When I walk into Ender’s a little later than I anticipated, I feel immediately at home. Miller and I typically come here a couple times a week, and our regular server is Taylor. Servers here dress in those tops that are really tight and tie up in the back to push their tits up, and Taylor wears it well. She’s cute and has a great personality, easily earning herself huge tips with her huge tits.
I’ve thought about taking her home, but I don’t want to ruin the good thing we have. She takes care of us when we come in, and sleeping with her might ruin that—especially if she’s one of those women who thinks sex is for more than just fun.
I won’t lie, though—I’ve fucked about half the other servers here.
I nod at Violet, one such example, as I walk to my table, and she shoots me a dirty look. She wanted more, too, which is why we don’t sit in her section anymore. I’d be a dick not to acknowledge her, though. I’m probably a dick either way, actually.
I slide into my usual seat at my usual table. Our table is in the VIP section on the second floor overlooking the dance floor below.
Miller uses this place not just for fun, but also for networking. He became good friends with the owner, and he brings clients here to show them a good time. He’s a financial advisor, and his motto is that his career is based on personal relationships. The more he entertains his clients, the more they trust him, the more money they give him, and the more money he makes.
Tonight isn’t for business. Instead, our usual crew is here—Miller and a bunch of other buddies we’ve been friends with since we lived together in the same fraternity house back in college.
Miller and I roomed together our freshman year at Columbia and he’s one of the smartest people I know, but he’s still a man who can make stupid decisions. He likes women as much as I do, and we had one hell of a good time together in college—we still do. Of the guys I still hang out with from college, Miller and I are the perpetual bachelors. Everyone else has at least tried their hand at a serious relationship.
Taylor rushes over to greet me as I sit and nod my hellos to my friends before they all resume their conversations. It’s hard to have a conversation with more than one person at a time in here because of the loud music. “Gin okay, Mr. King? Or would you like something else?”
I shoot a look at Miller. “Hendrick’s?”
He nods, and I roll my eyes. I swear, if I don’t get here first, he always orders gin. It’s not my favorite, and I can damn well afford whatever drink I want, but I suppose straight gin is the way to drunksville, plus it’s already on the table.
“Gin’s fine,” I say to Taylor, and she pours me a glass and adds a lime wedge.
I hold up my glass toward Miller, and he nods before I take a sip.
“No clients tonight?” I ask as the liquor burns a hole down my chest.
He shakes his head. “Thinking about bringing Taylor home.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why? You wanna fuck her?”
I chuckle. “Of course I want to, but she’s the best server we’ve ever had. Remember the Violet fiasco?”
He laughs.
“She still gives me dirty looks every time I walk through the door.”
“Well-deserved, my friend. Fuck her until she can’t walk and then you don’t call her? Asshole move.”
“I don’t have ti—”
Miller cuts me off and nods knowingly. “Yeah, yeah, you don’t have time for a relationship. We’re all busy, man.”
I sigh and don’t respond. He’s right—we are all busy, and I get that. I’m not playing the I’m busier than you game, not with him—even if I actually am busier considering I’m about to take over a Fortune 500 company. I guess I still make time to drink and fuck, though. Priorities.
I think of my brother and my cousin. I regret that I didn’t let them know I was in San Diego earlier today.
Carter managed to remain part of the family business, moving to San Diego and running King Contributions, our charitable organization, but he still has time for a wife and kids—a girl, Millie, and a boy on the way. Almost two years ago, he and our cousin, Axel, bought a bar called The Port, where Axel has bartended forever. Axel still runs The Port, but he cut his hours when he got married and their first kid was born. Now he and his wife have another baby on the way—a boy who will join his older brother, Jameson.
Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to be the guy behind the bar, tapping the kegs and serving the beer instead of being served.
But I’ve been groomed for this position, as my father continually reminds me.
I push those thoughts out of my mind as I spot a table down on the first floor filled with what appear to be drunken ladies. I’ve homed in on my target. There are five ladies there, each with a different drink in her hand, and they’re all laughing together. They hold their glasses up and touch them together in a toast, and then they abandon their table for the dance floor. The one I’m watching the closest is blonde, of course, and has legs that seem to go on for miles. She’s wearing incredibly short shorts that make her legs appear even longer, and her black shirt dips low in the front and in the back. She must have tape on her breasts to ensure they don’t pop out. Just the thought of running my hand up those long, smooth legs makes my cock tighten with anticipation.
I toss back the rest of the gin in my glass and grimace. Taylor is immediately by my side with a refill, and when she leaves, Miller looks over at me with a raised brow.
“You in some sort of race tonight?” he asks.
I shrug. “Early meeting tomorrow.”
“So? That’s never stopped you before.”
“You’re right, it hasn’t, but I’m not getting any younger.”
“Which is why one of us should definitely hook up with Taylor.”
I chuckle. “You go ahead if you have to. I’m heading down there after a little more gin.” I nod toward the dance floor and watch as she moves to the music. The way she’s dancing tells me she wants to be fucked tonight; girls like her don’t put on a show like that unless they hope someone’s watching.
He follows my gaze. “The blonde with the legs?”
“Who else?”
“Touché.”
I pull out my phone and set my alarm for the morning. I’ve learned the hard way that if I want to get to work on time after a night out, I need to set my alarm before I start getting drunk and before I make my way to some random lady’s house. I set my phone down and take another sip of my gin.
