Chapter 2
Troy
“ B ack again, Mr. Gunner?” asked the raven-haired bartender behind the counter.
Her eyes danced in a tango of curiosity and desire. A look I had seen before from pretty women. She handed me a drink menu with a sly smile across her baby pink lips.
“Please, call me Troy,” I said, taking the menu from her as if I needed it.
I already knew what I wanted. It was the same thing I drank most nights.
“I’ll have an old fashioned. The one with the smoked cherry, please.”
“Coming right up,” she said.
I sighed and leaned back in the cognac leather barstool, taking in the view of the nearly empty bar and the short skirt of the bartender that revealed just enough to beg for more. She knew what she was doing.
“Troy?” said a voice behind me.
I turned and saw one of the investment managers from my father’s firm approaching me with a petite platinum blonde on his arm.
“Jeremy,” I said with a nod.
“You here all by yourself?” he asked, looking at the empty seats to my left and right.
“It would seem that way,” I answered.
“Well, I’m sure it won’t be for long,” he said, eyeing the bartender, who had returned with my drink.
“Here you go, Troy,” she said with an emphasis on my first name.
She slid my drink over, smoke still rising from the top in a gray haze. I thanked her and I swore I could somehow hear the smirk that spread across Jeremy’s face as he watched the flirtatious encounter before him. God, the guy was such a prick. I was sure he would report back to my father that I was out at the bar on a Monday night, but it didn’t stop me from taking a long sip of my drink.
I was thirty-eight years old. I didn’t need a babysitter. Although, I was sure my father would disagree. It seemed like he had eyes everywhere filling him in on everything I did, in and out of the office. If they didn’t work for him, it was the press feeding him information on page six.
“Care to join?” I asked somewhat reluctantly, knowing it was the polite thing to do. I didn’t like the guy, but he did work at my father’s firm. And I was a businessman. It was best to keep things cordial.
“Sure. You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?” he asked the girl on his arm.
She shook her head no and sat beside him at the bar.
“So, how are things at your firm?” asked Jeremy as he handed his date a menu. Not bothering to introduce her to me. She would probably be gone by morning. There was no point. Plus, I doubted his wife would be too keen on him introducing his mistress to colleagues.
“Things are good. Busy,” I replied.
The good part was a lie. The busy part was true.
Ever since I branched out from under my father to start my own hedge fund firm, I had been busting my ass trying to prove that I was good enough to do it. Still, it never would have even left the ground if it weren’t my father, and everyone knew that. My firm was a subsidiary under my father’s company, which was one of the most successful investment firms in the country. His legacy was known far and wide, and my reputation as his son who grew up with a silver spoon meant that no one took me seriously.
It didn’t matter that I was the top of my class for my undergrad or for my MBA, I was always going to be seen as the son of Bryson Gunner. The legendary investment banker. He wouldn’t let me forget it either.
Today at work was particularly stressful, which was why I usually ended up here for a drink or two after dinner. Bourbon always mellowed me out after a long day at the office. So did a flirtatious bartender with legs for days.
“Busy is good,” said Jeremy. “It means you’re making money. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” he said, nudging his date.
I wondered if he had forgotten her name or by some off chance her name was actually sweetheart. The thought made me laugh quietly to myself before I took another sip of bourbon.
Jeremy shot me a look, but seemed to let it go as he waved down the bartender.
“We’ll take a cosmopolitan and a double whiskey on the rocks.”
“Coming right up,” said the bartender.
When she walked away, Jeremy’s eyes lingered where every man’s eyes in the place did before he turned to me and wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” he said under his breath.
I gave him a solitaire nod.
“So.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “What’s it like having your own firm? I’ve always wanted to do it myself, but you know, it’s not that easy for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” I asked, and raised a brow.
“You know. Without connections. Not all of us can be the son of Bryson Gunner, you know.”
God. This guy was a prick.
I looked around the bar for some sort of life raft to save me from decking this guy in the face. Something that was tempting, but it would also piss my father off, which was something I was trying to avoid right now. He was still getting over my latest scandal, which was not a big deal. Who wouldn’t want to be photographed with two different women in one night? Two sisters to be exact. Even better, honestly.
Not to my father, though. He kept threatening to take hold of my firm if I didn’t get my act together. There was nothing my father hated more than his image being tarnished, and I wasn’t helping.
“Hey, sorry, man. I didn’t mean to offend you…” said Jeremy without a single note of sincerity.
“You didn’t. I just—”
And that was when I saw her. My life raft.
