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Ethan Thomas, finance extraordinaire, answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Ethan. It’s Andreas,” I say, struggling to hear myself over the sound of the bar.
“Andreas, how are you doing?” Ethan asks.
“I’m doing alright. Listen, I was wondering if we could schedule a meeting soon. I want to go over my father’s finances and make sure everything is in order. I have some ideas for new salaries, and I need to make sure our revenue stream can accommodate the changes.”
“Let me check my schedule,” Ethan says. I hear him shuffling papers on the other end of the line. “How about next Thursday at three?”
“That works for me. I’ll see you then,” I say, and hang up the phone.
I order another whiskey and sit back and enjoy the way it warms me from the inside.
“Can I get another?” I ask the bartender, sliding my empty glass toward him. He nods and fills it up, then leans in close to me.
“Rough day?” he asks with a half-smile. Bartenders are therapists in today’s society. They listen without judgment, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.
I chuckle and bring the glass to my lips, taking a long sip. “You could say that,” I reply, feeling the liquid warmth spread through my veins, “but I’ll survive.”
The bartender nods and starts wiping the counter, giving me some space to think. Lately, I’ve been so focused on my restaurants and making sure my employees don’t go without, I’ve neglected any social or sexual needs that I have. My attraction to Alana reminds me of those needs. That’s why she’s occupying so much of my mind, surely.
I take out my phone and start scrolling through my contacts, searching for a particular name. My thumb hesitates over the green button for a moment, but I say fuck it and hit call. I’m about to hang up when she finally answers.
“Andreas?” her voice is breathless, and I can hear music and laughter in the background.
“Hey, Stacy. Are you busy tonight?” I ask, hoping she’ll say no. There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can hear her taking a deep breath.
“I’m out with friends right now. Why?” she yells over the background noise.
“I was hoping we could meet up. Talk about some things,” I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
There’s another pause, longer this time. Then she answers, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Andreas. I thought we agreed we both needed some space for other things.”
I close my eyes and sigh. She’s right.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“It’s alright,” she says, her voice softening, “Just take care of yourself.”
I thank her and hang up the phone, feeling a twinge of guilt for even calling her. I grab my glass and down the rest of my drink. The bartender slides my bill over to me, and I lay some cash on the counter. The night is young, but I have to work tomorrow. I get in my car and drive back to my house.
6
Chapter Six
Alana
It’s after seven by the time I drag my ass up the stairs to my apartment. I reach the landing at the top of the stairs and see that my front door is slightly ajar, which honestly is the cherry on top of my shitty day. I just know that when I walk in, all of my shit will be gone, and I’ll have to move back home and live with my mom and dad.
Stan and Erica Meyer would love to have me back home. But fuck, it’s barely even been a month. I video call Ricole and Ashley so they can walk into my apartment with me in case a Ted Bundy-esque serial killer is lying in wait.
“ARE YOU JUST NOW GETTING HOME?!” Ashley shrieks as she answers the call.
I hold my phone up to my dirty, sweaty face and groan. Ricole answers as well and says, “Hey guys, give me a minute. I’m taking a shit.”
“Yes, Ash, I’m just now walking in. I called you guys because my apartment door is open, and I’m worried a murderer is waiting on me to walk in. I don’t wanna end up on the next episode ofDateline. You’re my backup and have to come with me so you can at least know what my attacker looks like,” I ramble because I’m nervous.
Ricole turns the video on her chat immediately, and we can see her face up close as she’s sitting on the toilet.
