Sydney and her high school sweetheart, Levi Tennyson, moved out to California three years ago. He landed a role on a television drama series, Silver Badge, playing a detective. The tabloids got the best of Sydney when she saw a picture of Levi and his very sexy co-star having dinner at a sushi restaurant in Los Angeles resulting in a breakup I never thought would happen.
Although Sydney seems to be enjoying the single life, I think differently only because the picture of her and Levi still sits prominently on her dresser after six months of their breakup.
I always thought those two would get married and live that Hollywood life. But I guess life seems to take the driver’s seat, steering us down a path we sometimes don’t want to end up.
“Hello, Earth to Dee,” Sydney singsongs.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I take a sip of the sweet wine. I close my eyes, sink further into my chaise, and ignore her, hoping she takes the hint. I just don’t feel like talking about how everything went south at my interview.
“Not talk about it?” Sydney challenges. “You have been preparing for this interview. And now you don’t want to talk about it? Suit yourself, I’ll just chat about my day. Bore you with lesson plans and the parent-teacher conference I had.”
I relish the warmth of the spring sun on my face as she continues to rant about who knows what. The sound of the crashing waves is soothing as I watch the birds fly in their V formation to the horizon when Mama’s quirky and cryptic words of wisdom, and the mantra I live by, pops into my mind.
Don’t follow the end of the rainbow to find a pot of gold. They only come after the rain ends and then it disappears. Instead chase the sunsets, Lulu . . . they come every day and the sun is made of gold.
“Okay, that was my day . . .” Sydney levels her glare, letting me know it’s my turn to talk. How does she look so amazing and not tired after dealing with boys all day? She’s an English and drama teacher at St. Joseph’s, an all-boys school in Palos Verdes. “I can continue talking your ear off. You know there’s always some kind of drama at work.”
“There’s not much to tell, Syd.” I shrug and take a sip of my moscato. “Same questions, which I’m sure I nailed the answers perfectly. After about a dozen interviews, I can recite the answers in my sleep. Then it was show and tell time and that’s where I screwed up. When I opened my portfolio to show my designs for Aptos Organics, Jenna’s perfume boutique”—I let out a long breath—“I forgot I took them out and left them on the coffee table.” I jut my chin toward the sliding glass door behind me where I left my designs in the living room.
So much for my confidence superpower.
I must have mistakenly grabbed Kryptonite-laced sugar and poured it in my coffee this morning. After a long shift at the diner the night before and waking early to be bright eyed and bushy tailed, I was truly a scatterbrain.
I sigh and take a long sip from my wineglass, relieved I don’t have to work tonight. “I looked like such a fool. I sure as hell wouldn’t hire me.”
Sydney nudges my bare leg. “Stop being so hard on yourself. You got through what, four interviews with this firm. They wouldn’t have wasted their time to push you to almost the end and say no.” She adjusts her tank, exposing her torso as she sinks into the lounge chair.
“You’re smart and you have got mad skills. I’m sure you got the job.” She raises her glass and clinks mine. “You are the only person I know that can pull off being a spokesperson, a graphic designer, as well as market your ass off to get your parents’ farm, Jenna’s business, and the others to where they are now . . . all successfully, might I add.” She tips back her wine. “If you ask me, that town owes you big time.”
“Still, I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe I forgot my designs.” I brush a few strands away from my face from the wind, ignoring everything she just said. “In your language . . . This was my last audition, Syd. I either nailed it or not.”
“Yeah, okay, so you forgot your stuff. You screwed the pooch on that one,” she snickers.
I swat her with my free hand, almost spilling my wine. “Bitch.”
She straightens up and glares at me. “Dee, you’re not listening to the words coming out of my mouth. Read my lips . . . You. Are. Amazing.”
“You think I have what it takes? This is a dog-eat-dog world. I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
“And all these lions, tigers, and bears, oh my,” she singsongs, “can kiss your ass. With your talents, they’d be stupid if they didn’t hire you.”
