Cash (Sexy Bastard #2) (3 page)

Even if it is true.

I stare at Rob, the pieces not adding
up. “Why exactly is Meyers so interested? I RSVP’d for
that weeks ago. We’re confirmed to meet with the heads of
several record labels that night. Everything is set.”

My assistant looks uncomfortable. “I
think it’s because you left early that one time. He’s got
the idea stuck in his head that you’re not invested enough in
the business.” Rob looks away.

I pause, pen mid-air above a clause.
That one fucking time was several months ago and I prefer not to
remember the worst day of my life. It was the last time I let
anything to do with my heart get in the way of my job.

Of course he thinks I’m not
engaging in the business.

“Tell him I’ll be there and
he’ll be glad I am in the end.”

Rob nods and starts to go, but then
turns back. “How was the date, by the way?” he asks.

“Thank you, Rob.” I dismiss
him, feeling my cheeks flush.

He shoots me a sympathetic smile. “That
good, huh? Want me to cancel Mixer Man tonight?”

The last thing I needed was for my
dates to get new nicknames before they even made their terrible
appearance. But really, I should cancel. If Meyers thinks I’m
not interested in the business, I’m in more trouble than I
originally thought.
Cancel
, I
think.
Cancel, it’ll
be better for your career.

Live
a little
—it’s Cash’s words that
come back to me, sending a shiver down my spine. Maybe I’m
spending too much time at Altitude, and my brain isn’t thinking
clearly. And as soon as those words come, I remember his promise that
I’ll beg and then thank him for it. The thought alone has me
turned on.

I need this date. Otherwise, I’m
liable to do everything Cash asks. I’ve let work eat my life
for far too long.

“Confirm what’s on the
calendar, Robert.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And
just as he’s leaving, “Right away,
ma’am
.”

Rob finally leaves grinning, and I get
through the rest of the contract and a handful of emails before my
cell phone buzzes. I answer without even looking at the caller ID.
Big shot lawyer on call twenty-four seven, that’s me.

“Savannah Sunday.”

“Good morning to you, too.”
Cassie’s all too familiar chipper tone comes down the
phone.

It’s been easy to fall back into
our old ways. Cassie was MIA overseas for almost two years, and we
seem to constantly be making up for lost time. Brunch, phone calls,
texting—if it wasn’t for her new boyfriend, we’d
probably still be having sleepovers and staying up way too late with
wine, popcorn, and boy talk. It’s great to have her back.

I relax in my chair,
slipping off my heels. “Morning,
Cassie.”

“I saw the date last night. So
spill. Good, bad, fantastic? Did you take him home?”

“I’m surprised your man
even let you look at my date.” It comes out harsher than I mean
it to. Sometimes I’m just jealous of my best friend’s
good fortune. She totally deserves it. All of it. And then some. I
just wish it could be as easy for the rest of us. I was stupid enough
to think it might be—and I completely missed some crucial
details.

“You’re avoiding the
subject,” she says, sympathy in her voice. I was hoping she’d
forget how I called her out on that same tactic when she started
seeing Ryder. The girl is relentless. “So it was that good?”

“Let’s just say we won’t
be picking out our china patterns any time soon.”

“So that’s a maybe on the
second date?” There’s Cassie for you, always looking on
the bright side.

I sigh, letting her cheerful attitude
about love buoy my enthusiasm. “Let me
clarify, we’re not picking out china patterns
ever
.”

“Okay. So he didn’t work.
But that’s okay! There’re—”

“Objection, mentioning the number
of fucking fish in the sea is against the best friend’s rules
for supporting dating friends.” Cassie laughs at my feeble
lawyer’s joke, which I appreciate.

“Fine, fine. But if you ever need
some help I know a lot of single guys…” Right, let me
accept help from my happily dating best friend. Plus, the single guys
she knows now all run a club—and an illegal fight night—
with her boyfriend. “Just don’t
forget what a catch you are.”

I glare at the contract in front of me.
It’s a music deal for a client I already represent. A rock band
Mathias found headlining one of the clubs in the area. They’ve
been pretty successful and were my first major client, so I’m
going to make sure this contract is on the up and up.

