Page 3 of One Last Time?
Deep down I’d always thought Dad had wanted boys like his brothers, and that made me work harder. It made me try harder.
It didn’t help that Dad made me jump through all manner of hoops. Never mind that I’d graduated at the top of my year from Yale like he did, or that I had a double honors degree in Marketing and Public Relations like he had. I still had to prove my worth. To some extent more than everyone else who worked for him.
Maybe that was the reason why I had so much bad luck when it came to men. I’d worked so hard I’d glossed over the other stuff most women paid attention to. I’d worked so hard I foolishly thought that if I just focused on getting with a guy who wanted a relationship over a good time, it would happen.
What I should have been doing was acting just like my sisters and cousins.
Living it up.
It was me who was here drowning my sorrows at the bottom of the bottle, not them. It was me who was here getting wasted the night before a very important meeting with Dad tomorrow that would decide my future goals in the company. Not them.
He met with me once a month, just like with his other employees, and we discussed my goals and career progression.
I took care of Cartwright PR. That was practically his baby. It was the sports PR firm he’d created all by himself, and I did a damn good job with it. During the last meeting, I told him I wanted to run the company. I’d actually built up the courage to tell him, and he said we’d discuss it further in our next meeting. As in tomorrow.
The bartender returned with my drinks, and I saw them as my ticket to forget today. I had to forget today because I didn’t want it affecting me tomorrow.
I was twenty-eight years old and nowhere near where I wanted to be in life.
Work was all I had. Work was what I had to protect. So, to hell with today and serious relationships.
Fuck it.
Fuck it all, and fuck Brody too. I really did hope his dick fell off.
As a bunch of guys near me started laughing out loud, I took the cocktail and downed it. The citrus blend tickled my nose making me giggle. Then the room spun and I swayed on my stool. I had to grab on to the counter to keep from falling but I was okay. I actually felt more than okay.
Lightheaded and freeness started to fill me. It took over my mind. Yes… this was exactly what I was going for. This buzz of transcendence.
My surroundings also seemed to shift slightly to the left and up, like I was stuck on my side. The cloying perfume from the woman across from me talking it up with two guys mingled with the pong of nachos and hung high in the air before me like I could touch it with my lashes. If such a thing were possible.
It was like flying, and I wanted more. I reached for the bottle of rum to open it, but a large hand gripped it and moved it away from me.
I scowled and ran my gaze over the hand, across the thick forearms with fine dark hairs and tight taut muscle, and up to meet a gorgeous pair of light blue eyes. Ice-blue.
The eyes, framed with thick dark lashes, were enough to mesmerize anyone, but his face being all angles and planes stole my breath away. His face, the whole style he exuded with his spikey black hair cut into a faux hawk and a white button-up shirt that was rolled up his arms robbed my mind of thought.
My cheeks warmed as my temperature rose, tingling my nerve endings. I had to wonder if the drink was doing a number on me because this had to be the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life. The masterpiece of him was so striking it compelled me to touch him just to see if he was real.
And… I was just staring. Staring, or gawking more like, and embarrassing myself because I was nigh on drooling.
“Trust me, you shouldn’t have any more to drink,” he said, speaking with a cool edge in a deep baritone timbre that quickened my pulse and warmed my insides.
“Why not? Seems a shame to waste a perfectly good bottle of rum.” I swayed slightly again.
He smiled and looked me over studying my movements. Funnily enough, even though he smiled, his eyes kept that cool edge, showing no emotion. As if he was purposely blocking it out.
“You, my dear, have had too much to drink.”
“Dear?” I cooed. That sounded like one of the endearments my grandparents would use. “How old are you?” I threw back. In my head I knew that was highly inappropriate to ask, but my brain had separated from my body probably about an hour ago as I’d poured the last traces of wine down my throat.
“Old enough.” His eyes flashed with curiosity.
“Me too.” I nodded like he’d asked me a question.
“Good, so you won’t mind if I move this over here.” He slid the rum away, out of my grasp, and I scowled, grabbing it back.
“Yes, actually I do mind.” I huffed. I opened the bottle and took a swig. It burned my throat, and I really wished I hadn’t drunk it. I had to close my eyes to combat the burning sensation, but… when I opened my eyes again, everything felt wonderful.
