His Redheaded Sl*t (The Cocktail Girls)
Page 8
“No, I think I’d like to go with something handmade,” he says. “But I’m not sure what I need.” I shrug and the two of us begin to have a face-off as I wait for him to tell me what he needs and he waits for me to recommend what he needs. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he speaks again. “How about you meet me at my lounge and help me pick something suitable? I can show you the Valentine’s theme and we can go from there.”
Kristin gasped as soon as he asked me to meet him at his lounge, but my mind is still playing catch-up. Trying to keep my mouth from falling open, I smile and nod like a grinning idiot. I don’t know why but this man has an effect on me that nobody else has ever had.
The front door flies open, letting in another unsettling breeze of the brisk February air. James walks in, eying his sister and me suspiciously. Neither one of us can stop gawking at Mr. Gorgeous.
“Sure, I, um, I can do that. When would you like me to meet you there?”
James’s head snaps around as he begins listening to the conversation. He’s always been very protective of both of us—his sister and me. I used to think it was because I was her best friend, but then he tried asking me out. It was awkward to say the least and I felt awful for turning him down but I’ve always viewed him as my very own big brother. Rolling my eyes at him, I turn my attention back to Mr. Gorgeous.
“Monday would work well. Can you meet me first thing in the morning before the staff begins to show up?” he asks.
“Yes, I can do that. Is 8AM okay?”
“Sounds great,” a confident smile spreads across his face as he pushes his hand out to shake mine. “What’s your name?”
I attempt to give him a firm handshake because that’s what a business man like him probably expects but the minute my fingertips touch his skin, I feel a tingling sensation that extends to the pit of my stomach where it begins to stir all of my butterflies. Returning a fast, limp handshake, I withdraw my hand and say, “Ally.”
“Ally? That’s an interesting name. I’ll see you at eight.”
“Okay,” I say with a stupid, cheesy grin plastered on my face. I don’t know why I feel so embarrassed around him, but I do. Maybe it’s because he’s so perfect. Every hair on his head is neatly styled, his fingernails are perfectly trimmed, and his suit still looks completely crisp despite the fact that it’s the end of the day.
He’s almost out the door when I realize that I don’t know where I’m going or what his name is. Rushing over to him, I call out, “Wait!”
Stopping dead in his tracks, he cranes his neck to look at me. “Yes, Ally?”
“Where should I meet you, and what’s your name?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Sorry. We’ll meet at the Kaswell Cocktail Lounge, and my name is Colton. Colton Kaswell.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kaswell,” I manage to say, my voice cracking. “I’ll see you then.”
With a quick nod, he turns and pulls his coat shut as he braves the blistering wind.
“Oh. My. God!” Kristin says with a squeal as she runs around the counter. The two of us watch Colton climb into the cab of his SUV before the sound of his engine fills the silence between us. “Ally! I was nudging your leg because of who he was and how he was looking at you!”
“Who is he?” I ask, grabbing my broom again. “And he wasn’t looking at me.”
“Seriously? You don’t know who Colton Kaswell is? What? Do you live in a cave?”
“I guess so,” I shrug, sweeping the dirt back into a pile again. “Are you going to tell me who he is?”
She steps her foot in the path of my broom, stopping me mid-sweep, forcing me to look at her. “He, my friend, is the owner of Kaswell Properties AND a prominent sex club that nobody is to ever speak about!”
“A sex club? What sex club?” I laugh.
“Ally! Listen to me! This could jump start your journalism career!”
“What are you talking about?” I have no idea what she’s getting at but whatever it is, she’s certain of it.
“I heard that he owns a secret sex club. Nobody’s supposed to know about it. It’s one of those things that everyone’s hush-hush about? But I bet if you could get in with him, you could get the scoop on that place, write up a story on it, and blow the lid wide open. It’d be huge!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say. “How would I get the scoop on it? He doesn’t know me from the man on the moon, but you’re right. If I could do it, I’d have jobs lined up and waiting for me as soon as I finish my internship which mostly consists of getting everyone coffee and writing dumb ass articles that are meaningless.”
“Or sooner!” she nods, insistent. “I’m telling you, he was looking at you, Ally. Like you were a piece of meat! I bet if you do a little flirting with him, he’d let you inside his world. Then, you could do the story and bam! Ally’s name is all over the headlines.”
I laugh at her as she refers to me in third person. “I don’t know, Kristin. Someone with his power and money, and that kind of business? They don’t let just anyone in their circle.”
“But, you see, that’s where you’re wrong. How many people like him—or bigger—have had their secrets exposed? Eventually, they all let someone in, and that someone could be you, Ally Hart. If you want to be known for your writing and get your name out there, this would do it.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “From the ten minutes I spent talking to him, he seems intelligent. I doubt I could get him to crack.”
“Ally? The man couldn’t order centerpieces. If you turn on that Hart charm, you’ll have him eating out of your hands in no time.”
“I don’t like the sounds of this,” her brother pipes in. “Women shouldn’t use their ‘goods’ to get what they want,” he uses air quotes to get his point across.
“Shut up, James,” Kristin says. “She’s not using her ‘goods’,” she returns the air quote gesture. “It’s no different from any other journalist who’s trying to get to the bottom of a story. They use their talents, whatever they may be, to get the job done. That’s all she’s doing, using her charm.”
“Uh-huh,” he nods, turning his hat backwards. “Like I believe that.”
“Here,” Kristin hands him a floral arrangement. “Take this to Mrs. Harris over on Madison Avenue and then go home. This is the last delivery of the night.” She turns back to closing out the register. “And stay out of other people’s business,” she warns her brother.
“Whatever,” he takes the flowers and starts out the door. “I’m just looking out for her.”
“Pay no attention to him,” Kristin says.
“Oh? You mean like usual?” The two of us laugh.
Finishing up with the floor, I think about how right she is. If I can get in good with Colton Kaswell, it could change my life. I wouldn’t have to do mediocre news stories or have years of experience. All it would take is one major story to make me popular.
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Vivian Ward is a romance author from St. Louis, Missouri. She pens dark and dirty stories about alpha heroes and strong heroines with emotional HEAs. Vivian is happily married to her real-life Prince Charming who is also her best friend. One of her guilty pleasures is reading and writing smut while indulging in chocolate caramel candies.
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