseness dilutes into interest. He traps me with an amused gaze, staring at me over his glass.
I’m confused by the look and the feeling of it all. It’s as if he’s miserable I’m sitting here, proprietorially watching me. It sends a frisky rush through me to play Zachary’s game.
“I recently was hired as an executive assistant, but soon gopher and personal delegator were added to my duties.” I hear the words I’m saying but am surprised at my brazenness. I’m making myself squirm under the skin.
Zachary’s brows knit together. “When you say gopher…” he circles his hand insinuating for me to elaborate.
I shrug. “As of late, I pick up dry cleaning, organize home maintenance, order lunch and dinners. I’m a personal concierge outside my professional duties.”
Zachary grunts. “Sounds like a shit boss. Has to be a lazy dickhead. I mean, I own my business and do all my private affairs myself. I’ve never asked my assistant to bring me coffee. I’ve got two legs. I can do it myself.”
“Even if she offers to do it for you?” Easton grumbles, challenging his friend.
“Actually, I want to do it,” I interject.
Zachary
’s eyes narrow. “The dude still sounds like a lazy asshole.”
I choke on my drink as a giggle bursts from me. Easton’s mirth is jaded, his eyes skipping between Zachary and me.
“I don’t think he’s lazy. He works too much and too hard to be,” I say.
“Wait.” Easton jerks, sitting up and leaning an elbow on the table. “But you think he’s an asshole?” Solemnness laces his expression.
I can’t tell if he’s playing the victim or seriously sincere. “As he’s said, he has good and bad days just like everyone else.”
“But do you not try lifting his spirits?” he asks and it’s there, somewhere mixed in the question, his acknowledgment and appreciation that I do.
I tilt my head. “Yes, even when he’s being a dickhead.”
I cringe inwardly, certain it’s the alcohol making me brave.
Zachary drops his head back and barks a hefty laugh. “Max is going to hate he missed this shit.” He nudges me. “I know for a fact your boss is a dickheaded prick.”
Easton laughs as do I.
Zachary tips his head to the side. “So, this is your Zoey…” he asks Easton.
His Zoey?
The curve on Easton’s lips is mischievous and he glances to me when he nods. The proud possessiveness it holds sends a shiver down my spine and causes a cold chill.
My phone chirps and I slide it out of my pocket.
Britney: Did you fall in?
Me: No. I’ll be there in a second.
Shoving it back into my pocket, I glance to Zachary. “I’m curious. How’d you know who I was?”
There’s a split-second glimpse to Easton before he answers. “I’ve never heard the name until you started working for him.”
“But it’s a common name,” I say, questioning him.
He flashes a lopsided smile. “As I stated before, beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Easton and I share a stare and it overwhelms my senses. Electricity crackles my spine, tickling the muscles around it. The feeling—a swirling stagger—is intense, but is interrupted by big boobs in the pink shirt when she rests her chin on his shoulder and says something.
His body tenses…
And it reminds me he’s my boss.
I shove to my feet. “Thanks for the drinks, but I need to get going,” I stammer. “Do you want me to leave it here since it’s nullifying article four point seven?”
He tips his beer at me with a smirk. “Take it. It’s my thank you for running into me and making my night.” He winks.
“Thank you,” I smile. I’m barely able to look at Easton when I say, “I’ll see you Monday.”
I rush out with an extra pep in my step from the high of adrenaline and make my way back to the booth where Britney waits for me.
I’m grinning like an idiot bouncing into my seat. “You’re never going to guess what insane thing just happened,” I bubble out and don’t wait for her response. “I ran into Zachary Calloway. The Zachary Calloway. Literally ran into him.” I clap my hands demonstrating. “I apologized and then he bought me a drink.”
“Wait,” she interrupts. “You run into him and he buys you a drink for doing it?”
“Yep,” I chirp. “But that’s not the best part. He took me back to his table and guess who was there?”
Her eyes widen. “Easton Langley?”
I nod.
She slaps her hands over her mouth as she laughs. “Oh, god. Awkward.”
“Completely. But somehow Zachary knew who I was before taking me back. It’s like he was trying to get under Easton’s skin.”
Her brows furrow. “For what?”
I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know. He was shocked, but mad. Does that make sense?”
“Does Easton have a crush on you?” she asks.
I can’t help but laugh. “No. Think about how weird it would be for him if his friend dated his assistant.”
She blinks and tilts her head like I’ve just said the stupidest thing. But she doesn’t have time to respond. Garret appears at the table. “You ready?”
Britney springs to her feet. “Garret said he’d give us a lift home. Our chariot awaits.”
Easton
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rachel bites, anger burning in her eyes.
I deserve it. I’ve worked her over all night, ready to have a wild time, right up until Zach brought over the very woman I’m desperate to get off my mind.
