After all, there are certain things that you go through in life that force you to grow up quicker than you’d like.
A shudder curls up my spine but I grit my teeth, forcing the memory away. I haven't thought of that in so long . . .
I can’t afford to let the pain rise again now.
Eric twists back toward the waitress before she can saunter away. “You heard the man, we’re all about to crumble into dust. I think we need some more liquor at this table to feel alive again!
I suppress a groan, rolling my eyes. This time I can’t blame the booze on Eric. This is my fault for hounding him about getting older. The piece of eye candy lays the tray she’s carrying on the table, taking her time in bending over as far as possible.
“What poison have you got this time, sweetheart?” Eric asks as she passes out the shots.
He can’t keep his eyes off of her, his fingers wandering toward her as though he’s fighting with every inch of his body not to touch her.
She grins widely, rotating her body toward Eric as she passes out the shots. I don’t miss the way the curve of her full breast brushes his shoulder. She bats her eyes, her makeup thick and brightly visible even through the dark and smoky air of the club.
“Whiskey,” she purrs, eyeing him seductively.
It’s probably top shelf, the expensive stuff in crystal bottles that only gets purchased by high-rollers once or twice a year. Even though I’ve already paid for bottle service, I have no doubt this was going to be an extra ludicrous charge. Too bad the poor girl is going to be disappointed when she finds out Eric isn’t as generous with his purse strings as he is with the sinful looks. She’s hitting on the wrong guy, not that her bedroom eyes would affect me the same way it does him.
The woman is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. I’m sure most of the guys who come here have noticed her and pined for her, just like Eric.
He’s so into her that it’s almost embarrassing. He wets his lips, greedy eyes following the curves of her body. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to get her to sit down on his lap, though I guess even Eric knows his limits.
Even as lustful as he is, he surely knows she’s just flirting to get a better tip.
Unfortunately for her, some side boob and false lashes just won’t do it for me. I slaved my way through my expensive college tuition working multiple jobs. Freshman year I was a waiter so I know the struggle of doing whatever you can to get more tips firsthand.
The cocktail waitress has been attentive and friendly enough to get a good tip, but she’s not going to get the massive one she normally gets by flirting with the customer.
It’s not her. It’s just that I’m not the type of guy who goes for the flashiest woman in a room. I much prefer women who are confident enough in themselves not to wear bright red lipstick, tiny shorts, and pounds of makeup. I don’t want to see every inch right off the bat.
It’s not like I don’t see the appeal. I certainly get why Eric is drooling right now, it’s just not what I prefer.
I want to peel back the layers of clothes, revealing everything beneath with tantric slowness. Time is precious and I like to savor the moment when it’s right.
“Donovan, whiskey’s your favorite!” Eric says firmly, lifting his brows. “It’s like in your blood or something.”
I get it. He’s trying to make sure I’m going to pay for these ridiculously expensive shots. He just doesn’t want to say so in front of the pretty lady.
I have to resist rolling my eyes. Even though I’m running a fledgling nonprofit on the side, I’m still the most well-off guy here. Eric is the only one still living a teenage pipe dream. The rest of our friends are accountants or lawyers or the like, but I’m still the one making it big.
“For the last time, Eric. I’m not Irish. I’m Italian.” I gaze levelly over at my friend, daring him to argue.
Naturally, he does just that. “Italian, Irish, they both start with I, but don’t revolve your whole life around it.” Eric chuckles, though it’s more of a snort. He gets prophetic when he’s drunk. When one of our friends groans, Eric leans over toward him. “Get it? I? Don’t revolve your whole life around yourself? Donovan’s good at that, isn’t he?”
“Eric, if you have to explain a joke, that means it isn’t funny,” I grumble, wishing I could go back in time and take back his words for him.
