The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

“Thatch!” someone else yells across the room, catching the subject of our conversation’s attention.

Julie’s still focused on me, waiting for an answer, but as my brain starts spinning over the shouted name, I finally make sense of the familiarity.

And boy is it comical.

He looks familiar because I’ve seen him in Cosmopolitan, on the dreaded coffee table in Dr. Winters’s office.

For the love of everything.

“Julie, slow your roll, sister, because I know who that man is,” I say quietly, and she quirks a brow. “It’s Thatcher Kelly, for fuck’s sake.”

“Who?”

“The billionaire!” I whisper-yell.

Julie swings her head around sharply, and she compresses her chest with a hard hand. “Okay, he’s perfect.”

I scoff. “He’s also married to Cassie Kelly, one of the most beautiful women on the planet, and they have a, like, one-year-old kid or something.”

“How do you know all of this?”

I wave her off. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Thatcher Kelly is so far out of both our leagues, we’re practically on different planets.”

“Out of my league?” Julie shakes her head. “I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

“Jules! He’s married.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, boss, I know. Don’t worry, I’m not going after him. I’m just saying that I don’t set boundaries for myself without even trying. Nothing is unattainable, and it’d do you some good to get the same attitude.”

“What do you mean?”

“I meeean…don’t take no for an answer. Never give up on the first try. If you don’t ask, they can’t say yes. The only person capable of holding you back is you. And I, for one, don’t consider myself a cockblock.”

I consider her words closely as I watch Thatcher Kelly schmooze a dozen and a half businessmen at once. They all look at him like he’s a god, and for all I know, maybe he is. The point is, he doesn’t cower under the pressure—he revels in it.

Maybe Julie’s right.

Maybe I do give up too quickly.

Memories of Jude’s head between my legs make me feel light-headed, and I stumble to the side, my heart racing so fast it’s liable to be in my throat soon.

I envision the picture of him in the paper, smiling for the camera like he’s larger-than-life, and I recount the headline of the article and the reason for its placement there.

Club Promoter Jude Winslow Brings Fresh Fun Back to Manhattan.

The private marketing event for elite private event specialists.

Elite Private Event Specialists. That’s me. I am one of those.

“Julie, does your cousin still work on the advisory board for the Event Planners Association?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Yeah. Why?”

“There’s an event at Club Craze this weekend. And I want into it. But I’m pretty sure you have to know someone to get in there.”

“Oh, yes! I heard about this. By invitation only or some shit.” She rolls her eyes. “Like they really know who to invite.”

“Do you think your cousin could get me one?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. But I could definitely find out if you want—”

“Find out,” I say quickly, unable to stop myself from interrupting. “Just one day out of the two will be fine. Just get me in there.”

“You got it, boss.”

God help me, but I’m going out on a limb. I just hope it’s strong enough to hold the weight of my expectations.

Friday, March 9th

Jude

“You got a minute?” I ask Ki-Ki, stepping up onto her platform as she’s cueing up her laptop and taking out all her extra equipment. Her cute pixie nose practically twitches with excitement, and I automatically grin while she nods.

I’ve never actually met anyone as happy as she is, and I’m pretty sure it’s because her parents did some sort of crossbreeding experiment with a unicorn or that Disney fairy with the tight green dress.

“I just want to go over a couple things before I do the meeting with the rest of the staff, if that’s cool.”

“You bet,” she agrees. “I’ve got a pretty standard playlist, but I can easily mix something up if you’ve got a different request.”

“No, no,” I say with a shake of my head. Ki-Ki is definitely the expert in the music department. It’s not that I don’t listen to music per se, because I do, but I’m not the guy who knows the name of every song and artist. I just vibe to whatever I vibe with at the time, be it country or rap or hip-hop or alternative or whatever. I am a musical chameleon. “I trust your style. I just wanted to talk about volume levels, really. Tonight is a little different from our normal heavy hit, you know? Early on, we need to meter the volume down so that conversation is discernible.”

She nods and gives me a thumbs-up, flicking her wrist on her soundboard and then clicking a couple of keys on her laptop. Immediately, a smooth beat picks up at probably half our normal volume.