Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I deserve to celebrate.
Mister Mystery: That’s a good girl. Back to meetings for me. Enjoy your dinner, Miss Morgan.
I order my dinner quickly before turning back to my journal, my heart and mind thrumming in sync with each other.
I’m going to be filling out quite a few pages tonight.
CHAPTER 9
NICK
“Are you seriously out of tequila?” Thomas calls from the liquor storage, his voice bouncing off the custom walnut shelves.
“Do you seriously need tequila to plan a fundraiser?” I shoot back.
I kick my feet up on my marble coffee table and roll my head back to rest on the plush back of my favorite armchair, idly listening to my best friend rummage around in my kitchen. The overhead lights are off, my expansive living room lit only by the warm glow of a few bare bulb floor lamps since I had planned on a relaxing night to myself before Thomas invited himself over.
Things with Riley are going better than I expected. We text constantly, even during the workday. I’ve caught Marcus staring at me curiously when I check my phone under the table during meetings, but he knows better than to pry. Tonight was supposed to be more of the same, idle chatter and easy flirting, but Riley’s best friend has stolen her attention away from me for the evening.
I suppose I can allow her a night to herself every now and then while I reel her in.
“This swill will have to do,” Thomas announces, wandering into the living room with a bottle of whiskey that cost half a year’s salary and two crystal glasses.
Calls that swill like he doesn’t drink the worst tequila that’s ever graced my tongue.
He’s lucky I put up with him.
“Pour me a double,” I tell him. “I’ll need it to stay sane through your babbling.”
Thomas grins, that trademark wicked curve of his lips that sends all the girls to their knees, sharp blue eyes in stark contrast to his warm olive complexion. He pours us both more alcohol than necessary, but he’s always been a proponent of getting buzzed before talking business.
He slides a glass across the coffee table to me before taking a seat on the tufted leather couch and kicking his feet up to mirror my position.
“What’s got Nicky in such a pissy mood?” he teases, the fine-line tattoos wrapping up his forearms shifting as he takes a sip of his drink.
He hisses at the burn as it goes down, and I shoot him a warning glare.
“Last I checked, you weren’t my mother.”
She’s the only one I let call me that, which Thomas well knows.
“Certainly not,” he says with a scoff. “I prefer Daddy, anyway.”
I curl my lip at him in disdain, rolling my eyes at the crude joke. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with this asshole, but he evens me out. I can’t be all work and no play when I’m keeping the idiot from running his mouth like this in front of people who won’t take kindly to it. He’s never understood proper decorum, although that’s probably why he runs the most successful dungeon and lifestyle club in Manhattan.
“You wanted my input on the auction?” I ask drily, ignoring the wink he shoots my way.
“Right to business with you,” he says with a put-upon sigh. “I want your wallet more than your input. I do know how to set up a successful event, in case you forgot.”
He really is lucky I find him amusing, or I’d have pulled my funding years ago. The things that childhood friends get away with.
“You already have a check on your desk from me,” I remind him, sipping my own whiskey and enjoying the heat as it washes down my throat. “You’re here because you want to annoy me.”
“Am I that obvious?” he asks with a laugh.
“You wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit you over the head.” I cross my legs at the ankle and lounge in my armchair, watching him trace the edge of a scar at his hairline before scratching through the dark, buzzed bristles. “This is just a repeat of the same event you do every year, yes? Why are you stressing over it?”
He shrugs, the white fabric of his button-down stretching across his muscled shoulders. “People want bigger and better. The charity we’re donating to relies on this event to fund most of its fiscal year. It’s important to give the people what they want.”
Thomas may be annoying and too playful for his own good, but he takes his work seriously. His hard work ethic is one of the reasons we bonded so well. Both of us are goal-oriented and like to make money, but in addition to that, we’re both fiercely loyal. At the start of my journey into my business, Thomas was one of the men at my side who helped me get backers to make my business what it is today.