She's Got Dibs

by AJ Nuest

  “Who’s that?”

  “Just these bigwigs downtown.” She waved away his interest, the details unimportant. “They have some corporate thing they do at their facility outside Chicago every summer.”

  He paused with his drink in midair, and she could’ve sworn a trace of unease flashed across his face. She frowned. “Something wrong?”

  “No, no, not at all.”

  She measured his response from beneath her lowered lids. But whatever nerve she’d struck really didn’t matter. If she was reading his signals correctly, this night would follow an altogether different route. “Anyway, the good news is we will hopefully get the job. At least, it looks promising. And, of course, the bad news is we will hopefully get the job, which means long days and a lot of work.”

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket, exposing the crisp white dress shirt beneath. “Let’s not talk shop anymore.”

  “Good. What would you like to talk about?”

  “Actually, I would like to talk about you.” He swiveled his chair to face her.

  Adrenaline spiked in her stomach when his knee bumped her thigh. “And what would you like to know, Mr. Nothing But the Truth?”

  He squinted, pursing his full lips. His knee came to rest against her leg. “Married?”

  “No way, never.”

  “You say that like I just asked if you’d ever killed anyone.”

  “I know.” She shook her head and recrossed her legs. God, why’d he have to pick this topic? “Don’t get me wrong. I think marriage is great for some people. I mean, it pays the bills. It’s just not for me.”

  “Really? Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Too many rules, I guess. Too much commitment. I don’t like anyone telling me what I’m supposed to be doing. I guess I’m just way too independent.”

  He nodded, the corners of his lips turned down.

  “And then, of course, there’s the breakups.” She placed a hand on her chest. “Aren’t those so much fun? It’s way too much drama, too much mess. And I despise mess. I hate it. It’s just easier not to start anything right from the beginning.”

  “I do have to agree with you about the messy part.”

  “You’ve recently had a breakup?”

  “Divorce. Finalized six months ago.”

  “Ah. One of those big, messy philanthropic-type divorces?”

  He smiled. “Yes, actually, it was.”

  “Got taken for a lot, huh?” She brought her martini to her lips.

  “Ten million.”

  The vodka razed her throat when she sharply inhaled, sputtered, and coughed into her hand. A divorce was one thing, but a settlement that size was plain obscene. “Did you say ten million?” she croaked.

  “Well, with the homes and all the assets, the final figure ended right around there.”

  “Just exactly how much are you worth?” She started in her seat. That information was absolutely none of her business, and to thoughtlessly blurt such a personal question broke all the rules. Evidently the alcohol had loosened her lips. She placed her hand on his forearm. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  He dropped his gaze to her fingers, and a moment passed before that same piercing stare nearly rocked her back in her chair. “A lot.”

  “Fair enough.” Thank God, he’d reestablished some detached diplomacy.

  The bartender arrived and set a fresh martini in front of her. “Compliments of the house.”

  “How nice. Thank you.”

  “I’ll take another, too, whenever you have a second.” Dibs nudged his glass.

  The bartender snapped his attention to Dibs, nodded curtly, and stalked away.

  Tessa picked the skewer from her drink, slid an olive off with her fingertips and popped it into her mouth. “So, why Dibs?”

  “David Isaac Brenner.”

  “D-I-B.” She nodded.

  “My grandfather thought it was funny,” he explained. “He started the nickname when I was two and it’s stuck ever since. At least for my family and friends, that is.”

  “No one has ever called you David or Dave?”

  “My mother calls me David, but she would never call me Dave. Way too informal.”

  “Oh, she’s one of those.” Tessa washed down the olive with another sip.

  “They all are, actually.”

  “They being?”

  The bartender returned with a fresh scotch for Dibs, grinned at her, and moseyed away.

  “My family.” Dibs swirled the ice in his tumbler. “They are what most would refer to as a bunch of snobby assholes.” He eyed the level in his glass before draining the contents, pushed the barren ice to the rear of the bar, and brought the second drink forward.

  She lifted her brows. Not that his response mattered either way, but the irritation in his demeanor sparked her curiosity. “And you’re not, then?”

  “You tell me.”

  “How could I possibly tell you that? We’ve only just met. I’m not even sure what category you are yet.”

  “Category?”

  “It’s this thing I do.” She dismissed his question with a shake of her head. “It started about a year ago, after my last breakup.”

  “And?”

  “And, when I reentered the dating pool I realized most men fit into one of five categories.” She skated another olive off the skewer and sucked the salty pimento from the center.

  Curiosity creased his brow and he crossed his arms. “Really? Just five?”

  “Yep.” She popped the p. “Just five.”

  “And what are these five categories?”

  She settled her chin in her palm, elbow propped on the bar beside her cocktail. “Do you really want to know? Or are you just humoring me?”

  “I’m dying to know, actually.” He braced his arm against the bar and leaned in.