“Thanks, Syd. What would I do without you?”
“Probably stay under that damn rock.” And she’s probably right.
I finish my glass of sweet wine then look out to the ocean. I internally groan at how I won’t be putting in my two weeks’ notice anytime soon with Tawney, the owner of PB&J: Pastries, Brew & Java.
“Let’s go.” Sydney looks at her watch then slaps my knee. “We have a few hours to get ready.”
“Ready for what? I thought we agreed on a movie and ordering in some Thai food.”
She wiggles her brows. “We’re going out to dine and dance tonight.”
I groan, then narrow my eyes at Sydney. “Can’t we just stay home and drink about two more bottles of this?” I hold up my wineglass. “I also have a date with Mr. Bubbles.”
“No can do, sister.” Sydney angles her head and gives me the death stare. “We’re checking out a new club on Wilshire.”
“I’m not in the mood to dance, Syd.”
“You can’t lock yourself up in this house. All you do is work at that diner and come home. You need a social life and more friends.”
“I have friends.”
“Really?” She raises a brow and levels her stare. “Like who?”
“You for one,” I tell her. “Then there’s Tawney, Emily, Adam, Landon . . . then there’s Serena.”
“Seriously? Serena, your dog? And your co-workers don’t count, they’re not friends.”
“I beg to differ,” I retort.
“Okay. Let me ask you this . . . when was the last time you hung out with Emily? Or went on a date with Landon? Or had a beer with Adam?”
I purse my lips. Damn it. She’s right. “First off, I would not go on a date with Landon. I don’t like beer. And as for Emily, we’re working it out.”
“Just admit it. You need friends, Dee. You need to put yourself out there and stop hiding in our shack we call home.” Syd rolls her shoulders back and quirks a brow.
“This house is bigger than a shack.”
“Please, do this for me.” She pouts her lips as I twist mine.
The softness of Sydney’s voice makes me realize it’s been almost three months since moving here and I have sheltered myself in this house.
“My tips weren’t all that great this past week. I’m low on cash,” I partially lie, trying to hide my uneasiness.
“Dinner’s on me and I got us on the guest list,” she says with a proud smile. “No cover charge.”
“Well, I don’t have money to buy drinks,” I counter with another lie.
“Then don’t drink . . . either way, you’re coming because I’m not going without you.”
“Who’s the guy that got us on the guest list?” I ask, knowing I have lost this battle.
“What makes you think it’s a guy?”
“Syd.” My tone is a warning. I look at her, knowing I’m right. “The only way you would accept an invitation to a club is if he’s charming and good looking.”
She sighs. “I bumped into this guy at the coffee shop near work.”
“And he just invites you to this club?”
“We struck up a conversation.”
“Is he married?” I take a sip of my wine and wait for her answer, looking over the rim of my glass.
“He’s a widower.”
“Are you sure that’s not a pickup line for you to feel sorry for him?”
She relaxes her shoulders and rests her hand on my knee. “Dee, not everyone is like
Todd. I know your guard is up and that’s okay. I have seen this man at the coffee shop more times than I can count. He’s well dressed, a regular, and known by the name. I have even met his two young boys.”
“I’m just looking out for you, Syd.”
“I know. And I am looking out for you too. Bryan mentioned that he owns a few clubs and wants me to check this one out since it’s been open for a month now . . . with my plus one.” She gives me an I’m-not-taking-no-for-an-answer look.
I peer over my shoulder at Serena sleeping on her large doggie bed in the living room. I feel terrible for keeping my four-legged best friend cooped up in this small house when she’s used to running free on my parents’ ranch back at home.
Tonight, I was planning to get a good night’s sleep and wake up early to take a run down the beach with Serena.
“I have nothing to wear . . . the good stuff is still packed away,” I say, knowing darn well I don’t have a thing to wear that would meet the dance club wardrobe standard.