Miller turns back to me. “Listen, before you go, I do have some business I need to discuss.”
Did I mention that Miller is my financial advisor? My father offered me a selection of the ones he uses, and some of my accounts are set up with them, but I trust Miller. My dad told me it’s never a good idea to mix money and friendship, but Miller and I aren’t like that.
“What kind of business?”
“One of the high-risk investments we talked about tanked.”
“So pull it and put it into a lower risk one.”
“That’s not what I’d recommend.”
“Which one was it?”
“The big one.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Do what you have to do, just don’t spend my entire future.”
“I don’t make money unless you make money.”
“I know.” I look over at him with a glare. “So make us some fucking money.”
He nods smoothly. I love my friend, but I hate that he’s so damn good at hiding what he’s really thinking. Part of me wants to know how much money he’s lost me, exactly. He doesn’t usually bring up my investment accounts over gin, so it must be pretty bad, but however much it is, I’m safe. My father taught me well despite the fact that I don’t always listen to his advice.
I finish my second glass of gin, get a refill from Taylor, and excuse myself to talk to the blonde with all the legs.
My conversation with Miller plays in my mind. Was my father right about investing with a friend? Was it a bad idea to trust Miller, even though he’s good at what he does? I know I’ll have good years and bad years; it’s the way the game works. High-risk means big loss or big reward, and last year was a big reward type of year. That doesn’t mean I’m okay with this year being a big loss, though.
There are few things I really hate in this world, and flying, confrontation, and losing money are probably my top three. I push it to the back of my mind, even though I know it’ll be eating away at me until I have a chance to sit down with Miller and really look at my finances. What a fucking dick for bringing it up on a night when we’re supposed to be out having a good time. I bet he only did it to expense the bottle service, and he managed to stick a pin of anxiety in my stomach in the process. Asshole.
The blonde is at the bar by the time I get downstairs, so I slide in smoothly beside her and signal the bartender. “Hendrick’s for me, and whatever she’s having for her,” I say, nodding toward the woman.
She looks better up close than she did from above. Her gaze turns to me, and she has heavy brown eyes with long lashes. “You don’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “I want to.”
She turns to the bartender. “Manhattan.”
“Manhattan?” I repeat with the slightest touch of appreciation. Manhattans are for people who want to get drunk fast, and that bodes well for my cause.
She smiles. “I like whisky.”
“I like girls who like whisky.”
“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, and then she narrows her eyes at me. “Is that just a line?”
I shake my head. “When I turned twenty-one, my father gave me a bottle of Macallan. What he didn’t know was that I’d been sneaking it off the top shelf of the pantry for years when he wasn’t looking. I developed a liking for it early.”
“Then why the gin?” she asks, nodding toward the bartender as he makes our drinks.
“Long story. I’m Carson.”
“Brittany.”
“Nice to meet you, Brittany.”
She grins. “Nice to meet you, too, Carson. You here alone?”
I shake my head. “My friends are upstairs.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Upstairs? Fancy.”
“If you’re a good girl, I can get you up there.”
She leans in a little closer, and I smell the whisky on her breath. Perfect. She smells like heaven and I want a taste. “What if I’m a naughty girl?”
She doesn’t back away as she awaits my reply, and I already know I’m in.
“Then I’ll take you up there before I take you back to your place.”
“What if I want to skip upstairs and go right to my place?”
“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Wherever?”
The bartender places our drinks on the counter in front of us, interrupting our banter. “Thirty-eight, Mr. King,” he says to me.
I nod up toward our table. “Put it on Miller Cox’s tab.”
“Of course, sir.” He turns back to add that information into the computer, and the woman beside me looks impressed.
“He knows your name? You come here a lot?”
“I do business here a lot,” I say. It’s a half-truth. I do some business here, sure—like when Miller talks to me about how much money I’m losing seconds before I’m about to hit on someone, for example. I do come here when I need to entertain a client of my own; it’s rare, but it happens.
I hold my glass up to hers, and she taps hers against mine.
“What sort of business is that?” she asks.
“Media.”
“Entertainment?”
I shake my head. “Telecommunications.”
She looks vaguely disappointed, as if I could’ve given her her big break. Little does she know, I actually do have the connections to do just that if I wanted to.
“What do you do, Brittany?”
“I’m in human resources.”
“How long have you been in human resources?”
“Four years next April. How long have you been telecommunicating?”
I chuckle. My whole life is the real answer, though I’ve technically only worked in my current position as executive vice president for the past two years. “I’ve been with the company in various positions since I was in high school.”
She sips her Manhattan. “When are you taking me upstairs?”
The key to a successful night here at Enders is making sure we get ladies back to our table. It’s not necessarily for our success, but for the bar’s success. We’ll continue to get good service if we provide good clientele, and drunk ladies at a bar are typically acceptable currency.
“How about now?”
She nods. “You got any single friends up there?” she asks.
“I’ve got five friends up there. Three are single.”
“Shoot,” she says, sticking out her bottom lip. “I’ve got four friends with me.”
I raise a brow. “Guess one of you will have to double up.”
She leans in. “It won’t be me tonight.” She takes a long sip of her Manhattan before she speaks again. “I want you all to myself.”
I can’t tell if this is the best idea ever or if I’m totally fucked.