Page 61 of The Boss

“Me too!”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” I ask Lizzie.

“Fuck him! I’m breaking up with him right now!”

I think that’s the drink talking.I think.

Even the alcohol is starting to get to me, and I’m not a super lightweight. But what can I do, besides refuse another round right now? Cher gets a third drink before mumbling about finding someone to screw that night.

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it,” she mumbles to me. We’re the only two left at the table. Don’t know why she didn’t join the others. “Having a hot and rich girlfriend? Ugh. What I would do and who I would kill.”

“Did you mean what you said?” I can’t believe I’m opening up this kind of conversation with her. “About crushing on Ms. Bradford?”

“Why do you care? You gonna hook me up with her?”

I honestly can’t see them as a couple. Ms. Bradford is so carefree (compared to Julianna, anyway) that someone as uptight as Cher would drive her up the wall after a while. I’ve also never seen her around women who look as posh as her. Cher is off-the-runway old-money-heiress pretty. Ms. Bradford likes her women a bit more down to Earth. “I mean, I could put in a good word,” I say. “But she opposes Ms. Marcon going against HR to be with me.”

“As I keep hearing.” Cher snorts into her empty glass. “So, it’s true? You and Ms. Marcon are a real deal?”

“She’s my girlfriend, I guess.” There’s no guessing on my side, but I have to be careful with what I say. I don’t need Cher to know every sexy detail of my relationship.

“You guess? Girl, either you are, or you aren’t.”

“I guess we are then.”

She’s about to say something else when two men approach our table.

“Ladies!” A tanned guy with shorn hair and two piercings in both ears leans against our table. His buddy, a Portland-blond with more tats than an actual tattoo artist, waggles his eyebrows at us as if that’s supposed to turn us on. “What are you two lovely vixens doing at this table by yourselves? Your friends are over there having fun.” He jerks his thumb toward the dancefloor, where Heather, Lizzie, and Jackie are in the middle of a muscle-bound-ape sandwich. The shrieking and laughter coming fromtheir midst give me shivers. “Come dance with us. We’ll show you a good time.”

“Sorry, I’m taken,” I say. “But she’s not.” I nudge Cher.

“Oh, but we want both of you! Come on. Your honey doesn’t have to know.”

What if “my honey” is the business partner of the woman who owns this place? Ha! They wouldn’t believe me. “She’ll find out. She’s got eyes and ears everywhere.”

Sure enough, a man wearing all black approaches our table. “Do you gentlemen need help? The lady says she doesn’t want to dance.”

This isn’t a bouncer. Well, not one employed by the club, anyway. Even Cher instantly recognizes one of Ms. Marcon’s bodyguards. No doubt he’s been assigned to tail us. I mean, me.

“Hey, man, this is our table to work.”

“You’re not ‘working’ anyone. Particularly not Ms. Penrose.” He nods toward me.

“It’s okay, Stu.” I put on a fake smile so he knows I’m not threatened. “They were mostly flirting with Cher here. You remember her from the office, yeah?”

He keeps his muscular arms crossed and says nothing. Duh, he knows Cher. I’m sure he knows the names and backgrounds of everyone working in the office. It’s sort of his job.

“I’m not interested right now,” Cher says. “Maybe later.”

The guys hit up some other table. Our friends wave at us from the dancefloor. Stu backs off into the shadows. I turn to Cher and say, “Sorry. I think he’s here because of me.”

She doesn’t say anything. Not until the server comes by and she orders us more drinks.

I know I shouldn’t have a third drink. Two is my limit if I’m out partying. Two regular drinks, and I’m tipsy enough to have fun but sober enough to make sound, moral decisions about my life and relationships. Three? I’m like my old friends onthe dancefloor, grinding ass and hoping to get laid. (Obviously, I never got laid. Never had the guts for it, even when I had three drinks in me. And now I’ve got a girlfriend. Oh well.) So, I shouldn’t have this third drink. I know I shouldn’t. Especially with Stu babysitting me tonight.

I do it. I have a third drink. I mean, Stu is babysitting me, right? Cher downs her drink and says we should go dance together. I think… why not? Nobody will care if I’m dancing with my friends and having a good time in my sparkly tube dress I bought on the cheap a year ago. It’s scratchy, I’m sweating, but I’m also drunk and don’t give a fuck. Bring on the strobe lights and the thrumming club music!

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what happens. As soon as we hit that dance floor, it’s not her and me anymore. Cher is there, but so are about three other guys who home in on us and decide it’stimeto move in on some hot asses in club dresses. We’re drunk, right? This is what happens when people get wasted and wanna screw each other!

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