Chapter 2
JASON
For the last couple of years, I’ve been helping my brother, Jack, with his company. At first, it was just with his clients. He's not what we would call a “people person,” or “friendly,” or “gives enough shits to have manners sometimes.”
That’s where I come in. I’m like his spokesperson or his professional wingman—swooping in to seal the deal and make him look like an empathic billionaire.
He has a lot of rules when it comes to working for him.
Said rules have come in handy with my own clients and business deals. But regardless, there’s still a little thing called common sense. And common sense says if I want people to trust me, I should probably not look like a womanizer while trying to close a deal.
My public image starts and ends with the shit that comes out of my mouth—including whatever my breath happens to smell like the morning after putting it to good use. Breath mints come in handy to remedy that.
Jossie would argue more than they probably need to. But like I said, my mouth needs to be in top form. Which also means my version of small talk leaves out or ignores phrases like “What do you have planned after our meeting?”
Tonight, I’ve been pretty patient and discreet while having a business dinner. Even when there’s a bombshell redhead by the bar with legs for days. I’ve only snuck a glance in her direction when I’m sure no one’s looking. So exactly three times.
But hey, my research is as thorough as it is brief.
“I think we're set,” Mr. Smith, my soon to be new business associate says, finishing his drink. “Please, have your lawyer send me the contract.”
“You'll have it first thing in the morning,” I say as I offer him a handshake. “It's a pleasure having you on board.”
“By the way,” Mr. Smith adds. “Let’s meet to talk about your brother’s company. I heard he's going public.”
I smile blankly. There’s no reason to tell him that it’s just another fucking rumor. My brother doesn't like to share. I walk Mr. Smith toward the exit where I shake his hand one more time, pat his shoulder, and watch him as he leaves.
I sigh when he’s out of sight. Biggest fucking deal of the year and it went smoothly. I hope. We’ll see if that holds up after he looks over the contract.
Jason Spearman: Send the Smith contract. He’s on board.
Fitz Everhart: It’s almost midnight.
Jason Spearman: Oops, I didn’t notice. Goodnight.
I grin after I hit send and put away my phone. I head back toward the bar to go talk up that redhead who's been driving me crazy for the past couple of hours. I want a taste of her.
She leans forward when I get to her. Her palms rest on the wood bar, as a bartender sets a martini glass in front of her — two olives held by a toothpick float in the clear liquid.
“Evening,” I say to no one in particular and then signal the bartender. “Give me your top shelf scotch on the rocks.”
I give the redhead a subtle smile.
“Hey there,” she says, a hint of a grin shows stretching her plump lips. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to come and join me.”
I slide onto the stool next to her, finally looking at her. Her emerald eyes stare at me hungrily. I’m interested enough that despite the blatant invitation I can see in her eyes, an invitation that would normally diminish her appeal, it doesn’t turn me off.
Once the bartender serves my drink, I raise my glass to her in a silent toast, then I toss it back in one swallow. She flashes a smile, following suit but only taking a sip of her drink. I can appreciate that.
“You waited quite a while,” I state, signaling the bartender for another drink. “I feel like I owe you something.”
She licks her lips, takes her purse with her, and motions toward the back of the restaurant. “My place is near.” She dangles a pair of keys. “Let me go and freshen up before we head out.”
I tap my second glass of scotch. “I’ll be waiting.”
As she saunters away, I watch her luscious curves. My gaze stops when I spot a table close to the bar where an older couple is getting ready to leave.
He’s helping her with her coat. I wonder how long they’ve been together. If they’ve always been this happy. If they ever ripped each other apart so bad they didn’t come back together quite the same way.
I wonder if he ever came home to an empty house and whether or not he wondered if she’d ever come back to him.
What was it about her that made him believe that love exists?
“Ready?” Red says, standing right beside me. I have no idea when she got back or how long I’ve been staring at these people.
“Have been since the moment I saw you,” I say, not really to her. But if she hears and assumes I mean her, then who am to spoil her fun?
Her eyes crinkle. This is the part where she says something charming and I think, hey, maybe she’s something special. Until I’m on a bed somewhere balls deep in her tight pussy wondering what I should have for lunch tomorrow.
When did sex get so tedious?
I look at the old couple again. After eight fucking years, it finally sinks in. I don’t think I ever had the kind of relationship that makes a successful marriage with Greta.
We Spearmans are fucking unlucky when it comes to love. Greta made sure I didn’t break that tradition. But thank fuck, I didn’t have to go any further than the altar she left me on.