AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ll come to you. This is urgent.
Either he’s decided to pay up or he’s figured out some way to drag this out to amuse himself. If he’s actually in a paying mood, I need to see him. If it’s the other thing, I can tell him to take a hike. Maybe I can get the Naughty Librarian Guy to kick his ass. He seemed drunk enough to try.
So, I respond, I’m at Leonard’s Bar. Do you know it?
Be there in 5.
That’s fast. Whatever he’s on about must be important. Or he’s readying the next phase of this prank. I wish I had a better history with Anderson; that he hadn’t been such a fucking bastard for so many years. That I could believe he’s on the up and up. It’d be nice to think this was all just one big banking error, and he’s been working tirelessly to get it sorted out.
But I have a long memory, and it is scarred by that man.
I’m not naïve. Not anymore. I will not be sleeping with him ever again. That needs to be the first thing out of my mouth when he comes in. If he comes in. Or he’ll stand me up, like a coward. Nah. He won’t stand me up. He has too much fun dicking me over.
I half expect to see his friend Tag some place in here, ready to watch Anderson take me down and getting into position to hit me with a double zinger of his own. He used to do that—wait until Anderson’s insults hit, then join in with one of his own. Tag was many things, but original was not one of them. Wonder what he’s up to these days.
So, I check out his social. Pic after pic of him on yachts with bikini-clad women under his arms. Him in a race car. Him, playing golf in some exotic locale. It’s all I can do not to barf. He’s the kind of man my imaginary clients would need revenge on. His family is involved in law and real estate, and they own properties around the world, enabling him to travel on the company dime and call it work.
In short, I hate Tag McAllister.
I’m sure there is no end to the people he’s screwed over. Like Anderson.
It’s strange, though. As much as I want to loathe Anderson—and part of me actively does—I also think he was embarrassed by his account being frozen. If all of this is an act, it’s a hell of an act. He never used to have the kind of acting chops it would take to pull all of this off, and he could have learned to be a better actor for sure, but it’s hard to believe. I mean, I know he hated me back in the day, but for him to go to these lengths? Extreme, even for him.
And then, there’s the Kalen Black of it all.
The one proof that Anderson West has more depth to him than I ever credited him with. If he hadn’t helped that kid, then I could believe this was all just Anderson being the pompous piece of shit I always thought he was. But when I brought Kalen up, he was uncomfortable. It was as though he felt exposed. Vulnerable.
So, he’s not a hundred percent grade-A asshole. So what? He’s still screwing me out of my freedom. A freedom I didn’t even think was possible.
When a dark-haired, tall man walks in, I find myself leaning to see if it’s him. No. But I keep watching the door. I should rejoin the others—I’m sure Naughty Librarian Guy has moved on. I don’t want Anderson thinking I’m antisocial, no matter how antisocial I am. He might get the right impression.
Not that his impression of me matters. I just need to look payable. Not fuckable. I am never fucking Anderson West again.
-
Chapter 25
ANDERSON
Leonard’s is one of those downtown bars I tend to avoid. It’s nice enough—has an old world feel to it. Brick or glass walls, brass fixtures, properly uniformed staff, all the details to make you think it’s worth paying through the nose for a decent whisky drink. Thing is, it is worth paying it if you’re a wannabe corporate attorney. The accessible connections alone are worth the fee.
But I don’t require those kinds of connections and desperation hangs in the air like expensive cologne.
It’s full of young-to-middle-aged people, all looking for the hookup. Either for work or for pleasure. The bartenders are swamped, too. No sense in remembering all the details of a shady business deal or a bathroom blowjob. If you’re drunk, then you have plausible deniability. Each of the patrons is dressed as though they’ve just come from the office. Wall-to-wall suits and skirts.
All of them but me.
I’d hoped to see June at her apartment, so I’d changed into something a bit more casual. Black leather flight jacket, gray cashmere sweater, and jeans, black leather boots, something that hopefully says, “Responsible man not trying to continue to screw you over.” If I’d worn my suit, she might think I was trying to appear intimidating.
Strange to overthink an outfit, but this whole situation has me overthinking.
Scanning through the crowd, I wonder if she lied. I don’t see her anywhere. It’s not as though she owes me the meeting. She is the one who is owed, not the other way around. Couldn’t blame her if she took a spot of revenge on me by lying about her location. It’s not more than I deserve.
But then I see her. She’s tangled up with some blond and a crew of suitors. Of course, June is surrounded by men. Not as if she has a reason not to be. I’d imagine men swarm her wherever she goes. She has all the options in the world.
Getting to her is a task and a half. The place is packed like sardines, and her group sits near the bar itself. Easier for them to get drinks, but harder for me to get to her. Once I reach her, I’m relieved to see she appears to have no interest in the men around her. In fact, she is ignoring them. One in particular wears a dejected glare whenever he looks at her.
Good. June Devlin deserves more than some stuffed shirt corporate attorney. She looks incredible. Blue jacket over a black on black ensemble. She outshines every woman in here. When she feels eyes on her, she glances up from her phone.