There’s a post-it note from Rob
on there saying Mathias has a new artist for me to hear. ‘A
country music artist?’ The world shrinks to pin pricks and I
lose track of Cassie’s voice.

It could be nothing. Country music is
basically one-third a part of Southern blood, the other two being
church and sweet tea. Triton has millions of clients, and there are
millions of people looking to be the next big thing. It’s
probably nothing.

“Savannah…Savannah?”

I slam the folder shut. Nope. No
fucking way. Not right now.

“Savannah. Don’t make me
come over there.”

“What, sorry? Sorry, trying to do
two things at once.” I stare at the wall and try to forget the
feel of guitar string-calloused hands. For once in my life, I’m
happy there’s a phone line between me and my best friend.

“Oh come on, Savannah. I know you
better than that. Out with it.”

“Fine. Yes, I have a date
tonight, and let’s hope he’s one worth taking home.”

“That’s not what I mean and
you know it.” I guess even a phone line can’t
stop Cassie’s ESP. “You think that line will
distract me? Wrong. Where is the Savannah I know? You are a
take-charge girl. You can have any man dancing at your fingertips.
This string of bad dates is not you. What happened? What’s got
you so shook up?”

“It’s nothing.” I
want to curl up around a tub of ice cream and eat the whole thing
while bawling my eyes out and watching
The Notebook
. But that’s not how this works. You
have to keep pushing to act like the best. Time to pull it
together—he’s not worth it. “It’s just my
stupid ex, is all. He just…broke my heart. And sometimes it
feels like I’ll never be okay again.” My voice hitches,
but I steel myself and clear my throat, pushing the memories away.
“Anyway, no big deal. I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Savannah.” Her voice
softens, and even the joking tone is gone. “Why didn’t
you tell me any of this?”

A lump forms in my throat and I reach
for my latte to wash down the memories. If only it was permissible to
drink whiskey before noon. “Because I’ve been busy,”
I say. Not quite a lie, but far from the truth as I can possibly get.
“There’s just this promotion at work, and the dates, and
you’re so happy…”

“I don’t
care if I’m walking down the aisle, if something throws you off
this much you object to the marriage and we get to the bottom of it,”
she says, her words built on five kinds of steel. Sometimes I forget
that no matter how much Cassie’s been through, it doesn’t
break her. She can rebuild her life from the rubble.

“I’m not interrupting your
fucking wedding,” I laugh.

“You most certainly will.”

“Fine, but when we finish, we’ll
walk you down that damn aisle.”

“
After
we figure out your situation. So let me in, let me help. I didn’t
move all the way back across the Atlantic to still be cut off from my
best friend.”

It’s that emotional punch to the
gut that makes me feel about five inches tall. I was keeping this all
in because I wanted to protect her from my stupidity. Besides it was
in the past, and I was firmly going to leave it there. Done. Gone.
Buried. No one needed to ever know about my bitch of a broken heart.

“Cass,” I start, and don’t
know how to make the words come out. This is why I don’t tell
people, because then they think less of me. They take on that tone
that means I’m to be pitied. But I’m not. Honestly, I
have it together—mostly. I will not let one man take me down. I
will get through this, if it’s the last thing I do.

“You want me to get someone to
beat him up for you? I know a guy.”

I let out a hoarse laugh. Leave it to
Cassie to put the topic back in a familiar funny court.

“No, that’s okay. He
probably wouldn’t survive, and then we’ll have a big
lawsuit on our hands.”

“I know it’s hard to talk
about rough stuff, but if you ever need to, Savannah, I’m here.
No judgment. Promise.”

And that right there is why Cassie is
my best friend. She knows how far to push me and when to wait.

I try to make my voice light. “I
appreciate the offer, but it’s fine. Besides, I have high hopes
for my date tonight, and I’d like to not go to jail for
premeditated assault.”

“Get it, girl. Who is he, give me
the deets.”

A few minutes later, I hang up with
Cassie. Her bright outlook for my date tonight has almost banished
all thoughts of
him.
No use
dwelling on the past. You got into this mess, I tell myself, by
falling in love with the wrong man—you can get out of it by
falling for a right man.

