Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

“Unfortunately, I am.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re the best thing to happen to that show.” And now she’s Defender Truly, and that’s damn tempting too.

  Except temptation put me here, and I’d be wise to remember that. “I appreciate that, but he doesn’t see it that way.”

  “He’s wrong.” She stabs the table with her finger. “Dead wrong. You know that, right?”

  “No, I don’t know that.” I slump back in the booth, dragging a hand through my hair.

  “You should, because you’re terrific.”

  “Thanks, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I ask, more briskly than I’d like. “And I think what stings the most is I knew I wasn’t getting the full-time gig. I was fine with that, accepted it. But I thought this one was safe. Turns out that’s not the case. Guess I was wrong on that count too.”

  “There will be other opportunities, Jason.” She sets her hands on the table, then makes a move like she’s going to reach for mine. But I don’t know what to do with kindness right now. I don’t know that I can handle it.

  I keep my hands in my lap.

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “There will be. But I know you wanted this one, I know you were counting on it. I’m sorry.” She sets her hands in her lap, smiling sympathetically, and I hate that. But I also love it. I love it a lot—the way she cares, the way she wants to make me feel better. For a few seconds, I nearly cave. Because it’s comforting to have someone who understands.

  I could join her on her side of the booth, kiss her hard, kiss away all my frustration. Hell, I bet we could fuck it away, and I’d be fine.

  But the trouble is, I’d be in the same position after a roll in the hay. Besotted with her, instead of work. And I’m pretty damn sure that’s part of the problem.

  Rather, that is the problem.

  I swallow harshly, scrubbing my hand across the back of my neck. “I’m not at the top of my game. That’s the trouble.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable. “I think that falling in love is absolutely fucking distracting and ruining everything we’ve built.”

  “What?” She flinches, shirking back like my statement didn’t compute.

  But it makes as much sense as two plus two. This is easy math, even if I don’t like the answer.

  “This seems proof of it, don’t you think? Love, feelings, all that stuff—it’s utterly distracting. It’s causing both of us to lose sight of our goals.”

  She’s a mixologist—she ought to know. Add love to the cocktail mix of good sex, and what do you get? A drink that makes you lose your mind.

  I’ve seen what love leads to. Seen how it makes you a fool. Witnessed how a man can end up with nothing when he chases it.

  “It can be distracting, but it can also maybe be something . . .” Her voice rises like she’s waiting for me to fill in the answer. Hoping for me to color it in.

  There’s no room in me for vulnerability. Emotions have been my foe, and letting them become a bedfellow was what brought me to the place where my business is falling apart.

  She’s still looking, waiting for a word to fill in the blank, and so I give it to her. “Something like a problem. That’s what you were saying? It can be a massive boulder careening toward you, ready to crush you. You take your eye off of responsibilities. Off the prize. You start making mistakes. Don’t you see it? Obviously, it’s happening to both of us. You and your deal, me and my job.”

  She’s silent for several long beats.

  “Right?” I push.

  She purses her lips.

  “I mean, what else could it be?”

  A long breath, and at last she answers, her voice crisp. “You’re right. We were crazy to think anything else. We should do what we’ve always done—be friends.”

  Relief surges through me. “Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. Before we muck that up too. We still have time to go back. And it’ll all be fine. I can focus on business; you can focus on business. That’s what we both wanted to do all along.”

  She offers a smile, then says, “I agree.”

  Yes, she sees the wisdom of it. She’s a smart woman—I knew she would.

  She laughs and waves like she’s dismissing the madness of the last few nights. “You’re so right. Love. Pssh. What is that? Silly distraction.”

  “Thank you. I knew you’d feel the same way. Two workaholics, right?” I say with a wry grin.

  She nods savagely, biting out a response. “Absolutely.”

  “So, listen. I’ll finish paying off my sister’s school. Wrap up my best man jobs, devote more time to the Modern Gentleman. And you can go full speed ahead with finding another investor for the pub. Once we get all that sorted, we’ll see where we are. How’s that sound? Because it sounds fucking brilliant to me.”

  She smiles so big and broadly, I bet it hurts. “Yes, that’s obviously the way to go.”

  I breathe a massive sigh. “I’m so glad we’re in agreement.”

  “Me too.”

  The bell above the door rings, and when I jerk my gaze in that direction, Malone’s walking in.

  “What should we tell him?”

  “The truth. Since we’re not together, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

  “Exactly. No big deal whatsoever.”

