If Tenor and I were dating for real, he might be someone I could talk to about my dad. Or he might think it was a sign I had daddy issues and that was why I was insanely attracted to an older man.
No, I wouldn’t mention my dad.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ruby
My stomach had been a ball of nerves all night. I was staying with Tenor tonight. I hadn’t talked to him all week. Other than legitimate emails about advertising budgets and which influencers I could negotiate with, there’d been no contact all week.
It was half an hour before closing when Brock walked through the door.
Why was he here? I looked behind him. “Where’s Cara?”
He sniffed as he looked around, his lips turned down. “I’m supposed to fill out papers for the wet bar at our wedding.”
“Oh.” I glanced around, but I already knew there’d been no contract left behind. Why didn’t they have him do it online? “I can message Teller real quick and see where I can find them?—”
“It’s your boyfriend.” Brock’s frown deepened.
“Tenor?”
“Do you have more than one?”
He lashed out when he was irritated. In the time we had dated, I had often been the target. Why had I stayed with him after I had realized that?
Maybe I did have daddy issues. “Tenor’s more than enough.”
He made a disgusted noise, but his gaze stroked down my body. I wore a tighter shirt than normal, but the pale yellow paired nicely with my dark hair. Purely coincidental and not at all because I liked when Tenor’s gaze roamed over my body. My black skirt hung looser and was twirlier than the one I’d worn last weekend. I’d buy more skirts if there was a chance to have Tenor’s warm hands on my legs again.
The door from the lobby opened and Tenor entered. His hard gaze landed on Brock and his eyes narrowed.
His pickup had been in the lot the whole evening, then a couple of hours ago, he’d left. He’d returned an hour later but hadn’t come into the bar. It wasn’t like I’d been watching the door for my entire shift, hoping he’d hang out with me for a while. Thankfully, I’d had a couple of four-tops and a smattering of couples to take my mind off his absence.
Tenor stalked toward us, weaving around the tables as if he couldn’t just stomp on one and crush it. “Brock. Thanks for coming.” His tone was flat.
He came around the bar and stopped next to me, putting his hand on my back. I leaned into his touch. Funny how a week had felt longer when I’d been waiting for another moment just like this.
“I’m in the area, thanks to myfiancée.” Brock brushed a palm over his hair. “Surprised you’re not with the times.”
“We are.” Tenor made circles with his thumb on my back. “Have a seat.”
Brock cocked his head. “I could’ve signed electronically.”
I might’ve just been wondering the same thing, but I wanted to growl at Brock for dissing Copper Summit and Tenor along with it.
“Yep. You could’ve.”
Brock and I both waited, expecting Tenor to elaborate. He didn’t, and I bit back a smile. Brock sat, annoyance scrawled over his fine features. He danced his fingers over the collar of his sharp pewter dress shirt, and the arrogance was back in place.
Tenor grabbed the bar’s tablet and poked around, pulling up documents. He started rattling off cancellation policies and the types of drinks—bourbon only—we’d serve. I was about to leave when Tenor started covering media policy, outlining what the distillery would and wouldn’t take pictures of, what the media release entailed, and how much of a discount the couple would get if they agreed.
Had Tenor asked Wynter about that? Wedding events didn’t fit her usual themes of bold, original, and family. Excitement started taking hold. Would I be able to take some of the images? I looked forward to working the wedding rather than attending.
I lingered long enough for Brock to succumb to the generous discount and sign, then left them to clean up newly empty tables. I spied on them as best I could. Tenor didn’t offer Brock a drink or wait on him in any other way. Tenor’s low voice rumbled. He was professional but also disassociated. Brock could slam his fist on the table and tell him there was no way Copper Summit would serve one drop at his wedding and Tenor acted like he wouldn’t care.
Brock fidgeted as if his annoyance would tear out of his skin, and while I was washing glassware and restocking, I got a front-row view. He was used to being treated like a VIP. In his father’s company, he was almost the boss. In Bourbon Canyon, he was an outsider. Someone who had to prove himself. And if push came to shove, he’d likely fail.
My night massively improved.