Sydney rises, blocking my view of the few surfers in the distance. “Come on. We have done nothing like this since you moved here.” Sydney extends her hand to me. “I have a hot red dress in my closet that would look great on you. And you never know, you might actually enjoy yourself.”
Doubtful.
* * *
The rays of colorful lights dash around the walls, reflecting off the mirrors in this upscale club.
A DJ stands in an elevated, round cage in the middle of the dance floor that slowly rotates like a globe above us. Dancers stand on platforms at the corners of the large room, gyrating their bodies, spinning and flipping their hair. Men check out the women, and vice versa.
Sydney has been a good sport. She’s not left my side, even with having a fair share of men asking for a dance or for our numbers.
After eating dinner on the other side of the building, we have been sitting at the bar for the last two hours. Although I’m thankful that we could find two empty stools at the end of the long granite bar, I am also eager to leave.
The darkness and loud music remind me of when Todd locked me in the closet knowing how afraid I am of the dark. He blared music on the other side of the door and taunted and laughed while doing it.
“Magnate-bourbon-man,” Sydney calls out over the thumping music that is pushing the decibel scale as she eyes the man on the other side of the bar.
To pass time, we play our game for old times’ sake, guessing the drink of choice and job of each man who approaches the bar to place their order.
“Did you say magnate? Is that one of the words you taught your freshman class today?” I joke as I lean closer, cupping my palm around my earlobe, making sure I heard her right.
The man Sydney is referring to has chestnut colored hair styled in that messy-cute kind of way. He’s tall and quite handsome from what I can tell in the dim lighting. His broad shoulders fit nicely in his dark blue sports coat and white button-up shirt.
He crooks his finger at the voluptuous female bartender wearing a tight black tank with an infinity sign across her breasts to come closer to him. He says something to her holding up two fingers and I assume he’s ordering for two people.
We watch the bartender as she lifts a bottle with a horse on the cap from the top shelf, pours the amber liquid in a short tumbler, and hands it to him. Blanton’s Bourbon.
“Ha,” Sydney yelps. “You now owe me twenty bucks.”
Damn it! I used to be good at this game.
“Well, it looks like he’s buying a drink for someone else,” I tell her and shrug as I’m getting antsy and want to go home.
But I know Syd isn’t ready to leave yet, as she shimmies in her barstool, bobbing her head to the music.
We continue to watch the bartender take a bottle of vodka from the shelf behind her and other mixers, curious what else Mr. Bourbon ordered. The female bartender combines the liquid in the shaker, then pours the lime green liquid into two martini glasses.
“Wonder if he’s buying it for two women?” Sydney lifts a brow, still staring at him.
He sips his amber drink then points our way. The female bartender saunters toward us, martinis in each hand, and places the glasses in front of Sydney and me.
“This is from the gentleman.” She smiles then juts her head back at the man. A man next to us calls the bartender to order two beers, leaving us staring at our beverages.
“Did Mr. Bourbon just buy us a drink?” I dart my eyes to Sydney then back at him at the other end of the bar as he raises his short glass and winks. The corner of his mouth turns up, deepening the dimples in his cheeks.
“His name is Bryan,” Sydney admits, raising her glass and nodding at him.
“Bryan,” I repeat his name. It wasn’t even a question. I stare at her, narrowing my eyes. The pink and purple spotlights flicker across her face as she sucks in her bottom lip. “You cheated, Syd. You knew he would order bourbon, didn’t you?”
“But I didn’t know he would buy us our drinks.” She feigns innocence.
“You still cheated.”
I look over to Bryan and nod as a thank you.
A tall, handsome, sandy-blond haired man wearing a black sports coat and black button-up shirt leans down and whispers something in Bryan’s ear. Bryan nods at the man, then rises from the stool and they both walk toward us.
As they get closer, Bryan’s face becomes more distinct. He has a strong jawline, and his brown eyes sparkle in the moving lights and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile.
