Page 10 of The Maid

Gun,

I thought I made it clear that my relationship with you is strictly professional and dinner is too intimate. I’m trying to schedule a business lunch to talk about your finances. Please let me know when you're able to meet.

Adalyn

Not even a minute later.

Dinner. Monday. You pay, then.

She grunted into the screen.

Addie looked up to see Sonia standing by her door with her purse in her hand. "Hey, Adalyn, how'd your first week go?" But she must've noticed Addie's current agitated state and quickly added, "That bad, huh?"

"Yep. That bad."

"You're new to town, I bet you don't have many friends here. There's a small charity event at Lawson's Brewery for some homeless shelter. A few of the team members will be there, it'll be a good way to meet new people that can possibly turn into new clients and also a great way to have a drink and unwind. Come with me."

It wasn't as if Addie had anything else to do but stew in her bad mood— alone.

"Okay sure. Thanks. Let me just send this quick email and I'll follow you out.”

She responded to Gun’s last email:

I'll concede to dinner. But on Tuesday. I pay.

She knew that she already had something on Monday night and also, she needed at least a little victory over Gun who wanted to steamroll everything. Without bothering to wait for a reply, she hit send, turned off her computer, grabbed her purse and walked out with Sonia.

Gun chuckled as he read Addie's last email.

Dinner. Tuesday. I pay.

She'd always been hardheaded and proud; apparently, that hadn't changed. He could picture her now, smiling at the screen victoriously. Monday or Tuesday...no matter. They were going out, and that's all he cared about. He hated that it would mean he wouldn't see her for another four days or so, add that to the three days he already hadn't seen her...and damn it if he wasn't eager for Tuesday night to come. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Jeff had booked a weekend full of activities for him. All charitable kinds of events that Jeff told him he had to attend in order to soften the blow from all the media attention of late. Truthfully, he didn't mind attending charitable events that actually did some good. The one tonight, though, was a bullshit reason to drink and rub noses with dull politicians and socialites. No one ever opened up their wallets; it was more for attention than for the charity, and that was something he loathed.

Unfortunately, he had to attend. He had to show Wayne that he was a serious player. Playing football wasn't only about glory and payday for hitting your stat incentives, or so he’d learned the hard way, it was also about public image.

Gun was assaulted by the heat as soon as he stepped out of his Ferrari and handed the valet his keys. He pulled on the lapel of his sports coat and grunted as he opened the door to Lawson's Brewery. The heat was stifling, but the flashes from cameras on his face were just plain ol' irritating.

Someone took his elbow and shuffled him to the side. "You're supposed to smile, not look like you want to punch someone in the balls."

Gun pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked a few times. "Fuck you, Jeff. I'm here aren't I?" he said to his friend who had a fake smile plastered on his face. "God, when did the paparazzi get so vicious?" he asked as he walked toward the bar with Jeff.

"They've been vicious this whole time. You just happened to have stayed under the radar and hadn't noticed. But now with all your recent antics, you've got their attention and they've come after you with guns blazing—no pun intended. They’re all over you with neon fucking lights, buddy. So, you better fucking smile and pretend you give a shit about the homeless problem in the community."

"I do give a shit about the homeless problem. I don't, however, give a flying fuck about any of these pretentious assholes who come to these things and never donate a fucking dime. All they want is the damn photo op."

A squeeze on his shoulder cut his rant short. He turned around to find Connor Rollings, the newest addition to the Tornadoes, and Jack Maroney, another teammate who looked as uncomfortable at this event as he did. "Yo, man, glad to see another familiar face," Connor said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Gun pulled up a barstool and signaled for the bartender, a young pretty woman in her early twenties who seemed to be starstruck. "Hey honey, how about four beers."

"I'm good. I'm going to go mingle. Be ready to socialize, McCall," Jeff said in his agent tone before walking away.

"Make that three beers. Coldest you have on tap," Gun corrected and the bartender smiled shyly as she poured the beers.

"So how long you think we have to stay here?" Jack asked Gun.

"I don't know, an hour or so. Make these assholes happy, get some photos in. I’ll write a big check, and then I dip."

"Gotcha."

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