“… made over two-hundred thousand last year! Can you even believe that?”
He rotated toward the voice and spotted the bride-to-be in conversation with a brunette who had her lips rounded into a red-lipstick O. “You’re kidding me. That’s amazing!”
“It’s crazy, right?” the brunette replied. “Who knew candles would sell so well.”
The bride set her chin on her hand and her eyes seemed to slosh in place. “I did. Girl, wasn’t I the one who told you to go for it? I always knew you’d go places.”
Reed groaned.Girl.Like the brunette was an eighth grader instead of a woman pushing thirty.
“Youtotallydid, girl! Oh my god, I don’t know how I’m going to keep growing it though, you know? It’s, like, getting so hard to do on my own now.” The brunette’s voice dipped weepily toward the end of the statement, like continuing to make two-hundred grand would be the worst thing to ever happen to her.
“You’ll figure it out.” The bride squeezed the brunette’s arm and gave her a little squeal. “I’m just really happy for you, Rachel!”
The brunette screwed her face into a happy pout, then pulled the bride into a hug. “Not as happy as I am for you.”
Oh, good god,Reed thought, about to vomit. Luckily, the bartender returned with the drinks and set them on the bar. The bachelorettes scooped them up one by one and scurried away toward an empty table—all of them except for the brunette named Rachel who pointed at the empty space on the bar in front of her. “I think you missed one.”
The bartender frowned. “Sorry about that. What did you order again?”
“A chocolate martini.”
“Be right back.”
“So you sell candles, huh?” Reed asked, cutting in.
Rachel startled at his voice and then looked at Reed like he was a mushroom that had grown out of the stool beside her; an unpleasant thing better suited for the dark. Her gaze warmed the second it reached his face. A handsome face, he knew. Reed didn’t have much going for him, but he had his looks. They were about the only good thing his mother had ever given him.
“Are you spying on me?” she asked.
He feigned a good-natured laugh. “Overheard, actually. I’m a home-goods distributor.”
“A … what?”
She gave him a lazy blink, first one eyelid, and then the other, like she was trying to dial in his resolution. Reed had no clue what a home-goods distributor was or why he’d said it. But he’d lugged a trolley full of suitcases up to a two-thousand-dollar-a-night luxury suite for a guy with that title the other day. They had to make good money. Besides, what did it matter? He’d already jumped into the deep end with this conversation. Might as well see how far he could take it.
But where was he taking it?He didn’t know. He finally decided to go with, “Someone who helps people like you achieve scale.”
She blinked again, looking confused, so he added: “You know—connect you with more customers. Do all the busy work while you rake in the sales.”
Her eyes brightened at that. She was attractive enough, pretty even, with her full lips and olive skin, but definitely not a supermodel. Although Reed could tell she thought she was. Add another five years and twenty pounds and she’d be chasing down her glory days in an endless series of nips and tucks.
“Wait, seriously? I’ve been looking for someone like you. I—” She hiccupped. Giggled. A pair of pendant earrings hung from her ears and glittered as she laughed. “I amsooodrunk.Good lord.”
Reed grinned. “Big night, huh? Where are you all in from?”
“Here, actually. Summerlin.”
Here?Reed hadn’t expected that. Vegas was mostly transients and tourists. But people did live here. Especially rich people. People like this woman. Summerlin was full of them.
He realized she was still talking and tuned back in as she flapped her hand. “Bridgette’s getting married in Tahoe. She’s flying me and the rest of the girls up there in a couple of months for the wedding. Her family’s loaded. It’s going to be ridiculous.” Her voice stalled on the last word before it finally tumbled out in a slur:ree-digulis.
“What’s your name anyway?” she asked.
“Logan,” Reed said. “And you’re Rachel.”
“How did you—”
“Know?” He tipped his beer toward the table where two of the bachelorettes were trying to call her over.