I glance at Mr. Sexy Dark Suit. Eyes darting, back stiff, lips pursed. The kaleidoscope of colorful lights dances across his stoic face, showcasing his neatly combed hair and broad shoulders.
Our eyes meet and I try to ignore the warm feeling in my belly. I can’t help but stare at him or deny how strikingly handsome he is. I glance his way one more time, wondering if I’m imagining the attraction.
Mr. Sexy Dark Suit turns his head and his gaze follows a woman with protruding breasts and a skintight dress as she passes him.
Yup. I’m imagining it.
“Hello, Sydney,” Bryan says and gives her a hug then extends his hand toward me. “Hi, I’m Bryan, but I bet you already knew that.”
“Hi, Bryan. I’m Dee!” I yell over the thumping music, shaking his hand.
“Great club. And I love the music.” Sydney raises her glass. “And thanks for the drinks.”
“Want a tour? There are three floors. Different music on each level.” He leans in a little closer so we can hear him. “And there’s an exclusive VIP party happening right now on our private patio on the roof.”
“We would love a tour, Bryan,” Sydney says, sliding off her stool as she pulls down her very short, tight, black sequin dress to keep her ass from showing.
I have complimented her several times this evening on how gorgeous she looks in it. With her strawberry blonde hair floating over her shoulders down to her hourglass shape, she’s stunning in just about anything.
Sydney looks back at me, waiting for me to join her, but I remain on my barstool. I can see where this is going.
Third wheel.
“You guys go ahead. Headache,” I lie, as I point to my head and squint my eyes. “I will catch an Uber home.”
Sydney wraps an arm around me and leans in. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Clasping my shoulder, she looks back at Bryan, then turns her head to meet my eyes again. “You know what? Forget the tour. I should go home with you—”
“No, please stay. Take the tour,” I say, cutting her off. “I’ll text you as soon as I get home.”
“Nonsense,” Bryan says and calls over Mr. Sexy Dark Suit, then says something in the man’s ear. “I will have my security detail take you home.”
“Thank you, Bryan. But that won’t be necessary.” I quickly take my phone out and bring up the app, punch a few buttons, and hold it up. “Already called an Uber. They’ll be here in seven minutes.” I really don’t need Mr. Sexy Dark
Suit taking me home.
“Then he will walk you out,” Bryan says, his tone brooks no argument.
Sydney points her manicured finger at me. “The moment you walk in, text me.”
“Of course.” I nod and give her a hug. “Take care, you.”
“Take care, you,” Sydney repeats our teenage mantra. “Don’t forget to text. You promise?”
“Yes, I promise, Mom.” I lean back and look into her green eyes. “Should I wait up for you?” I ask cautiously, looking over my shoulder at Bryan.
“I’ll text you and let you know.” She grins naughtily.
“You’re not seriously considering spending the night with him, are you, Syd?”
She shakes her head then gives me that maybe look. “You know that saying, to get one man out of your head, you need to try another.”
“Just be careful.”
Chapter Two
Brody
This has got to be some kind of fucked up joke, a hazing for the new guy. After divvying up the six-man team’s assignments, conveniently leaving no one else available, I got stuck taking this babysitting job. I sure as hell would prefer to be overseas with the other guys rather than following this mogul around.
I grew up around people like Bryan Sullivan and if I didn’t resist my mom’s influence so much, I would have turned out exactly like this asshat. My parents’ divorce resulted from Mom’s preoccupation with running Grandfather’s business, and she followed his footsteps to a T. When my grandfather died, Mom, as his only child, inherited everything—money, houses, the business, and all the royalties it came with.
My shoulders tense, and I grit my teeth, counting down the minutes when tonight will be over. The goddamn techno-thumping music blaring in my ears reminds me of BUDs when they locked us up in small cages in a dark room for seventy-two hours as our CO broke us down.
Although the women are hot to look at, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. Every single bunny in here is getting drunk to be an easy lay or on the hunt to tap into these men’s wallets. Damn gold-diggers.
Embrace Page 2
