Page 80 of Think Outside the Boss

“He’s at his godmother’s. Begged me to go, really. Something about her kids having a game that he really wants to play.”

“He’s getting big,” Anthony says.

“Yes. Only a few more years and I’ll have a teenager to deal with.”

“My condolences,” Carter says. “I remember how I was, and I don’t envy you.”

“Let’s hope he’s a better kid than you were.”

Carter grins at me. “Let’s hope.”

It’s over an hour later when the game comes to an end. Carter has folded, as was expected, and he’s already enjoyed a solid fifteen minutes of jokes on the topic.

Anthony is the last to show his cards. He spreads them out on the velvet table and leans back in his chair. “Sorry, Carter.”

But the cards he’s displaying aren’t good.

“Wait a minute, though.” Victor leans over and inspects the mismatch of cards. It’s almost a flush, but it consists of both spades and clubs. “That’s not a flush. The suits are mixed up.”

Anthony lifts up his cards, eyes narrowing. “Well, fuck. I could have sworn those two were the same.”

“Shit,” Carter says. “Seems like you’re our love expert after all.”

“Anthony ‘the Matchmaker’ Winter,” Victor adds. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Anthony runs a hand over his face, pushing back from the chair. “I need another drink. And Tristan, I’m blaming this entire thing on you.”

“On me?”

“A ten-million-dollar apartment, and you have lighting dim enough to make a man lose at poker.” He stops by the bar-cart I keep in the corner, pouring himself another brandy. “A matchmaking company. Christ.”

“See it as an opportunity!” Carter calls. “You can use it to find love!”

“One more word out of you, and you’re out of this company,” Anthony responds.

I reach for the cards on the table and start to shuffle. “Do we go back to money?”

“There’s nothing better,” Victor agrees.

The sound of my phone cuts through the room, drowning out the low music from my speaker system. I push back from the table. “One moment.”

The familiar number sends a thrill through me. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Freddie says. “I’m sorry to call you this late. I know you said you had plans for the night.”

“Not a problem at all. What’s happened?”

Her voice turns apologetic. “Well, you know how you made that joke about the heater?”

My mind sorts through our previous conversations, the jokes and jabs and flirtation. The joke about fixing her heater. It had been an excuse tossed out between us, testing the waters.

“I remember,” I say.

“Well, it’s actually broken.”

The snow swirls outside the windows, draping the street in a heavy white blanket. “It’s freezing tonight.”

“Yes, the heater chose the worst possible moment. The super’s not working tonight, and I can’t find an electronics store that might sell a space heater open this late.”

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