Page 12 of Connor

“It must be nice having friends in high places,” she says, looking up at me. I think she’s batting her lashes, I can’t be sure. She’s wearing those fake ones that make her eyes look too black and overwhelm her face. Again, I think of those sparkling blue eyes I saw yesterday, the big, clear, vibrant ones that are unlike any I’ve seen before.

“It’s nice to have a lot of friends.” I keep my answers pretty vague as the elevator bell rings and the doors open to the much quieter level of corporate suites, where Whiteman’s Whiskey holds the largest and best-positioned suite in the entire stadium. We walk out together, and I’m already regretting having her by my side. She’s a bit shallow, comments on others too much, and seems like a bit of a mean girl with the way she acts. Sawyer owes me big-time. I hear my father’s voice in my head, that I always date women who have no potential. But I like it that way. I don’t get attached, and they don’t get attached. It’s a win-win.

As we walk to my suite, I look around. It was expensive, but everything that’s worth it usually is. While I would like to use it more than I do, I try to get to New York every month or two, but I miss Whispers too much. The small town I grew up in now gives a better pace to my life, as the older I get, the more I appreciate the simple life, something as a kid I couldn’t wait to get away from. Funny how things change like that.

“I never thought I would ever say that the president is a friend.” She giggles as I reach the suite door and push through, ignoring her comment. If she’s assuming Harrison Rothschild, my best friend from college and now president of the country, is a friend of hers by association, she’s delusional. If anything, Harrison’s circle of friends has decreased, not only because he lacks the time to invest in many personal connections these days, but also his security is tight and there are only a few of us who have his personal number and that of his wife and the first lady.

“Oh wow, this is really amazing. Does my hair look okay?” she asks for what I feel like is the hundredth time as I watch her get out her cell and put it in front of her face. She pulls at her hair a bit, then pouts, and my shoulders feel tight with regret as I walk into the suite and leave her at the door, looking at herself. Am I being an asshole? Probably, but I should’ve known better than to bring her. I’m not sure what I was thinking, other than the stupid sound therapy massage I had with Daisy yesterday, and the fact that I’m now more excited about this spa development than ever before. It must have totally thrown me off my game and left my head in a fuzz.

I stand at the edge of the suite balcony, looking out over the crowd and the field. The teams warm up, people swarming everywhere, and the music is pumping. I love football. I’ve never played it, but I enjoy watching it. Especially from up here. I pay little attention to the staff flitting around at the back of the suite. They’ll bring me my whiskey soon enough, so I stand there and take a breath. The stadium is packed to the rafters tonight. The game is one of the most anticipated of the season. There’s a good feeling in the air.

“Oh my God, oh my God, will we get on TV?” Bethany asks from where she steps up next to me, and I try not to roll my eyes. Being in the media is not my favorite thing, but it happens from time to time, especially when I’m in New York. The paparazzi here are always intense, and probably because I live in Whispers, I’m less accessible than most businessmen, so it’s a novelty to catch me, and it makes the price of photos higher for them. I look to the suite to the left of me and spot a few familiar faces, and I give a wave and a nod in greeting. I turn to look at the other side and frown.

“Well, if it isn’t the whiskey kid,” a man old enough to be my grandpa says, and I walk over to shake his hand.

“Andre,” I say, nodding to him. He might be pushing seventy, but his handshake is still firm as he grips my hand tight. “Got yourself a suite too, I see?” I ask him, because I haven’t noticed him before.

“Ahh, it isn’t the best sport in the world, but it will do,” he mocks in his slight French accent. The hotelier legend is well known, grew up in France, probably picking grapes when he was still in diapers. He now owns and runs the largest hotelier group in Europe and his foothold here in the United States is growing.

“Probably should go back to Europe then and watch your soccer?” I suggest, knowing that’s his comparison.

“Hmmm, maybe. But Tyler is here,” he says, mentioning his eldest son, who runs his hotels around the world. I’ve met him a few times. He’s a great guy, one who has good business sense, and I know the business has grown exponentially under his management. Andre’s eyes flick to beside me to take in the perky blond date I brought.

“And… I like the landscape here an awful lot.” His eyes run down my date and back up again. I look down at her, because even though I know we won’t see each other again after tonight, I’m not going to make her feel uncomfortable. But she’s grinning at him, biting her bottom lip in a flirty manner, and I rub my face. She can clearly smell money, and this old guy has buckets of it.

