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“Who’s that?”
I smile to myself. For a second there, I’d forgotten how young she is. “He’s generally regarded as the best chess player who ever lived.”
“Oh.”
“After observing you, I’ve got no doubt you’d be fully capable of playing chess like him, if the need arose.” I sip Josh’s Scotch again. “Seriously, Georgina, you wouldn’t believe the shit people do to get my attention. Nothing surprises me anymore.” I take a sip of the martini she slides across the bar and suddenly realize she looks sincerely offended by something I’ve said. “Oh, come on. Really? Don’t act like I’ve slandered you by calling you out, Little Miss Journalism Student Who Goes To A Music Event to Ambush CeeCee Rafael. You’re a hustler, baby. Scrappy and relentless. I’ve seen the way you expertly hypnotize your customers, including me, into giving you big tips. Don’t even try to pretend you’re not fully capable of playing chess as masterfully as Bobby Fischer.”
She blushes crimson, letting me know I’ve pegged her right.
“But it’s all good, Georgie girl. I’m a chess-playing hustler, too. In fact, one of my mantras in life is ‘All good things come to those who hustle.’” I raise my glass to her. “To being scrappy and relentless. To hustling and playing chess.”
She slides my third martini in front of me, looking tentative. But after a moment, a delightful sort of “what the fuck” expression washes over her gorgeous features. She grabs one of the martinis and clinks my glass with it. “To playing chess.” She grins. “Even more masterfully than Bobby Fischer.”
Chapter 9
Georgina
“You about done over here?” Marcus asks, appearing out of nowhere next to me. “We’re slammed, Georgie. Now isn’t the time to take an extra-long break.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Rivers here just—”
“Ordered ten more drinks,” Reed interjects. He pulls out his wallet, and places another Benjamin onto the bar—this one, for Marcus. “A little something for the extra load you’ve been carrying because I’ve monopolized Georgina’s attention.”
Marcus glares at the bill on the bar before returning to me. “You need help making his order?”
“No. They’re all pretty simple drinks.”
“And I’m in no rush,” Reed supplies.
“I’ll work like a bunny,” I say. “Sorry I’ve been MIA.”
“Here’s another hundred for you, man,” Reed says, placing another bill next to the first. “I didn’t think about how me monopolizing Georgina was impacting your night. Hopefully, this will make up for it.”
Marcus mutters something under his breath. But, ultimately, he scoops up the cash and shuffles away, looking thoroughly annoyed as he goes.
“Oh, God. It killed him to take that money from you,” I say, laughing.
Reed resumes his bar stool. “And yet, he took it. Proving, once again, the accuracy of one of my favorite mantras: ‘Everybody’s got a price. To get what you want from someone, you just have to figure out what their price is, and bribe the shit out of them with it.’”
I scowl. “That’s one of your favorite mantras? Jeez, Reed. That’s dark.”
“I’m wildly successful in a cut-throat industry. You expect my favorite mantras to be about rainbows and unicorns and singing ‘Kumbaya’?”
I squint at him. Is it weird I’m not sure I like him, but I’m hella certain I want to fuck the living hell out of him? “Do you actually want another ten drinks, or was that just a ruse to get Marcus out of my hair?”
“Heck yeah, I want ten drinks. Let’s give my buddies a magical mystery tour of beverages to choose from.”
“You’ve got buddies here? This whole time I thought you were alone.”
He turns around and directs my attention to two guys at the pool table: a hot male-model type who’s cut of the same cloth as Reed, and a nerdy-hipster guy who looks like he could be his hot buddy’s modeling agent. Reed returns to me, smiling. “Let’s make my buddies ten of the most complicated, time-consuming assortment of drinks you can muster.” He places three hundreds in front of me. “Your tip, on top of whatever the ten drinks cost, if it takes you at least twenty minutes to complete my order.”
Whoa. That’s quite a tip on top of what Reed’s already paid me tonight. Thanks to him, I’m already having the best night of tips of my life, by far. And I’m grateful for it, of course, given the medical bills stacked on my father’s kitchen counter. But I’m also wary. Does Reed think he’s finding my “price” with these tips—and bribing me with it? If so, he’s dead wrong about that. If I decide to go home with him tonight, or any night, it won’t have anything to do with his financial generosity.
I get to work on filling Reed’s ten-drink order, slowly, while he settles onto his bar stool and chats me up. About ten minutes in, when I slide the fifth drink of his order across the bar, Reed finally makes his move. “Hey, do you think you could get out of here a couple hours early?” he asks. “I’d really like to spend some time alone with you tonight, but I’m flying to New York first-thing tomorrow, and I’ll be gone for a week. The thought of waiting that long to get you alone is torturing me.”
