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My chest feels hollow, but I won’t cry. I knew this was just a one-time thing. Nothing more. But I still went and did it. I did this to myself.
I'm so fucking stupid. But I won’t cry. I swallow thickly and rush into my apartment.
I splash my face with cold water in the bathroom. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, the memory of our passionate embraces, and his heated kisses rush through my mind.
It means nothing to him, while it means everything to me. This is a wake-up call to start leading with my head and not my heart.
Two can play this game.
Chapter 10
Chris
I flip through my club's record book while my manager, Pratt, stands in front of my desk, his hands folded at his back.
“We ordered more crates of that vodka since it is the customers’ favorite.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I close the record book completely satisfied that there are no discrepancies. “You can go now,” I say dismissing him.
“Um, boss. Your friend, Mr. Watson, is waiting for you outside,” he adds.
My dull mood lights up at that. “Let him in.”
He nods and leaves. I clear my desk and recline in my chair as I stretch my back and hips. The past few days have been hectic with me flying to New York and London to check on my clubs there.
The door opens and Luke walks in with two buckets of KFC chicken.
“I got this for you,” he says as he places one of the buckets on my desk.
I smile in appreciation and stand to wash my hands in the sink. After washing my hands, I sit back in my chair and place the bucket of chicken on my lap.
“To what do I owe this kind gesture?” I ask as I pick out one piece and munch on it.
He playfully rolls his eyes. “You talk as if I do things for you just to get something in return. I know you have had a busy week, and I've come to relieve you.”
“That's so sweet of you.”
“I forgot to tell you that I was able to prevent the buying of those shares.”
My ear perks up at that. “That's great news. We should celebrate.”
“That's why I'm here. When the club is in full swing, I'm balling.”
I roll my eyes. To Luke, partying and sleeping with random strangers is his own definition of fun.
“What I mean by celebrating is for us to relax and have some good whiskey,” I try.
He chuckles at my expense and slaps his thigh. “You know sometimes I doubt that you are just in your thirties.”
“Why?” I ask, not a bit amused.
“Let's just say you act like you are older sometimes. Loosen up and have some fun. I can't believe I'm telling you this,” he says.
“There's nothing fun about getting wasted and waking up with a migraine.”
Luke raises up his hand. “I'm not going to argue with you. I'm just going to enjoy my chicken.”
“You always say that when you are losing the argument,” I point out.
