Slamming my door behind me, I know I’m being childish, but I’m soaked down to my underwear, I fucked up the interview, and at the same time, the bitch behind the desk made me feel like scum.
Jesus, why can’t I ever catch a break?
Dropping to my knees beside my bed, I drag out my beat-up laptop and shuck off my shoes, collapsing onto the mattress.
My room, unlike the rest of the house, is immaculate, with everything put away and tidy. I hate clutter. That’s partly why the state of the house gets me so pissed off.
Mom never liked mess. I used to keep it tidy for her when she got sick, and now that she’s gone, it’s like no one else even tries anymore. Every piece of garbage strewn throughout the house is like a “fuck you” to her memory.
I listen to my brothers’ voices through the floor. They’re probably bitching about my attitude, but I couldn't care less at this point.
I open my browser, typing ‘Gray Jones’ into the search bar.
Immediately, several articles pop up about the guy. He’s well known in New York, famous for his nightclubs, which are high-end, exclusive, and have an elite guest list. He’s someone that Flynn has admired for most of his adult life. Jones runs the kind of clubs my brother wants to own someday.
Gray’s picture is included in most of the articles. He’s chiseled and achingly good-looking, with dark hair that’s a little on the longer side, the top left messy and textured while the sides are trimmed close. He also has incredible piercing blue eyes. I look through several of the sites, but I never catch him smiling; he looks like a model posing in a photo shoot, even when he’s been caught leaving restaurants with various women.
I’m surprised when I read the captions beneath the photos and learn that most of the women he’s pictured with are his sisters.
Jesus, the guy nearly has as many siblings as I do.
I wonder why a person like him would sign on with Sterling House. Surely all he would need to do is walk into one of his clubs and crook a finger. He’d have women falling all over themselves to fuck him.
I google the address of his corporate office.
So, Pippa doesn’t think I’m this guy’s type? We’ll just fucking see about that.
Chapter 6
Gray
Isit at the head of a large conference table, watching my CFO, Devan Chase, run through the endless charts from last quarter.
As I try not to fall asleep at the sound of his droning voice, I can feel my phone vibrating continually in my pocket.
I swear to god, if my sister texts me one more time about her wedding, I’m gonna blow a gasket.
Devan turns to me, raising his eyebrows for my approval. Even though I have no idea what his question was, I nod sagely, and he turns back to the slides.
I know I should care about what he’s telling me, but I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but the arrows all pointing up. The profits have been through the roof this year, and as we enter into March, I’m extremely pleased with my team and their progress.
I can’t letthemknow that, of course, I have to keep them on their toes. But, my god, I never thought that we would have such a solid run. Even my new club,Syndicate, which has only been open for two years, is turning a profit. I haven’t told Devan yet, but I’m already thinking of pushing my expansion plans up a notch.
Finally, the presentation wraps up, and I suppress a heavy sigh. This meeting could have been an email. I give him a tight smile as my cell vibrates again.
Clenching my teeth, I place my right hand on the table to stop myself from diving into my pocket and telling my sister to go to hell.
“Gray?”
I look up at my Head of Operations. “Sorry, Fran, what was that?”
“I was just asking if you wanted me to run through the recruitment numbers. We’ve had some staffing issues with one of the clubs on the east side, but I’ve come up with a possible solution that I’d like to walk you through.”
“That’d be great, thanks. Is this outside the projections we expected?” I ask.
“Headcount is steady, but we’ve had a lot of part-timers let us down; they flake out or don’t show up at all, so labor costs have jumped up. Let me run through it.”
I love Fran; she never sugarcoats the truth. She knows that I want to be aware of what’s happening in my clubs, both good and bad.