After Picky Eater, Altitude became my
dating spot. My dates would suggest other places, and I’d
counter with Altitude. It was always my final offer, my deal breaker.
There were many reasons why I liked this spot. One, the food was just
my style. Two, if anything bad happened, help was just a finger wave
away. I had a system. A look at a waitress, a signal for a specific
drink, and suddenly the date would be done in five minutes. And
three, I really like the place.

Even with so many ridiculous dates, the
club never failed to feel like a second home. If there was one thing
I learned in law school it was that there’s nothing to boost
your confidence like playing on your home turf.

I forgo the bar tonight, settling
instead on a booth. One of the waitresses, Katie, brings me a drink,
and I give her our signal. The date needs to be over. Actually, it
needed to be over before it even officially began, but I wanted to
stick it out and prove to myself that I was being a good sport.

For the record, Cash’s advice
sucks. Speaking of the devil, my eyes drift to the bar where he’s
busy putting on a show for the crowd. His blond hair is unruly, and
every time he smiles his dimples pop out. It’s easy to
understand why women all but remove their panties the minute they see
him. He’s more lithe than Ryder and Parker who each are packed
with hard muscle. Cash is…flexible, like a swimmer. The
muscles that wrap his body are meant to move and twist. Tonight, he’s
in his usual uniform: a white V-neck T-shirt and jeans. The end of a
tattoo licks his arm. What I wouldn’t give to peel back that
shirt and discover what’s beneath —I stop myself mid
thought. This is
Cash
I’m
thinking about.

Cash slides a drink over to a woman and
makes her laugh.
See
,
I tell myself
. You’re
not the only one he comforts in times of need
.

That thought knocks me out of it. Where
did that even come from? I am on a date—not here to scope out
my friend.

I met my date at a Harvard Law school
mixer. There he’d been a straight-laced lawyer. Suit. Tie.
Respectable day job at a good firm. Silly of me to believe that
façade. By night, he dresses in shiny black pleather and a
ripped t-shirt. I half expect him to let his mullet fall out. I’ve
seen this style done well, but this is a mess and a half on Mixer
Man—and he prefers himself this way.

“This is a great bar,” he
says, his eyes darting around the room appreciatively. “You
think they’re hiring DJs?”

“I don’t
know. Why?” That last question is more to myself than for him.
Why am I doing this? What sort of hell have I condemned myself to?
Cash had better have a full bottle of whiskey waiting for me when
this is done.

“Well, I guess, since we’re
dating—to be honest, this lawyer stuff isn’t for me. My
parents wanted me to go to law school. So I went, got a job, checked
all the boxes—and now I’m looking to make a clean exit.
Law was never my thing. But you? Trust me, they’ll love you.”

He leans in and goes for the kiss. I’ve
been avoiding kisses for the past two months; I could practically go
pro as a kiss avoider. I turn my head to catch a waitress’s
attention, and to make sure he doesn’t even graze my cheek, I
block him with my hand.

“It’s been lovely, but I
think we’re done here.” I throw
my bag over my shoulder and make to stand. But he doesn’t seem
to get the hint.

“So how about Saturday, then?
Would you come out to my show?”

“Sorry, I’m
stuck in all weekend—life of a lawyer.” I shrug
and down the rest of my drink. We are officially over.

Mixer Man shakes his head. “You
need a new profession. You’re too sexy for the law.”

And I leave. Just walk away. Yes,
because a woman can’t be pretty and also have a brain.
How
foolish of me.

“I’ll call you,” he
calls after me. I can’t wait to hit the ignore button.

I sit at the end of the bar, which
I’ve come to think of as my own personal front porch.

Cash comes over, and I expect my usual:
a tumbler and a healthy pour of whiskey. Instead he sets down a shot
glass, a bowl of limes, and a shaker full of salt.

“I’d prefer whiskey or
maybe a glass of red wine,” I say, realizing too late that
there’s far more venom in my voice than necessary. “Please,”
I add.

“Try again,” Cash says.

“Pretty please with sugar on
top?”

“As long as I can lick the sugar
off.”

“Give it to me.”

“Now that’s what I’m
talking about,” Cash says with a smile, his dimples popping out
again. “However, I’m going to switch it up for you.
Whiskey is what you do after every date, and it’s time to mess
up the routine. Shots. If you’re nice, I’ll
even let you do body shots.”