Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I nod. “I saw them bring the body out. It was horrible. Jade worked for her husband’s uncle, so his death hit her hard.”
We both look in her direction to find her dragging her hands through her short blonde hair.
“Make her another martini,” Gage says. “On the house.”
I look at him. “You’re sure?”
He smiles. “She looks like she could use it, and I could use a favor.”
I’ve asked dozens of favors of Gage over the past few years, and he’s granted all of them. I respond without thought. “Tell me what you need.”
“I know you weren’t scheduled to work today, but Katie wants to meet up for lunch.” A warm smile accompanies his wife’s name. “Can you cover for me for a couple of hours at noon?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thanks, Callie.” He pats my hand. “The right job will come along soon. I know it’s not a lot, but if you can cover another extra shift every week, it’s yours.”
“You know how much I appreciate that, right?” I ask.
“I know.” He glances at Jade again. “Set her up with another drink, and thanks again for stepping in to help.”
It’s the least I can do, and besides, the mid-day crowd usually consists of corporate types that work high-powered jobs. I’ll walk out of here with a fist full of tips that will go directly toward my one and only debt.
Maybe this day won’t be a total loss after all.
Chapter Three
Callie
“Wells is hiring,” Jade announces with a glance in my direction. “They’re looking for an administrative assistant, and there’s a position in marketing too. You know Wells, right?”
She follows that up with a giggle and a wink.
She’s on her third martini.
I wouldn’t classify her as tipsy, but she’s feeling less pain than when we arrived three hours ago.
I asked if she wanted me to call anyone for her, but she told me that she had already sent a text message to her husband asking him to stop by here after his lunch meeting.
I look to the two tables that are now occupied.
I served up their drinks quickly while keeping an eye on Jade.
In an abstract way, I feel responsible for her.
That’s not a burden, but it is a distraction.
I stand next to her and nod. “I know that company.”
“They have that enormous billboard in the middle of Times Square.” She laughs. “Every time I pass it, I take a minute to appreciate the man in the picture, including what’s inside his underwear. It’s obvious he’s got a lot to work with.”
I glance down at the floor.
It’s impossible to miss that billboard.
It’s an image of a man from the neck down. The Wells name is stitched in red lettering across the gray waistband of the white boxer briefs the model is wearing.
The man in the image is sporting a noticeable bulge.
It’s not as though I’ve stopped to stare, but I know some women have.
I’ve witnessed that myself.
I shift the subject because I’d rather talk about a potential job than what’s in a random model’s underwear. “Are you going to apply for the administrative job?”
Her head snaps up. “Me? No. Why would you think that?”
Let me count the reasons.
She lost her job today due to the untimely death of her boss. Her phone’s browser is opened to a job listing website, and not more than thirty minutes ago, she was sobbing into her martini about how badly she needs a job.
I don’t touch any of that because she goes on, “I’m looking for a job in the field I was trained in. My job at Mirnan Mortgage was never going to be forever. I want to get back to doing what I love, and I think now is the perfect time.”
The question begs to be asked, so I do it. “What field were you trained in?”
She looks me in the eye. “I’m a high-wire performer.”
I stare at her because I need time to process that.
Fortunately, the sound of the bar’s door opening and muted male voices save me from continuing this conversation at the moment.
I turn to greet my newest customers, but I freeze as soon as I spot the man leading the pack of three into the bar.
Goddamn this day all to hell.
Out of all of the bars in Manhattan, why did he have to walk into mine?
My annoying neighbor smirks when he catches sight of me wearing a black bib apron.
I yanked it from behind the bar and put it on so I wouldn’t stain my white blouse with an unwanted splash of anything.
The apron is available for any employee’s use whenever citrus needs to be cut, or vegetables have to be cleaned for garnishes.
Normally, I’m dressed in jeans and a T-shirt when I’m working here.
The gorgeous jerk in the suit stalks toward me, raking me from head to toe as he does.
His eyes land on the apron. “Congratulations are in order, Champ. It looks like you got the job after all.”