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“Albert, that’s not fair.” Archer needs the money, and I desperately want to help him be better. “And besides, he kept his end of the original deal—you’re still alive.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Do I look like a man who cares, Red?”
“Be reasonable. Please.”
He arches a brow and smirks. “You’re begging on his behalf?”
“Look, you’re pissed I didn’t go on your stupid little date, I get it, but Archer is a nice guy, and he needs the money. I got you dinner, didn’t I? We ate together, didn’t we?”
“I set the terms, and you didn’t pay up. Tell him first thing.” I open my mouth to speak, but he gives me that look again. “If you continue to beg for him, I’ll think there’s more to your working relationship.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t have you down as the jealous type.”
He grins. “I’m not. It’s about keeping a professional working relationship.”
My eyes widen. “Like this?” I snap, pointing between us. “Double standards.”
“I’m the boss, I can do what the fuck I like, and right now, I want to get rid of that messy little fucker. So, tell him or don’t, either way, he’s not on my books anymore.” He waits a beat before adding, “Goodbye, Rosey.”
As I leave, I’m feeling strange about our encounter. He’s never spoken to me like that before. Maybe my instinct was right. Maybe he’s getting too attached, which is why he’s so pissed about dinner. I groan, knowing I’ll have to avoid him, which will be impossible.
I’m not ready to go home. I’m fired up after my fight with Albert, so I head to a wine bar a few streets away from the club.
It’s busy as I perch on a seat at the end of the bar and order a cocktail. Damn Meli for abandoning me for Arthur. They want a kid, so he’s always dragging her away to the bedroom.
A guy catches my eye. He’s holding a bottle just below the bar, and he’s emptying a powder into it. He swirls it around and stuffs the packet in his pocket. Then he grabs a second bottle from the bar and looks around. He approaches a woman as she comes from the bathroom. They exchange a few words, and when he offers her the bottle, she smiles politely, shaking her head and moving on. He proceeds to do it a few more times before I catch his eye. It briefly crosses my mind to call for the doormen, but when he pulls up a stool and takes a seat beside me, I decide to hear him out.
“You alone?” he asks. I glance around, pointing out that it’s obvious I am. He grins. “Good point. Just thought I’d check.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” he asks.
“Why were you checking to see if I’m alone?”
“I can’t believe a beautiful woman like you could possibly be here on her own. You must have a husband?”
I scoff. Where do these fuckers come up with this shit? “I’m Rosey,” I tell him, holding out a hand. He shakes it, then kisses the back of it, which I immediately wipe away on my jeans.
“Scott.”
“Real name or fake?” I ask.
He frowns. “Real.”
“Oh. Men like you usually lie.”
He pulls out his wallet and produces his driving licence. “See, no lies.”
“Are you married?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I like my freedom too much.”
“I bet you do,” I mutter.
“Drink?” he asks, pointing to the bottle on the bar.
I shake my head. “I don’t take drinks from strangers.”
