Page 10 of Tied Up in Riches

“Like what?”

I scan my memory for which part of the city Brooke would like best–based on the very little information I know about her. “They have the biggest choreographed fountain show in the world.”

“Bigger than the Bellagio in Vegas?”

“Yup. They were actually designed by the same engineering team. But in Dubai, you can go on a boardwalk on the lake or in a boat.”

“Oh, wow. I would love to go there someday. I love nature, but the modern world is pretty incredible too.”

“Yeah, it’s inspiring. They also have ATMs that dispense gold.” Not sure why that random “attraction” popped into my head. I glance over when I’m met with silence. Her nose is scrunched and it’s cute enough it makes me want to laugh, but why does she seem so irritated by the innovation?

“Why would someone even need that?” Her voice drips with disgust.

“I’m not sure.” I chuckle, uncomfortable. “Convenience, I guess.” I’ve looked into gold investing, but it’s not a route I’ve ever taken.

“Rich people,” she mutters under her breath. Rich people? What the hell is wrong with rich people? They’re not all great, but that’s the case with everything.

“The UAE is very innovative and technologically advanced.” Why I double down on a country I have no investment in past intrigue is beyond me.

She glances at me quickly but says nothing.

Hating the awkward silence more than usual, I shift gears. “Have you traveled internationally outside of Thailand?”

She hesitates another moment. “I traveled through Europe a bit with my ex’s family the summer before college.”

“Wow.” That must have been a pretty serious relationship for her to be traveling the world with him. I’d pay a lot of money to have someone to travel with for pleasure instead of business–someone I actually connect with and not in a mail-order bride kind of way. “Sounds fun.”

“Something like that,” she mumbles, and fuck, it’s awkward again. If I were winning money for hitting Brooke’s trigger points, I’d become jackpot rich all over again. Who knew someone who meditates as much as she does would be so bothered by some light conversation?

We drive the next few minutes to the bar in silence, and I give her a quick tour when we arrive. Mostly it’s me pointing out necessities, running her through the POS system and setting up her change drawer while she watches me.

“Well, I think that should do it.” I have an urge to stay and just be around her, but we don’t seem to be riding the same wavelength today. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Here.” I reach next to the terminal to print a blank piece of receipt paper and scribble a number on it. “Troy’s number. You can call him if there’s an emergency.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t I have your number too?”

I’m about to tell her that she won’t need it–I won’t be able to answer while I’m in my meeting anyway–but my better judgment kicks in. “Yes.” I write mine below Troy’s.

“Thanks. I should be good, though.” She pushes against my arm like she’s shooing me out the door. “I got this. Good luck at your meeting.”

“I’ll be back when it’s time to lock up.”

“I’ll make sure the firemen have put the fire out or their clothes back on by then.” She grins, then turns on her heel and disappears behind the bar like she didn’t bring sex to the forefront of my mind.

Seven hours later, I walk through the doorless divider to enter the bar area, stepping behind the bar. “Hey.”

Brooke looks up from where she’s dipping two glasses into the three-compartment sink behind the bar. “Hi.”

Her hair is wild in a ponytail on top of her head, stray wispy hairs framing her face. She’s hardly wearing any makeup–maybe mascara. She’s finally close enough that I can see the hint of green in her hazel eyes.

The glow of the orange light above the bar highlights her tan. If the backdrop fell away and was replaced with a beach and shorts instead of the jeans she’s wiping her wet hands on, she’d fit right in. She belongs somewhere as beautiful as she is.

“How did it go?” The whole interaction before her shift returns to thoughts, the tension of it making me want to smack myself even if I still have no idea what I said to get under her skin. It was the first time we have ever been alone together, and fuck do I hate small talk. I’m a fake it until I make it type of guy, BSing my way through a conversation without giving up any connection points until I deem you part of my very small inner circle. It’s always been like that for me. I’ve never needed or wanted it to be any different. Or do I? The circle has been consistently growing as everyone brings in the person they want to settle down with. Maybe it’s time for me to get more intentional about doing the same. Maybe I should work on my small talk skills first.

“Busy, but good. No problems except running out of that wine Maci loves. I may have recommended it to everyone.”

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