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Chapter One
July
“That’snotwhathesaid,” I comment absently as my eyes trail around the wine bar once again.
“Ray,” Addy sighs, ignoring my words completely. “You’re not even paying attention.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. I pay more attention to my surroundings and the conversations happening around me than anyone even realizes.
I know our waiter keeps disappearing into the back to check the score of the college football game happening right now. His favorite team must be losing because he’s getting progressively more agitated every time he returns.
I know Addy chose the wrong bra when she got dressed this morning. Not only is it pinching on the left side, but it’s scratchy and probably new. She won’t stop fidgeting and discretely tugging at the material. I told her she needs a higher quality bra than that offered at the mainstream lingerie store she insists on shopping from, but they keep dragging her in with every well-curated ad.
Hell, I even know what’s happening between the couple three tables away. They’re fighting over the nanny. Apparently,Scottywon’t stop checking outLisa’sass. Here’s the kicker. Lisa’s only 17.Freshly17, at that. No doubt, Scotty’s trying to do way more than just look at the underage girl.
I shoot another disapproving look in the perv’s direction. His eyes rake down my body, completely missing the withering glare I’m giving him. When he finally reaches my face, he tugs his lip between his teeth and winks. The motherfuckerwinkswhile sitting across from his literal wife.
Leaning forward, I press my palms to the table and push to stand, more than ready to lay this fuck-twat out despite the nerves in my belly.I can do this. Someone has to.
“Don’t!” Addy hisses, her wide blue eyes darting between Scotty and me. The poor wife looks five seconds from falling into hysterics at her husband’s behavior, which only further enrages me. I hate…hatemen like him.
Correction. I hate men. Period.
Dropping back down, I force myself to breathe through my anger. Going to their table to tell him off, or better yet, break his nose, won’t be good for anyone. Especially me. I’m pretty sure that I’m one public argument away from winding up on the news, and I really don’t want that.
As satisfying as it would be to take all 250 pounds of him down with a well-aimed kick from me and my Louboutin, it’s not worth it. I’ve worked too hard for too long to waste my career on the likes of his pedophile ass.
With one last murderous glare, I turn my attention back to my good friend, Addison Hughes. She goes by Addy for short, or, if you’re the media,Paddy WagonAddy, as she’s been rudely but accurately dubbed. They aren’t wrong.