  Her heart fluttered at his nearness. Perhaps the time had nearly arrived she do something about all this…

  “Okay.” She sat up and scanned the crowd. Three seats to her right sat a gentleman she estimated in his late fifties—plaid sport coat, shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, several gold chains decorating the tufts of his curly, gray chest hair. Gold rings adorned each of his pinkies, the diamonds flashing when he swirled a large snifter of what appeared to be brandy. The seat beside him was occupied by a woman who looked half his age, the plunging neckline of her dress doing a pathetic job of supporting her ample bosom. Her lips were overly plump, her hair bleached blonde, and she sported a diamond the size of Alaska on her left ring finger.

  Tessa tipped her head in their direction. “You see that guy?”

  Dibs peered past her down the bar. “With the blonde and the bad toupee?”

  She huffed. “Category two, the Everyman. He started out with good intentions, a wife and kids, working hard to support his family, until one day he decided he was miserable. What followed was a midlife crisis. He traded in the sedan for a sports car and started frequenting nightclubs. That’s where he met the bombshell. The rest is obvious. Divorce, followed by an engagement, and now he spends his days regretting his choices and missing his kids, wondering how he’ll ever satisfy the voracious appetites of a twenty-something.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather stay single.”

  Dibs’s brows rose toward the devilish cowlick at his hairline. “You got all that just sitting here?”

  “My job requires me to read people.”

  “Really…do another one.”

  She gauged his interest before resuming her search. Straight across the bar sat a young man in a tailored business suit, open laptop on the bar in front of him, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He rubbed his forehead, and Tessa would’ve placed bets the clear liquid in the glass beside him was seltzer water.

  “You see that frantic kid at the end of the bar?”

  Dibs nodded.

  “Category four, the Entrepreneur. He’s working two deals right now, both on the brink of disaster because he missed his flight. If at
least one doesn’t come through, he won’t be able to pay for that suit he’s wearing. Failure is not an option. His work is his life, it defines him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m an entrepreneur, remember? I’ve been there. And contrary to popular belief, two of us under the same roof does not a good relationship make.” She swallowed the last remnants of her martini and eased the second one forward.

  “And there’s a category three.” She sighed, flicking her eyes toward the hostess station. “Otherwise known as the Too-Good.”

  Dibs swiveled in his chair.

  She leaned close and whispered in his ear. “I can tell what he’s thinking, with his impeccable taste and flawlessly coifed wife. How did all of us get seated before him? It’s preposterous. The manager’s head will roll!” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “His mother probably told him he was better than everyone, doted on his every need. Now anything less than perfection is simply unacceptable.”

  Dibs searched her face a moment before laughter burst from his throat. “You’re too much.”

  “Wait…here they come.”

  The couple was led to a nearby table, the man muttering the entire time. He briskly flipped open the sides of his suit jacket and aimed a finger at the table, frowning up at the hostess.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dibs whispered.

  “He’s a pompous ass.”

  He refocused on her. “Fascinating…”

  Tessa relaxed back in her chair. She’d given him a small bit of insight, now it was his turn. “So, do you live in Chicago?”

  “Most of the time. I have a home there.”

  “Uh-huh, and where do you live the other times?”

  “My parents have a home in Martha’s Vineyard. I spend some time there.” He paused, tapping the bottom edge of his glass on the napkin. “And then there’s the chalet in Vail, for when I’m in the mood to ski.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. Exactly how long was the list? She ate another olive, twirling her hand forward.

  “And the villa in Saint Tropez.”

  “Is that it?”

  “There’s also a house in San Luis Obispo, but I haven’t spent too much time there.”

  Bottom lip jutted forward, she appraised this newest bit of information. “So, with all these fabulous places to go, why are you sitting in a hotel bar in New York?”

  “Because I’m talking to you.”

  She scolded his diversion tactic with a glare from under her brows. “Flattering, but that doesn’t explain why you were on a commercial flight, instead of flying off somewhere in your private jet.”

  “I had a meeting in New York today, just like you,” he said quietly. “And I’m trying to get home. Just like you.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment and she grimaced. Evidently the man wasn’t interested in putting on airs…or flaunting his money simply because he could. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything…I mean, I didn’t mean to be a smartass…or anything.”

  “You weren’t. I was just telling the truth, like we agreed.”

  “It’s the vodka.” She stared into her martini. “I tend to get a bit belligerent when I drink.”

  “Well, then, maybe we should call your boyfriend over and order some dinner.” He tipped his head toward the bartender.

  “Ooh, that was a low blow.” She squinted in feigned annoyance even as relief sidled through her chest. He could’ve easily called the whole thing quits.

  “What category do you think he is?”

  “Well, for starters, he’s a five.” She balanced her elbow on the bar, her chin resting on her knuckles.

  “Uh-oh, what’s a five?”

  “The biggest category, unfortunately. The Buffoon.”

  Dibs barked a laugh. “Why do I suddenly get the impression all men start out in that category?”

  “Most do…” She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. “But not every man.”

  “Then why is he automatically a five?”

  Her attention circled around to the bartender. “Well, he’s obviously flirting with me.”

  “Oh great. And that makes him a five?”

  A low chuckle caressed the back of her throat. That was very good. He was sharp. “Not necessarily. But how does he know we’re not together?”

  “I thought we were together.”