Maybe I could get the waitress to whack me over the head hard enough to where I forget the last twenty minutes. She’s beginning to lose interest in us, figuring out that I’m the one who’s supposed to be paying and I’m also the one who’s been immune to her cunning wiles. She stiffens up, lips pursed. She knows she’s wasted enough of her time flirting with us when she could’ve been giving someone more generous her attention.
“Let’s do these shots, gentlemen,” I say finally, making her edge closer to me much to Eric’s discontent. “And I’ll take the bill please.”
“Of course!” she answers quickly. “I’ll go get your check for you.”
Without a second glance at Eric, she briskly sashays away, though he doesn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in me now.
“Are you leaving already?” Eric scoffs, abruptly slamming his shot back down in protest. “We just got here like an hour ago.”
“Some of us have more important things to do with our time than get wasted, Eric. Besides, I have work tomorrow.”
He glowers at me, though it’s more of a playful glare than anything. Our entire friendship is based on a firm foundation of bantering back and forth. It’s what makes us so darn charming—or so we like to believe.
Besides, if I didn't have respect for the guy, I wouldn’t still hang out with him.
Sure, he’s immature and irresponsible, but there’s a kind guy underneath all that. Eric is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. He knows me better than anyone, so he knows when to choose his battles.
Eric finally sighs in defeat. “Alright, alright. But first we do these. Drink up, boys!”
Eric picks up his whiskey and gives an invigorated whoop before knocking back the booze. The rest of us follow suit, chugging the glass of liquor. The first few shots have already dulled my taste buds, though I can still feel the familiar heat of the whiskey as it sears down my throat.
I set the glass down, savoring the slightly smoky taste still lingering behind my lips.
Maybe I do have a bit of Irish in me.
Whiskey always seems to hit the spot. Often, when I close a major deal, I’ll have a glass of Scotch and just relish it for a while all by myself in the peace and quiet of my darkened office.
Work is where I feel most alive, though a break is always nice once in a while. I guess that’s why I’d decided to come out tonight, even though I'd already had a long day in the office.
My eyes wander the bar, skimming over the faces of the people here. It’s hard to see through the smoke and the dark. Bodies wind and dance together to the brassy thump of the music, glasses clinking over the buzzing sound of chatter and laughter.
Then, in one single moment, everything seems to instantly stop.
It’s like time has frozen. The bodies, the music, the lone bead of sweat trickling down the nape of my neck . . . Everything screams to a halt when the front door swings open and a woman with the longest legs I’ve ever seen takes one step inside. Stars from outside shimmer down on her head, her ebony hair tumbling over her shoulders as her eyes shift up and down the bar.
Though she’s alone, her chin is lifted, eyes piercing through the hazy shadows. I can’t see what color they are from here but I can tell they’re piercing. They’re the kind of eyes that can see right through you. She strides forward like she owns the place, each long step making her hips sway. One of her hands glides effortlessly into the back pocket of her tight jeans. Dark hair, sleek as a raven’s wing, coils past her shoulders.
Now that is a gorgeous woman.
Eric’s elbow finds my ribs, making me jump. I shoot him a glare, concentration broken.
&
nbsp; “You like what you’re seeing?” he teases, bleary-eyed from the alcohol and the fact that the waitress keeps circling us like a shark.
She’s clinging to the check, hoping if the whiskey hits us hard enough I’ll buy another round. I applaud her effort. She’d probably do well as a saleswoman in my company. But if Eric wants more top-shelf liquor, he’s going to have to buy it for himself. I’ve found something else to occupy my evening.
“Actually, I do like what I see,” I answer shortly, eyes narrowing back on the woman who’d just entered the room. “She’s the sexiest woman in this bar.”
Eric clicks his tongue in disagreement though he doesn’t say anything. He’s way more into women like the waitress, with her pouty glossed lips and cleavage-baring shirt. He wants to know exactly what he’s putting his hands on before he does. I love the mystery more.