A petite brunette wearing a sweater dress that hugged every curvy inch had just walked through the door. Her eyes were set on the bar and she walked with a quiet confidence to a seat at the other end of the counter. I watched her hips sway as she moved and how the hem of her dress inched up ever so slightly to the curve of her perfect ass. If I thought the bartender looked good, she now didn’t even hold a candle to this dark-haired beauty.
“I just saw my date walk in,” I lied, barely looking at Jeremy as I picked up my drink and walked over to the newcomer.
Jeremy said something after me, but I couldn’t hear. I didn’t care.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, pointing to the barstool beside the woman.
She turned slowly and looked at me, her caramel brown eyes assessing me. She was even better up close. Her skin was tan and smooth and was only accentuated by the sage green of her dress that hung off her shoulders, drawing my eyes to her collarbones that were begging for my lips to brush against them.
“It’s all yours,” she said casually, going back to reading the drink menu.
I sat down next to her and sipped on my drink, sneaking glances. Each one came up with something else that turned me on. Her lips were pouty and set against her prominent cupid’s bow, making it hard to not wonder what they tasted like. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell across her back, and I wondered if maybe it was black instead of brown.
“See something you like?” she asked, not looking up from her menu.
Shit. I was caught.
“Oh. Uh. Sorry. I was just…”
“What’s good here?” she interrupted my lousy attempt at an excuse for why my eyes kept finding her.
“Their dirty martinis are the best in town,” I said.
“Perfect.” She waved the bartender down.
“I’ll have a dirty martini please. Extra dirty.”
The bartender looked from me to her and nodded curtly. A brief look of disappointment crossed her face before she turned away.
“What’s your name?” she asked, turning toward me.
I did everything I could to not let my eyes wander to the strapless neckline of her dress, which fit snuggly just above her breasts.
“Troy,” I said. “And you are?”
“Monica,” she said, holding out her hand.
I was taken aback by how firmly she shook my hand, and how much it sent a jolt right through me.
“What brings you to the Brasserie tonight?” I asked, leaning back against my seat and looking at her curiously.
“A date from hell,” she answered with a sigh.
I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of unwarranted jealousy for this stranger I had just met, knowing she had been out with another man before this. But I also felt relieved that this meant she was most likely single. Lucky me.
“Tell me about it.”
“Seriously?”
“I could use some entertainment after the day I had.” I shrugged.
Monica groaned. “I need a drink first.”
“Extra dirty martini,” said the bartender right on cue, sliding it over. “Do you want another, Troy?”
Monica gave me a look as I nodded.
“First-name basis, huh?” she asked as the bartender walked away.
“It’s not like that.”
“Mhmm,” she teased before taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes widened slightly. “Wow, this is good.”
“Told ya. Now, tell me about this date.”
She proceeded to tell me about her date with some Joe Schmoe who clearly didn’t know how good he had it. I wondered how she had even been set up with a guy like that. He sounded like a jobless Justin Bieber wannabe. No match for who sat before me.
I listened intently, watching as she talked animatedly. I was hooked. She was a fantastic storyteller.
“I know we just met, but you are far too good for that guy,” I said.
And I meant it. It wasn’t a line.
Her cheeks flushed before she looked down at her drink, which was now bone-dry.
“I think I need another,” she said on a giggle.
I laughed and signaled to the bartender for another.
“I’m starting a new job tomorrow…” admitted Monica, bringing my focus back to her, as the bartender brought over another martini.
“So you want to go hungover?” I asked jokingly.
She gave me a playful shove. As she pulled away, I wished her hand would stay against my chest.
“I’m just nervous,” she said, biting her lip.
That one bite made me hard.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a long sip of her drink.
“Wow, you really are nervous.”
“Just a little,” she admitted, holding up two fingers and pinching them together.
“You know…” I leaned in. “I could help with that.”
“Is that so?” she asked, leaning in, too, our faces just inches apart.
“Mhmm.”
“And how would you do that?” she asked, her eyes intent on mine.
I reached my hand up and cradled her chin between my thumb and index finger, tilting her face up toward mine slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed just as I pressed my lips against hers. Her lips were moist against mine, and tasted salty and sweet as I ran my tongue across them. She let out a little moan and I took the opportunity to explore her open mouth.
She pulled back slightly and looked at me, and her caramel eyes looked as if they had been lit ablaze.
“Your place or mine?” she asked breathlessly.
It was probably the most forward a woman had been with me. No playing hard to get. No games. No coyness. It was straight to the point, and sexy as hell.
“Mine,” I said as I threw a few hundreds on the bar top before taking her hand and leading her to the door, passing an open-mouthed Jeremy on our way out.