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I leaned into Reed, lowering my voice to a whisper, “Do you ever get used to people just staring at you when you go places?”
I mean, I would be staring too, given how damn attractive the man looked today.
The business attire I’d seen him in made this man sexy, but today, he’d leveled that up by wearing a pair of dark blue denim jeans, a black hoodie, and a leather jacket pulled on over the top. The high-top black Nikes and Aviator sunglasses were the icing on what was already a very delicious-looking cake.
One that, with all these people staring, I was tempted to lick and announce to be mine.
But he wasn’t.
He was a nice person—a kind human being—helping out another human being.
Reed dipped his head, turning so his lips brushed my temple. “Pretty sure they aren’t looking at me,” he whispered back, sending a rush of heat burning straight up my neck and filling my cheeks as we stepped up to the bar.
“Mr. Lawson!” the perky male bartender called as he approached. “How can I help?”
“Martin. Both of us. Plus, Bronson will probably be here soon,” Reed explained like he was a regular—the fact that the bartender seemed to know him and whoever Bronson was suggested maybe it was true. “You have somewhere off to a side where we can have some space?”
Martin nodded, grabbing a couple of large flat menus before rounding the bar. “I’ll put you over here,” he said, gesturing for us to follow. We passed by rows and rows of twenty to thirty-foot ‘lanes’ made up of a large wooden bullseye on the wall at one end and a bar table at the other, with some wood and floor-to-ceiling netting that separated each.
It was loud, but not overwhelmingly so, with a lot of chatter and the odd thump as the axe collided with its target.
Martin took us to the lane at the furthest end of the bar, against the wall.
“I’ll make sure no one books out the place next to you so you can have some privacy,” he said, placing a couple of menus on the table. “Now, drinks? Food?”
He looked at me first with a wide smile. “Um… yeah. Margarita?”
“Absolutely. Mr. Lawson?”
“Just a beer… whatever’s on tap,” Reed answered. “Send Bronson over when he gets here.”
Martin nodded. “Sure, I’ll bring Mr. Rhodes over. Let me know if you want to eat.” Then he was gone, hurrying back across the bar.
The place was busy, and I couldn’t see a huge amount of staff around.
I was about to question Reed on why we came here when my brain finally put together the two names that had been used. “Bronson Rhodes?”
“Mmm…” Reed hummed, pulling out one of the bar stools for me before taking a seat on his own. “He called while I was in The Kings Line. Needs to have a chat about something, so he’s going to swing by.”
“Are you moving into the hotel business?”
Reed smiled but shook his head. “Bronson became a good friend when I was starting my business ambitions. He wants to expand the Rhodes brand into other things… apartments, resorts, spas. He asked if I’d be interested in working on it with him for a little while as business partners until he figures out what the best path is to take.”
“That’s kind of amazing,” I said, leaning in. “The world of the rich and wealthy isn’t often a place where you find those kind of people who you feel you can trust like that.”
I should know.
I’d been in it.
Every other week, I was hearing stories and being told who I could and couldn’t speak to anymore.
“Ah, right. You said the other night you grew up with money,” Reed mentioned, pausing as a waitress rushed over and quickly placed our drinks on the table before disappearing like a flash. “What’d your parents do?”
“My mom is Helen Maxwell. She’s an—”
“Actress,” Reed cut in, his brow pinched. “She’s won Academy Awards. A Golden Globe.”
“Yup.” I nodded as I picked up my margarita, swallowing two large mouthfuls before the sharp tequila taste hit my tongue, and I had to put it down. “Wow.” I coughed, banging my fist against my chest. “That’sreallygood.”