In dark-wash jeans, this woman isn’t dressed skimpily by any means, though that doesn’t stop her from being stunning as hell. It doesn’t hurt that I can all but feel her confidence from here. She doesn’t shy into the shadows of the bar, coyly avoiding the open stares of not only myself but just about every other man here tonight. Instead, she seems to just soak up the attention while simultaneously managing to ignore it completely.
The dark-haired beauty leans over the bar counter, her elbows resting on the wood. She smiles faintly as she speaks, brushing her hair from her bare shoulders. Like her jeans, her off the shoulder shirt is so form fitting it could be painted on to her flawless body. I want to run my hands over the soft fabric, dipping my fingertips under the hem to feel the warmth of her skin below.
A man approaches her, running a hand through his hair. I can tell from across the room that he’s so nervous his knees are probably knocking together. If I was anything like the rest of the men here tonight, I might be unnerved by the sight of her, too. But I’m nothing like any of them. I’m successful, handsome and obscenely wealthy.
I’m not being arrogant; I’m just stating honest facts.
Not only have I been glorified for my commercial successes, but I’ve also been featured in numerous sexiest bachelor campaigns—always for charity of course—as well as those irritating fundraisers where dates with me are auctioned off. I’m always one of the most sought-after men of the night.
I could have any woman I choose, so why would I need to be apprehensive about approaching one? It’s not like anyone’s ever told me no. Anyone can tell with one look at me just how lucky they are to have my attention.
I turn my coveted attention back to the mystery woman at the bar. She turns slightly away as the man approaches her, pointedly ignoring him. When his fingers brush over her toned arm, she whips toward him and narrows her eyes. Her mouth moves though I can’t make out the short sentence she says. Whatever it is, it sends the poor guy backpedaling. His face glows red and it’s not from any of the overhead lights. Her rebuff of his advances is swift and undoubtedly ice cold.
It makes me like her even more.
Dejected, the poor guy shoves his hands in his pockets and retreats.
Eric bursts into laughter beside me, shaking his head. “Did you guys see that? She shot him down hard. You don’t have a chance in hell, Donovan. I’m calling it now. You’re going to wind up back here with your tail between your legs.”
“You really think a girl can resist this?” I smirk, gesturing at myself and only half kidding. “Please, she’ll melt into a puddle of lust before I can even finish offering to buy her a drink.”
“Alright, big shot, let’s see it.”
I return Eric’s challenging smirk. “And I was just thinking that this night would be a boring one. But it looks like I’ve got some entertainment.”
Eric laughs. “Man, how did you manage to fit that over-confident ego through the door?”
“Having money helps,” I reply sarcastically.
I smirk at him, running my fingers over my black tie and adjusting it so it lays flat against my chest. I’m still in my expensive suit, custom made and tailored just for my body. It hugs my muscled figure perfectly, accentuating broad shoulders and thick legs.
I start to climb to my feet, casting one more look at my friends. “I guess I’ll see you later, boys. You can think of me while you’re back at home doing whatever dull things you do. I’ll be doing some fun things of my own . . .”
The guys chuckle, making Eric pointedly rolls his eyes. “So when I make a lame joke, you all groan like I’ve just insulted the queen of England or something, but when he makes a lame joke you remember how to laugh?”
Money helps, I want to say again, but I’m too absorbed in my mission.
As if she can feel me watching her, the mystery woman straightens and turns just slightly so she can peer over her shoulder, her eyes finding me across the dark room.
Her gaze is electrifying, making my lungs freeze like blocks of concrete in my chest. Fire, more intense than any sip of liquor I’ve ever tasted, surges through my veins. I don’t know anything about this woman. I don’t know her name, her job, her eye color. Hell, I don’t even know if she speaks English. What I do know, however, is that I want her. I want her bad.
Bad enough to do anything to get her.
Chapter 2
Chloe
“Ouch,” the bartender chuckles, glancing at the defeated-faced stranger slinking down the bar before handing over my margarita. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Nope,” I shrug, passing him a few bucks for the drink and then heading toward the table where my friends are waiting.
