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Harlow
Jocks.Like this night wasn’t bad enough already.
Taking a greedy swallow of my Snowflake Martini, I slide into the open spot next to my work wife and wannabe life coach, Annette Quinto, offering an absent wave to the guys parked around the table as they introduce themselves. Under any other circumstance, I’d at least feign polite interest, but tonight—and possibly for the first time in my life—I just don’t have it in me.
Whatever. Pretty sure these athletes’ egos can handle it.
Turning my phone over in my hand, I glare at the department-wide email congratulating Junior on the job that until sometime in the last twenty-four hours had been mine.
“Turn that thingoff,”Nettie chides, grabbing my hand in hers and muscling the phone back to sleep. “Forget about the promotion. I know it sucks. I know it’s not fair. But give yourself the night off from thinking about it.”
Right. A night offwasthe plan.
I don’t take them. Ever.
Finishing off my second Snowflake, I don’t feel any better. I haven’t loosened up the way Nettie swore I would. Worse yet,I still care.
And Ihatethat.
Almost as much as Junior’s smug wink when he’d walked past me on the way to his new office.
When will I learn?
Nettie’s talking a mile a minute to the guys surrounding us, becoming best friends with them the way she does with everyone else. The way I don’t do with anyone.
The blond one with the goofy smile asks about the party, wanting to know who the bride-to-be is and which girls are single.
“Yeah.” The grumpy-looking one beside him waves to the guy in the chair. “Grady here’s after a date for his brother’s wedding next week.”
“I’ll go!” Nettie squeals, and I can’t help but laugh. She’s a grab-life-by-the-horns kind of creature, and it’s one of my very favorite things about her.
She would not be sitting idly by while someone with less than half her experience took the job she’d been working toward for the better part of a decade. She’d be letting headhunters woo her and entertaining offers for positions that were better than the last.
She wouldn’t be taking two weeks off while the “restructuring” shook out and a new position was found for her.
Why is my drink empty?
Nettie’s friend, or rather client—both?—shakes his head with a chuckle. “Sorry, babe. It’s for thewholeweek. And he needs someone willing to pretend to be hisgirlfriend.”
My brows inch up.
The one who needs a date groans.“Dude.”
Ouch. Well, at least I’m not the only one facing down embarrassment tonight.
Client Dude waves him off. “Relax, Nettie and Harlow handle our money. They’re not running to TMZ.”
He’s right about TMZ. We wouldnever. But the money? Not quite. While Nettie’s a senior account manager in the sports division of private banking, I don’t work with anyone’s money directly. In fact, until the announcement this afternoon, I’d been heading up compliance.
Nettie taps a red-tipped nail against her chin, giving Dateless the once-over. “But you’re hot.”
It’s true. His body is insane, if you’re into that solid-packed-muscle thing.
“Why can’t you get a date?” She turns to Client Dude. “Is he a dick?”
Dateless tips his head back and covers his eyes with the heels of his hands. And whether he’s a dick or not, the bulging thing that happens with his biceps and already broad chest is kind ofwow.
“Nah. Grady could probably land a date before our next round arrives.” And like he was some kind of magician, a girl in a short, glittering dress breezes in and starts unloading drinks… including another Snowflake Martini for me. Client Dude winks. “He just can’t score theunicornhe’s hoping for.”
