Page 13 of Connor

“Can I get you two lovebirds anything else at the moment?” she asks, her tone dripping with fake sweetness and her familiar tone of sarcasm, and at least I know she can be professional while also clearly still not happy with my arrogance from when we were at Sunshine yesterday.

“Oh, you’re too kind,” Bethany gushes, which I know is fake as well.

“I can take a photo of the two of you, if you like? Something to remember the night by?” Daisy offers, and my teeth are gritting together so hard I feel a headache coming.

“Oh, yes, please!” My date jumps up excitedly, and I rub my eyes.

“No photos,” I say, remaining in my seat, putting an end to this charade.

“But you and your wife look so good together,” Daisy pushes, and I look at her with narrowed eyes. She quirks an eyebrow right back. She knows I’m not married, so she’s teasing my terrible date, who practically beams at the comment.

“We do look good together, don’t we, sweetie?” Bethany says, looking at me with big eyes, and I see Daisy roll her own behind her. I don’t blame her; she heard her remark from earlier, I just know it.

“Yeah, sweetie, just one photo,” Daisy baits me.

“Not happening,” I say, looking straight at Daisy.

“Hmmm, a bit like your job offer…” she says, and I can’t help but smirk. I’m going to take it as a good sign that she’s even bringing it up.

“It’s a good deal, Daisy, probably the only one you’re going to get.” I know it isn’t. If I find her brilliant, then someone else will, and as I think about it, I grip my whiskey a little tighter, not liking the thought of anyone else having her.

“You think so little of me, Connor,” she calls my bluff. I’m starting to like this frustrating little game of cat and mouse.

“Ahhh, am I missing something here?” Bethany asks, but we both ignore her.

“Six figures is not so little…” I tell her, giving her an amount to think about. I see when it registers, and she almost trips a little.

“I told you, money isn’t everything.”

The fact that she has a second job tells me that she is, in fact, in need of some money. I appreciate her sticking to her morals, even if they’re totally ridiculous in regard to my offer.

“It sure makes the world a little easier, sweetheart,” I murmur to her, my Southern accent making the endearment sound more condescending than I had intended, and I watch her swallow roughly. She has no comeback for me, and my thoughts on her needing the money seem to have hit a nerve.

“Will there be anything else here for the lovebirds?” she asks, looking between me and my date and effectively ending the conversation.

“We’re all fine for now,” I tell her, and she spins on her heel and walks back to the bar.

Bethany huffs, clearly not happy and feeling left out. “God, you really would think they could get skinnier waitstaff,” Bethany pitches, loud enough for Daisy to hear, and I almost choke on my whiskey.

“What the hell did you just say?” My anger is instant, and she obviously knows she’s said the wrong thing again. Whether it was Daisy or someone else, that kind of commentary on other’s bodies is so unbecoming. I let her earlier remark fly past, but not this one.

“Sorry, it’s just that the uniform obviously doesn’t fit her very well. It’s unprofessional and distracting,” she murmurs, and I frown.

“You need to leave,” I tell her, my anger rising to a level that isn’t sociable. She rears back, jaw dropping as she stares at me.

“Leave?” she asks with the audacity to look at me like I’m the problem.

“I don’t take kindly to people who treat others with disrespect, especially when those people are working formeinmysuite.” I want her to know that this is my house and my rules, and I won't have anyone in here who treats people as less than.

“Are you serious right now?” I notice her gulp the cocktail again, clearly wanting to get the free drink in before she leaves. She knows she overstepped, and there’s no coming back from it.

“My car and driver are downstairs, and he can take you anywhere you need to go,” I tell her, wanting this date over with. My shoulders are stiff with tension. I should be concentrating on the game I love so much. But I can’t. I internally curse myself. I should’ve just told Sawyer no instead of trying to be a good friend. Another asshole who now owes me big-time.

“I can’t believe you. Who the hell do you think you are?” she says, her voice rising, and I’m glad the game is loud; otherwise, we’d be getting some looks. She’s acting like we’re a couple, not merely acquaintances who’ve known each other for twenty-four hours. My stare on her doesn’t waver, so she knows I mean business.

“What a joke.” She takes the last long sip from her cocktail and slams the empty glass on the table before standing.

Andre looks over with interest, and I rub my beard. I don’t usually have issues with women like this. I’m a gentleman. I take care of them, treat them right, but something about her words and her tone when speaking about Daisy got to me, and I won’t stand for it.

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