Page 4 of The Betrayer
No, instead, I’d had an idea, and I’d run with it. It was the only thing I cared about besides drinking and partying in those days, barely out of college and the frat house. I hadn’t imagined one day I would be the head of a multi-billion-dollar company.
No, all I’d wanted to do was see my idea brought to fruition.
Not that the money wasn’t a fine thing to have, and it came with a whole hell of a lot of perks. Like playing golf on a weekday or knowing picking up a date on the way to the gala would have an almost one hundred percent chance of working.
But the people at the events weren’t one of those perks.
Glancing at my watch again, I knew I needed to get going. My son would kill me if I were late. Then again, this was all his idea, his baby, his plan, his event. It was all for him.
I caught the bartender eyeing me from down the bar and smothered my smile. Instead, I held up my empty glass. She nodded, handed her current patron their drink, and headed directly back to me.
Like I’d known she would.
“Can I get you something else?” she asked. Her voice had a warmth to it that hadn’t been there before.
“Another one of these would be great. Thanks.”
She nodded, flashed me a smile, and turned away to get another glass and more ice without asking me what I’d been drinking. The girl was young, but from what I’d seen, she was good.
And so was I. Almost as good as I was at running a company.
I knew I’d be able to find a date for the gala at the last minute, but I hadn’t thought to find one at the club. It looked like I wouldn’t need to go to the place I’d lined up after this. Even if this hadn’t worked out, there were always options. At least for me, there were always options—I’d never had trouble in that arena.
Well, I’d had trouble once. I had failed at keeping the one woman I had actually wanted to stick around. I’d failed miserably, in all honesty. I’d chalked it up to being too young, to a long-term relationship not being my thing or my strength—those were my ex’s thoughts on the matter, anyway.
Not that my ex-wife and I didn’t have a decent relationship. The divorce had been mutual. We had both given it a go, we really had, but in the end, it hadn’t been worth it for either of us to continue the way we were. She and I wanted different things, and we both wanted more freedom than what marriage provided.
Which was why I’d stuck to short-term flings since. The divorce had been eons ago anyway, and I assumed that had been my one chance at a real relationship. Since it hadn’t worked out and I’d proved to be truly terrible at it, I had decided I wasn’t going to bother a long time ago.
At least I was good at most of the other hats I wore.
Besides, young women were fun. They didn’t have the cares of their older counterparts. Most of the young women I encountered weren’t tied down with a career, and they didn’t have kids at home to which they had to run back. They still looked at life as stretching out before them, and time was infinite enough that they could waste it having fun in an endless number of ways. I spent my days with stuffy executives, boring lawyers, and severe businesspeople who took themselves far too seriously, and my too-serious son. When the day was over, I wanted someone who was going to see the joy in life.
Even if that meant they got younger every year. Or maybe, I was the one getting older every year.
Unlike my son, I wasn’t going to waste my life focused entirely on the business. It had its place in my life, but so did fun. What else was I supposed to do with all my money? One day, I would be dead and unable to do anything with it, so I would enjoy it now while I still could.
The bartender was on the other side of the bar again, expertly pouring an amber liquor into a jigger before adding it to a tall glass. She looked up, meeting my gaze like she’d felt mine on hers. I flashed her a subtle smile and took another sip of my whiskey.
She was back in front of me a minute later, her smile and glance flirtatious.
“Can I get you something else?”
She leaned forward against the bar, and I glanced down to see a small flash of cleavage through the unbuttoned top of her white button-down.
“No, I better stop after this one. Thank you, though. You poured the good stuff.” I held my glass up in a salute to her, then took a sip, my gaze never leaving hers. “So, how long have you been doing this?”
“This?” The young woman’s gaze arched up and around the clubhouse. “I’ve been here for about four months.”
“Bartending, I mean.”
“Oh.” She swiped at the bar with the towel again, even though it was already spotless. “Ever since I turned twenty-one.”
Which couldn’t have been that long ago.
“And even before that, to tell the truth. My uncle has a bar, and I started working there at fourteen, serving, doing dishes, that kind of thing. I started working the bar before I was legally allowed to, but I always looked older, so none of the guys there seemed to care.”
“I’m sure there were other reasons none of the guys there cared.” Two of them were straining at her shirt, the middle buttonhole pulled tautly.
