The Dealmaker (Sex & Bonds 1)

I’d pay the hundred grand the girl cost me this week just to watch her come. Another hundred to feel her come on my dick.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She doesn’t need to know the pervy turn my thoughts have taken. But I swear she can see it written all over my face, which is why I turn away as she approaches, locking my gaze on gin and tonic number two.

“That’s rude,” she says, setting her gigantic tote on the barstool next to mine.

Fuck, I’m already looking up. “What is?”

“You started drinking without me.” She pushes the sleeves of her white blouse up to her elbows and shakes out her hair. She’s wearing lipstick tonight, the same pink shade as always. She’s so pretty my breath catches, and I reach up to loosen the knot on my tie. “Whatcha having?”

“One of their fancy G&Ts,” I reply. The restaurant is a bustling tapas place that specializes in small plates and paellas. They’re also famous for the gin and tonics they serve in giant brandy glasses. Ridiculous? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely.

“I’ll have the same,” she tells the bartender. Then she reaches inside her tote and pulls out her notebook, the pages of which are covered in tidy green script. She pulls out the green pen next, setting the tote on the floor so she can slide onto the stool and cross her legs.

I look down and see she’s wearing heels. Tall ones.

My blood jumps. I tug a little harder on my tie.

“I didn’t get to meet with Brian this morning, so I made some notes about what I thought we could say to him tonight,” she continues, uncapping her pen.

“Notes?” I frown. “I was just gonna apologize and . . . yeah, go from there.”

“You’re such a trader.”

“Meaning I have a stomach of steel and excellent stamina?”

“Meaning you have the social skills of a turtle. Here.” She puts her notebook on the bar between us and points to a pair of lines she’s highlighted. “I think we can emphasize your track record with other clients. How you’re everyone’s first call for a reason when there’s a trade to do, and even give him some names, if you don’t mind, of people he can reach out to. People who apparently love you, although I don’t understand why. I talked to the other salespeople on the desk and came up with Chase Kipling at Williamson, Hunter Fenton at BetLife, and Julie Tipper at Peak. I was assured those clients would sing your praises if we needed to prove you aren’t a scumbag who calls people ugly names.”

“Ha. Scumbag.” I take her notebook in my hands and scan her notes. “You really did your homework, didn’t you?”

“Always do,” she says proudly, accepting her own giant gin and tonic from the bartender. A sprig of rosemary sticks out from the top of her glass. She pushes it aside with her tongue. I look back down at her notes. “We took the hit, which I know Brian appreciates. You stepped up when it mattered, even if Aiden had to . . . er, guide you in that direction. But you also said some not-so-nice things to him, and that’s the wound we need to heal.”

I continue to scan her notes. Now, more than ever, I really do feel like a scumbag. She did all this work—took all these notes, flew all this way—just because I had a bad morning and lost my temper. She should be stabbing me in the back right now, not talking earnestly about plans she’s made to fix my fuck-up.

I don’t know why, but it makes me think about Dad. This happens every so often since he passed, when he’ll pop up inside my head without warning. Right now he’s shaking his head, mouth turned down in obvious disapproval.

I have to make this right. Not just for my sake, but for Nora’s too.

“Another thought,” she continues, sipping her cocktail. “Brian has questionable taste in music, but he does like old school country—you know, that Brooks & Dunn stuff you were line dancing to. That could be a nice little way to start building a bridge.”

“Okay.” I sip my drink, bewildered. Overwhelmed too. “Yeah, that could work. Thanks.”

She gives me a pointed look. “Thanks? That’s all you have to say?”

Yes, because you’ve come prepared and I didn’t and that makes me feel like a jerkoff.

Yes, because I’m impressed by your attention to detail. How hard you work. You’re not turning out to be the entitled princess I thought you were, and that makes me want to give you a high five and/or make you come on my mouth.

I am fucked. And because I’m fucked, I figure I have nothing to lose. I go with the truth.

“You’re good,” I say.

Nora blinks, a small smile working its way across her lips. “Is that a compliment?”