“It’s not a good night for me.” It’s not a total lie.
“You seemed just fine earlier,” she argues. “This is bullshit, Easton.”
“I’ll call you,” I lie, pushing the car door open without bothering to see her in.
She glares at me as she slides past and out the door. “Don’t fucking bother.” She slams the door behind her.
I exhale a chuckle, resting my head back and raking my hands over my face.
Clint rolls down the partition. “Where to?”
“Home.”
He studies me from the rearview mirror. “Bad night, sir?”
He’s been with me close to six years and has been around me almost every day of that. Of course he can tell.
I take a deep cleansing breath. “It’s been a few months.”
Clint doesn’t say anything else until we pull up to the entry of my apartment building. “You’ll figure it out, Langley. You always do. Just make sure it’s the right decision for the right reason.”
I flash a quick weak smile. “Goodnight, Clint.”
The sound of the elevator doors opening into my empty home echoes loudly. I toss my keys on the entryway table directly across and stride down the hall to the kitchen. I pour a glass of bourbon and stand in front of the large sliding glass door. The city of Denver is spread out below me. Lights burn in a steady glow colliding with the darkness of the sky behind it. Tiny vehicles move along tangled lines of streets between the jumbled shapes of the buildings.
I sigh into the night. Rachel isn’t the first woman I’ve blown off and let down. Ashley was so pissed off at me she couldn’t wait to get away and ended up dropping half her shit out her purse and into my car as she bolted.
Why? Because Zoey. She consumes my thoughts and I can’t figure out why. Every time I try to have a good night with someone else, there’s a nagging voice telling me I’m doing wrong. It’s hard to get excited, let alone perform, when the sound of nails on a chalkboard is in your ear.
Seeing her flirting with Zach tonight…that splintered something in my head. It was strange, frightening even. The amount of anger I had for my friend, I couldn’t suppress. Zach’s always been the tester—testing his limits, pushing people to see how far they’ll go. I’ve talked about her plenty and he was trying me, gauging my reaction. Even after Zoey left, I held my tongue, not giving in to his little game.
Me: Did you book my hotel for next week?
Of course I know she did. I read the confirmation, but it’s the only thing I’ve got right now to reach out.
Zoey: Yes. Check your calendar. I added it there.
I chuckle, hearing her voice as if she’s standing in front of me, and then take a slow sip of my bourbon.
Zoey: It’s Saturday night. You should have other things on your mind besides work.
If she only knew.
Me: I wish it were that easy.
Zoey: I’ve got my part handled. Please don’t worry.
Me: It was good seeing you tonight.
Zoey: I hope you know Zachary put me up to that.
Me: You two had an intriguing scheme.
Zoey: He paid me with a drink.
Me: I’m glad we could bring you some joy to your Saturday night. Good night, Zoey.
Zoey: Good night.
I toss my phone to the couch and twist back to the city.
On my way to work this morning, I stopped and grabbed a coffee from the shop down the street from work. While there, I grabbed Zoey a caramel latte, something I overheard her speak about.
&
nbsp; Stepping off the elevator, she’s the first thing I see. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulder, the hot pink shirt causing it to shine brighter. She looks up and smiles.
“Grabbed you something,” I say.
She eyes me dubiously. “What’s this for?”
I smirk. “I was out and thought of you.”
It was faint, but I saw the little gasp. She takes a small sip, her eyes closing, and she hums before her lips twist up with appreciation.
“Your favorite, right?” I ask with a nod.
“How’d you know?”
Again, I smirk. “Good guess,” I say and make my way into my office.
I’m looking over some papers when she steps in. She’s carrying a smile, but there’s something else in her eyes…irritation, maybe?
“Here are your reports.” She hands me the files.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You know I could’ve emailed them to you. You didn’t have to come in right before your flight.”
I rest back in my chair. “Is that so? I appreciate the permission,” I say with laughter.
“I mean…” she swallows her own laugh. “Your flight is in just a few hours. You should’ve slept in or something.”
“Sleeping in? What’s that?”
“Something you should do every Saturday and Sunday. You should try it. It’ll make you feel better.”
I arch a brow. “How would you know if I needed to feel better?”
“Your eyes, sir. They’re tired.”
Her voice is tender, caring, and it tightens a vise in my chest. I nod. “Note to self: try Zoey’s advice.”
She grins, but questions remain.
“Talk,” I say.
Her face pinches. “I’m sorry?”
Leaning up to my desk, I rest my elbows. “Just as much as my tiredness rests on my eyes, apprehension is on yours. What’s on that brilliant mind of yours?”
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing to bother you about, sir.”
“It’s not a bother, more a morbid curiosity now.”
She glances out the window before answering me. “Does it ever get old? All the women throwing themselves at your feet, begging you to be the father of their babies?”