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Especially seeing as Dirk has us meeting at the douchiest joint in three counties. I’m sure he thinks he’s being clever—arranging a meeting between a sex toy-slash-adult film company and the owner of a virtual porn empire at a topless steakhouse, but dude missed his mark by a long shot.
Don’t get me wrong. I love tits. I love steak. I just don’t particularly love random tits bringing me my steak. I haven’t even told Colton where we’re going yet, because he’ll probably have a coronary—and I don’t have the time or inclination to baby his ass.
Stacia’s working her second job tonight. She’s been picking up shifts left and right, working her fine ass into the ground trying to help her dad. I swear to God, I’d bankroll her entire life if she’d let me. But…she won’t. Strong, stubborn, sexy woman. Which is all the more reason to go out of my way to do things for her.
Sure, it started off as a way to woo her into having my baby, but it’s turned into something…more. Doing shit for her, making her coffee, and rubbing her back, has almost become second nature. There’s just something about seeing the smile on her face that sends a zip of pleasure through me.
Which is why instead of dashing out the door to pick up Colton like I should be in order to make our dinner meeting on time, I’m writing out a message in icing across the cookie cake I ordered for her.
Seeing as I’m not a fucking baker, my frosting writing could use work. It’s a little lopsided and slanted at an angle. And maybe what should read ‘Not as sweet as you’ looks more like ‘Hot as sweat as you’, but whatever. It’s the thought that counts.
I quickly replace the plastic lid on the container housing the cake and scrawl out a message on the inside of a card before laying it on the lid, grabbing my keys, and running out the door.
I swing by Colton’s place to collect him; he lives in a swanky condo uptown, complete with a doorman and a valet. He’s waiting at the curb when I pull up, looking perturbed by my lateness. But in the words of Kanye, he should be honored I even showed up for this fake shit.
Well, not really. Technically, I’m the grateful one—to have him as not only my lawyer, but as my friend and all-around right-hand man.
However, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fuck with him.
I lower the passenger window as I roll to a stop at the curb. “C’mon already, man, we’re gonna be late.”
Colton scowls darkly, and I crack up. “Asshole,” he mutters as he folds his tall frame into my passenger seat.
“Only on days that end in Y.”
Colton massages his temples. “You exhaust me.” I laugh again, and he punches my arm. “Are you ready for tonight?”
“I think so. I know where I’m not willing to compromise.”
“And where’s that?” my friend asks, quizzing me like I don’t know my own business or ethics.
“No sweatshop productions. No child or slave labor manufacturing. I’d prefer domestic, but will bend as long as he can provide up-to-date insights on the factories and their practices.” Colton nods, pleased with my reply.
“Where are we eating?” he asks, as I turn right onto the interstate ramp.
I duck my head, taking care to keep my hands at ten and two on the wheel. “About that…”
“What, West? What?”
“He made reservations without consulting with me. Legit. He called Margaret today with the time and location.”
“Where?”
“Buck and Lesli’s.”
Colton frowns. “That sounds familiar. Why?”
I’m torn between letting him find out for himself and telling him. I waffle for two exits before finally settling on the latter. “It’s that topless steakhouse in Dusk River.”
Colton whips his head around to look at me. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“That’s a mark against doing business with him in my book.”
I flick on my blinker and merge onto our exit. “Mine as well. However, I’m at least willing to hear him out, and if I decide not to work with him, I’ll do so with a clear conscience.”
Colton groans as the building comes into view. “Double. You’re doubling my fee for every hour of this shitshow.”
I laugh. “Okay, bud. I’ll pay you double to eat steak and stare at scantily clad babes.”
“You’re paying me double to deal with this level of unprofessionalism and for holding my tongue on telling this jackass exactly how I feel about it.”
I kill the engine and wink. “Got it. C’mon. The quicker we get in, the quicker we get out.”
Colton huffs, but follows all the same.
The two of us walk into the steakhouse side-by-side, a united front, ready to handle anything Dirk could possibly dish out.
The quiet of the parking lot fades away into a cacophony of sound as we step into the building. There’s sultry music, raucous laughter, and loud conversation coming at us from every angle. It’s a sensational overload—and not in a good way.