“Enjoy the game, then. We need to take our seats.” I turn and start to walk to my seat, needing my whiskey now more than ever.

“Whiskey, sir?” a female voice asks from my other side, and I smile at the soothing sound before I turn and look at the woman who’s working my suite tonight.

“Daisy?” I ask, surprised, almost tripping over my own feet.

“Seriouslyyy?” she moans, like the world has done her dirty, her face scrunching at just the sight of me. I’m glad I’m not easily offended, because this woman clearly doesn’t like me. Although I can’t blame her. In hindsight, I know my tone and words to her yesterday were out of line and something I should apologize for. I again wonder if the incense was actually weed and that’s what made me such an asshole.

She clears her throat, rolling her shoulders like she’s putting on an act of professionalism. “Whiskey?” she asks again, and I nod, taking the glass from her tray. She delivers it just how I like it. Neat, heavy glass, two fingers.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask. I thought she was a wellness practitioner.

“Oh, you know, I can’t stay in that crumbling place called Sunshine all day and all night. Heaven forbid if the smell of that incense actually suffocates me,” she says, and I almost grin, appreciating her sass sprinkled with humor. Her face is softer, more relaxed now. She goes to say something else before she gets interrupted.

“I’ll have a cosmopolitan,” Bethany barks at her before she steps in front of me, marking her territory that isn’t hers to mark. I internally cringe. I forgot all about her, and now I really wish I hadn’t brought her along.

Daisy looks from me to my date, and her body visibly hardens as she pulls at her shirt a little.

“Certainly, ma’am,” Daisy says in her professional tone before she turns and walks away, and my brow furrows. She hasn’t been here before; otherwise, I would’ve recognized her. She’s hard to miss. Short, voluptuous, that red hair, and those damn blue eyes. Those blue eyes were in my dreams last night. I rub my own, trying to erase the thoughts. I usually don’t think about women after I meet them, and I’ve never dreamed about their fucking eyes like I did last night.

“Pfft. You would think they’d bring both drinks at the same time. It’s a wonder she can even fit in here,” she says, and out of my peripheral, I see Daisy balk, and I hold my breath. She clearly heard the remark, but after a brief pause, she continues on to the bar at the back of the suite, and I look at my date as she sits down in my seat. It isn’t named, but it’s big, plush, and in the center of the space, giving me the perfect view.

“Your meaning?” I grit out, this night turning tumultuous instantly.

“I just mean that… It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” She smiles, sensing I’m agitated with her.

“Can you move over one, please?” I ask her, and she huffs but then gets up and moves over one seat, and I sit down. My date grabs a lip gloss from her tiny purse and starts reapplying as I crack my knuckles. I feel on edge now. Daisy didn't jump at my job offer yesterday like I thought she would, and she still hasn’t called me to take me up on it. From what I saw yesterday, she probably threw my business card in the trash.

The whole situation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I run my hand over my beard, wanting to go and talk with her, to get her on board with my vision. I see it clearly: her in Whispers, building this spa business alongside me. I know she has both the experience and the business mind, two things that are not always easy to find in a person. Plus, we’re on a timeline. We’re ready to go and need someone like Daisy to start almost immediately. But movement at my side keeps me from running to the back of the room to speak to her. I have a fucking date. I have a date I don’t want here and a woman at the back of the suite I would rather talk to. Noneedto talk to. It’s business, not personal.

“Here is your cosmopolitan, ma’am,” Daisy says in a tone that’s way too sweet and glides down my spine, making my body relax. I have no idea how she does it. Maybe she put something in my whiskey—that elixir her mother gave me yesterday, maybe—I’m not sure, but my whiskey has never tasted as good as it does after she made it for me.

She leans over, placing the cocktail on a small side table, and I take the opportunity to look at her. Her round, full breasts are barely contained in the tight white shirt she’s wearing, and I bite the inside of my cheek as I salivate. I’m a breast man. I love a feminine body, with curves and softness. I scrub my eyes, trying not to gape at her. Nope. I can’t be interested in a woman I don’t even know, especially one who clearly doesn’t like me. Plus, I just offered her a fucking job, and I can’t be looking at my colleagues in any way that isn’t professional. I force my gaze back at the field to the game and sip my whiskey, swallowing down the burn, my eyes not moving from looking straight ahead.

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