  “I know, I know.” She waved away his comment. “I mean together, together. After all, you took my key card out of your pocket, yet he still makes an ass of himself by flirting with me in front of you.”

  “Oh, I get it. But he’s not only a category five?”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Arching a clever eyebrow, she crooked a finger at the bartender.

  He set down the glass he was drying and hurried over.

  “Hi.” She sat forward, crossing her arms along the bar. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

  “Doug.” The bartender smiled and braced his hands on either side of her elbows, shortening the distance between them.

  “Hi, Doug, my name’s Tessa. I’m curious. Is bartending your full-time job, or is there something else you also do?”

  “Oh, I only do this part time. I’m actually in a band. We play over at the Alphabet Lounge every Thursday. You should come check us out sometime.”

  She slowly faced Dibs. Yep. Typical five. Consistently sidetracked by the anatomy in his pants. Coupled with how he was also a category one, only a single option truly remained.

  She fisted the lapels of Dibs’s suit and yanked him forward, caught a breath, and crushed her lips to his, inviting him to join her in a passionate kiss.

  He hesitated the briefest second before his mouth parted. The tip of his tongue brushed hers. The scotch on his breath filled her senses. She became rapt as he lingered, sweeping his lips back and forth. A thrill coursed her stomach when his hand met her lower back and he urged her closer.

  Their tongues dueled and danced. His heated sigh washed the curve of her cheek. He tipped his head and dove deep, sipping at her mouth, his tongue swirling and exploring every inch she offered. The sweet swell of his full bottom lip brushed up over hers once, twice, and the world teetered precariously off-balance.

  She pulled away, but he followed, pressing a soft kiss to her lips once more before she swiveled back to the bartender. Dibs smoothed his hand up between her shoulder blades, and warmth flooded her thighs when his fingers tangled in her hair.

  “Does that invitation include my husband, Doug? Or was it only for me?”

  The bartender’s jaw hung slack as an unhinged gate.

  “We would like to order some food now, Doug.” She clasped her hands under her chin, batting her lashes. “Do you think you could bring us a menu?”

  “Sure,” he murmured. He slid a resentful frown at Dibs before slouching away.

  “Wow.” Dibs braced his elbow on the bar, one leg trapping the front of her knees, the other pressed along the length of her thigh. “I like it when you get belligerent.”

  “A category five with category one tendencies.” She swirled her drink. “The Starving Artist. He’s loads of fun, but lives in a dump, is disorganized, and very passionate.” She filled her lungs, exhaling loudly. “Sadly, extreme passion has its pitfalls. That was a lesson I had to learn the hard way.”

  “If you want to kiss me again when he comes back over, just go ahead. You don’t need to ask or anything.”

  She shot a shrewd glance his way, and uncontrolled laughter bubbled up her throat over how her lipstick had coated his mouth in a glossy pink shine. She plucked his handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to him. “You have a little smudge there.” She pointed to her own lips.

  Dibs discarded the handkerchief on the bar and drew near, his hand sure and strong on her back. “Here he comes,” he whispered. A tip of his head, and his lips became caught up with hers.

  Tessa closed her eyes as he landed feather light kisses, again and again. His hand edged higher. Ar
ousal sparked and sizzled down her spine when his fingers clasped the base of her neck. He tugged her into the wall of his chest, deepened their kiss, his tongue shuttling slow and smooth against hers. Excitement shivered the hair on her arms. The noise from the crowd faded into the distance.

  She cupped his cheek and became lost in the warm strength of his arm around her shoulders, the heady allure of his cologne, the stubble on his upper lip when he nibbled the corners of her mouth and his beard grazed her skin.

  He slowly eased back, brushing a subtle kiss across her lips before moving away. His hand remained where it was.

  She blinked. “Are you—”

  His fingers tightened and he dragged her to his lips, kissing her once, twice, before his hand slowly combed down the length of her hair.

  She cleared her throat and shook her head to clear the incredible rush that had just surged through her body. “Are you starting a pattern here?”

  “I’m just trying to be an attentive husband.” He darted close and stole another kiss.

  “Very funny.” Her hand trembled as she lifted her martini.

  Two menus sat on the bar in front of them…and she had a phone call to make. Before things went any further some reconnaissance was in order. “I’m going to excuse myself for the ladies’ room.”

  Dibs quickly stood, offering his hand to help her off the high chair. “Hurry back, sweetheart!” he called.

  She spun around on unsteady legs and inclined her head at his clever remark. First pointing at his handkerchief resting on the bar, she rotated her hand and aimed a finger at her own lips. “You’re a mess.” She turned to go, and then hesitated. “Oh, and darling…”

  Dibs peered at her from under his brows. He grinned.

  “Go ahead and order. You know what I like.”

  Chapter Three

  Tessa pushed into the bathroom, approached the row of sinks…and slumped. Her lipstick wasn’t even close to where it belonged. She locked onto her green eyes in the mirror, but they revealed nothing. It simply wasn’t there yet. Balancing her purse on the edge of the counter, she dug past her wallet for her cell phone.

  “TNT Entertainment,” Tiffany answered.