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The cell phone sitting on my desk rang, and when I picked it up, I saw Kade’s number. I connected the call and put it up to my ear.
“What’s up?” My hand curled around the back of my neck, and I dug my fingers into the tense muscles there.
“You sound like shit,” Kade said.
“Good. I feel like shit.”
“If she’s getting to you that badly, why don’t you tell Kennedy? She’ll understand if she knew—”
“No.” My voice was hard. There was no way in hell I wanted anyone to know a damn thing.
Kade sighed into the phone. “Fine. Maybe I can distract you with work stuff. Come to my office.”
I dropped my head forward. “I’ll be there in a second.”
I made the short walk to Kade’s office across the hall and pushed open the door. Cole sat in one of the chairs off to the side, his fingers moving over the screen of his phone. I made my way toward the black couch in Kade’s office that matched the one in mine and sat down, stretching out.
“What’s up?”
“First,” he said, standing up and moving toward the bar across from me and pouring whiskey into two tumblers, “drink this.” He closed the space between us and handed me the drink.
I wanted to take it like a shot, but I didn’t. Bringing it to my lips, I slowly took a drink, letting the liquid burn a slow path down the back of my throat.
“Thanks.” I saluted the drink in his direction.
“We need to talk about fight night. That’s my week in New York, so I want to make sure we have all the details nailed down before I leave.”
“What details? We’ve done a dozen of these nights.”
“I think we should do something different this year. Our usual is getting stale.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll come up with something fan-fucking-tastic.”
I didn’t doubt we would.
Kade and I had bled and sweat for our casino to make Empire the best fucking establishment in Vegas. We had a reputation to uphold. And as we went over the plans for fight night, I knew our reputation for the best would remain intact.