Stacy and Morgan both grin at me, scooting over to let me squeeze up against the edge of the small table. It’s packed in Club Thorn tonight, but my roommates just love going to the trendiest bars in town. If there’s a crowd, they have to go find out why. I’m pretty sure Morgan was able to score us access through her modeling buddies. Clubs are always eager to get those gorgeous girls inside their doors.
Unlike my friends, I’m much more low-key. Haunting the most happening spots in Manhattan isn’t my norm, but sometimes a girl just needs a night out with the ladies—especially when my stomach is practically in my throat with nerves over the prospects of my new job.
Tomorrow is the day. I finally get to start working for Dunn Advertising. I’ve only wished to be a member of their staff for, oh I don’t know—ever!
I still can’t believe I managed to swing the job offer. I’ve been walking on cloud nine since I got the call from the company’s HR department. Sure, I’m only a temp and it may only be as a secretary, but sometimes you have to take what you can get! A foot in the door is a foot in the door all the same.
“Two minutes here and you’re already getting hit on,” Stacy says, rolling her eyes so her mascara painted lashes lift toward the ceiling.
“Oh please! Like you two haven’t had guys all over you since you got here?”
I can feel the eyes of men all around the club sizing us up, trying to figure out which of us they can cajole into taking them home for the night. I hate the whole bar-hookup scene.
Can’t a girl just get some romance once in a while instead of a tacky pickup line about ‘Netflix and Chill’? What happened to going out to nice restaurants or afternoon picnics or even to a real cinema for a movie?
Is that really too much to ask for these days?
Then again, I’ve never really been too interested in the dating scene to begin with. I have better things to spend my time on, including getting a permanent position at Dunn Advertising.
Morgan pouts. “I guess we’ve had a few guys come by the table, but it’s been like a whole ten minutes since anyone offered to buy me a drink.”
“Oh heavens no, you’ve had to actually purchase something yourself?” I tease back, making the gorgeous girls roll their eyes and giggle.
I love both my roommates, but they are definitely two sides of the same boy-obsessed coin.
“That dude at the bar would’ve definitely bought your margarita if you let him. I
don’t know why you’re so obtuse about it,” Morgan continues. “What’s the harm in letting someone buy you a drink or two?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Obtuse?”
Morgan grins. “What? I know big words.”
Stacy laughs. “That word-of-the-day toilet paper is the best thing you ever bought, Chloe.”
This makes us all laugh. After we settle down, I pinch the thin straw of my margarita between my lips and take a slow drink. It’s the perfect blend of tangy lime and bitter tequila. Say what you will about how elite Club Thorn is, but they had some banging drinks. I take another sip before answering.
“The harm in being obtuse, Morgan, is that men expect something from you when they buy you things, and I don’t want to owe anyone anything.”
“That’s our Miss Independent,” Stacy says with a sigh.
“You’re damn right I’m independent,” I answer firmly, smirking despite the fact that I don’t believe either of my friends were trying to compliment me.
Independence is something I value more than anything. I’ve never had anyone else to rely on, even while I was growing up. My parents were in and out of my life, only offering me the bare minimum they had to until I turned eighteen.
I was practically living on my own by the time I started high school. I couch hopped a lot, staying over at friends’ houses as long as I could before wearing out their fridges and my welcome. I was lying about my age on job applications by the time I turned fifteen, claiming to be a few years older just so I wasn’t automatically turned away. I’ve always been mature for my age so I was never questioned too much.
I worked anywhere I could—grocery stores, coffee shops and restaurants. Even despite all that, I never let my grades slip. I always wanted to be the best, both at school and at my various jobs. It’s an aspiration I cling to today.
If there was anything that I needed, I learned to work for it.
It was that gritty determination that got me through college. There was only one goal that kept me going during that time of endless odd jobs and piles of college homework—Dunn Advertising.
Cooper: A Clean Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Boyfriend Series Book 2) Page 11