“She’s not here,” Nicholas said shortly, and the man eyed him in disapproval.
“That’s too bad.”
Fucking unbelievable. He was getting judged by someone who worked in a kitchen?
When he got back to the office, he had a follow-up meetingwith HR. They wanted to review his progress and discuss “what he’d learned.” Remembering what Jay had said, he swallowed back his true feelings and parroted a bunch of nonsense about growing as a person that Meghana and her lackey seemed to eat right up.
With no Jay to drive home, he scheduled a client dinner he’d been putting off with a tech executive. This one, young and edgy—he’d self-described as an iconoclast—wanted to sample the local bar scene, so they went to The Shack, which was basically a dive bar that lived with its very rich parents. It was the sort of place he tended to avoid at all costs.
Nicholas ordered a beer and half-listened while the man talked up his business. He still wasn’t sure what his company did exactly, but their CEO was convinced that they were going to be the next unicorn. The way he was pounding back hard seltzer wasn’t helping his fluency. When he pushed back from the table with a belch and excused himself to the bathroom Nicholas tried not to roll his eyes, turning away from the table to scan the crowd as he took a deep swallow of stout.
“Nick?” a man’s voice said in his ear. “Hey man, how’s it hanging? Long time, no see.”
Nicholas turned, and found himself staring into the face of his ex-friend. Shock was quickly eclipsed by anger and disdain. He picked up the half-empty bottle again, taking a heavy draught. “Probably because you got me sent to jail.”
Jake’s eyebrows drew together, briefly disconcerted, and then he laughed. It annoyed Nicholas that his laugh sounded exactly the same, horsey and loud. “Yeah, because you fucking punched me, Beaucroft.”
“And you deserved it,Van Hoff. Payback’s a bitch, or so I’m told.” His attention shifted, flicking between the muffled musicand ambient bar chatter. “That seat’s taken.”
Jake’s smile flickered. He’d already started to sink down on the executive’s vacated stool. “What are you doing here? I thought this place was too good for you.”
“My client felt like slumming.” He set down his bottle. “What areyoudoing here?”
“Me? I’m a regular. Though now that I’m a kept man, I don’t get out as much.”
“Good for you.”
“Don’t you want to know who?” Jake asked, his voice sly.
“I really don’t care who you’re fucking.” Nicholas glanced in the direction of the bathrooms and then away. “I’m not in the mood to catch up, either.”
“That’s right, I hear you’ve become a real family man ever since Jay came back home. Wining and dining charities for little children—that’s real nice. She was always really into that charity shit, wasn’t she? I remember you used to make fun of her for it. Saint Justine, I think is what you used to call her. Though I’ve never seen a saint with tits like that.”
“How’s working for your washed-up uncle going? I heard your dad drop-kicked you to the curb like some deadbeat after losing his last election. Must suck to suck.”
“You haven’t changed at all.” Jake laughed again, but this time there was a nasty edge to it. “You always did act like you were better than the rest of us, but you and I have more in common than you think. Remember that, the next time you decide to go full psycho for your hot sister.”
“Don’t think I won’t throw you through that fucking window,” said Nicholas.
Jake flipped him off with a nasty smirk, though not,Nicholas noted with sardonic amusement, before stepping hastily out of reach. “See you around, Nicky. Tell Saint Jay I said hi.”
A growl built in his throat as the other man turned away. But he could see the executive making his way back across the floor, still fumbling with the zipper of his tailored pants.That little fuck, he thought, unsure whether he meant Jake, the executive, or everyone in this whole fucking bar.
“We’re leaving,” Nicholas said, as soon as the drunken executive was in hearing distance. “Email me your decision Monday or don’t bother.”
By the time he got home from the man’s hotel, he was bristling with irritation. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa in the den, working his tie loose one-handed. He unbuttoned his shirt but left it hanging open as he poured himself a glass of wine and started to reach for another glass before remembering—she isn’t here. His dark mood plummeted and he opened his phone, scrolling until he got to the photo that he’d made her send him last night.
She was sitting in an ugly blue chair (blue chair for the blue jay, he thought), and the top she was wearing had frayed straps. Her face was bare and she was looking at the camera with an expression he was well familiar with, and he knew she’d sent it to him exactly like this just to prove a point, but he undid his pants anyway, sliding his hand into his open fly with a weary sigh.
You make her laugh—his brow furrowed as his head tipped back—but I make her come.
But was that enough? God, even that little fuck Van Hoff had found someone to warm his dick at night.
Just once, he would have liked for her to loosen up rather than constantly making him work for it. Fuck if he wasn’timagining Jay with those frayed straps dangling around her arms and her dark nipples peeking through the loose curls of her hair. Touching herself. A hint of frustration in those big hazel eyes. Hot for him and ready to beg for it.
Yes, Daddy? Do you want me?
Nicholas shuddered violently and then swore as the seeping warmth of his own come soaked through the wool of his dress pants to kiss his thighs. “Fuck.” He leaped up from the chair so suddenly that he spilled wine on both himself and the carpet. “Fuck! Goddammit.”