  “What’s wrong with the two of you? You look like someone told you that you have to eat bacon for the rest of your lives.”

  Truly gives a forced laugh. “That does seem like quite a jail sentence.”

  He smiles and studies us curiously. “I feel like I should order bacon just to drive you crazy.”

  “I’m not ready for that kind of punishment,” I quip, feeling pretty good about how Truly and I just worked that out like adults. And about how now we can have lunch with her brother. Like adults. And we can all make jokes. Like adults.

  Malone glances at me then at his twin. “All right. I’m ready for your confession. You guys asked for this meeting. Let me guess—you’re finally going to tell me you’re into each other. I’m shocked. Absolutely shocked.”

  Wow. Nick called that one. From ten miles away. Still, that’s not what this lunch is about.

  “Yes, that’s what I want to tell you,” I say, keeping it professional and straightforward. “Truly and I were involved briefly, but we’re not going to be involved anymore. We’re staying friends. We both agreed to it. It’ll be great.”

  “It was mutual,” Truly chimes in, cool, calm, and rational. More proof that this decision is the right one. “We had a thing. It happened a couple of times. But we’re just not at the place in our careers where we can date each other. We’re still good friends, and we wanted to assure you of that, because we don’t expect any weirdness.”

  My God, she sounds so on top of this. She’s a brilliant businesswoman, unperturbed by blips.

  “If you’re back on the friendship train, why are you telling me retroactively?”

  I jump in. “We wanted to be up front because we were involved behind your back for a little bit.”

  Malone snickers. “You make it sound like I’m the wronged spouse. I’m your friend, dickhead. Not your wife.”

  Truly reaches out her hand and clasps her brother’s. “You and I had an agreement. We had a pact, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin your friendship with Jason, so we wanted to be straightforward, even though we’re not together. And we’re completely fine not being together.”

  Malone holds up his hands to slow this conversational train. “Wait. Are you two breaking up because you think it bothers me? Because it doesn’t, and I would also never tell either one of you not to be involved with each other. Not my place, not my role.”

  Truly is intense when she answers. “I’m telling you because after what happened with Sarah, we made a deal that friends were off-limits.”

  He sighs, his voice softening. “Truly, we made that deal when we were twenty-one or twenty-two. We’re thirty-five now. And Sarah was a lunatic, if you ask me. I know it
hurt to lose her, and I’m not belittling that, but I don’t want some pact we made well over a decade ago to keep you from happiness.”

  “I’m happy. I swear. So happy. So totally happy. Work makes me happy. It’s all good. Who has time for relationships anyway?” she says, laughing, underscoring my point—she’s on the same page, and she’s obviously ecstatic. Hell, she said she was happy four times.

  Malone raises his hand. “I do. A lot of people do.”

  She pats his shoulder. “And that’s great. But we’re in a different spot. The timing simply isn’t right.”

  “The timing is rubbish,” I second, because how can he not get it? We’re doing the right thing here—being honest, being up front, and letting go of something that’s too distracting.

  He leans back in the booth. “Let me see if I have this straight. You like each other. You’ve been involved, like we all thought you would be. But you’re not going to be involved with each other anymore because of”—he coughs like he can’t quite believe what we’re saying—“timing?”

  But speaking of timing, I have work to do, so I cut in. “Listen, I’m glad you’re not pissed. You are truly a prince among men. But the reality is, Truly and I are fine with this decision. We both agreed to concentrate on growing our businesses.”

  Malone nods like he has a surplus of them to dish out. “Right. Yeah. Growing your business is definitely the most important thing in life.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”

  “You should detect about fifty thousand notes of sarcasm. Because the two of you are idiots if that’s the reason you’re not together.”

  I jerk my gaze to him, staring sharply. “You want us to be involved?”

  “If you like each other, you should be together. It’s really that simple. I’m not the barrier you might have thought I was. I’m also absolutely not surprised you’re in love. The two of you have acted like a couple for the longest time, and it has never bothered me. In fact, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.” He points to me, then to his sister. “But what does surprise me is how you’re both so goddamn stubborn and ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re claiming that timing is the reason you’re splitting up.”

  Truly lifts her chin, clearing her throat. “It makes perfect sense for Jason. For me too. And right now, what makes perfect sense is enjoying a chicken sandwich and french fries. Let’s do that.”

  With that slice of the knife, Truly ends the conversation.

  When the check arrives, Malone lunges for it then says, “What I’d most like to do is bang your heads together, but all that would come out is hot air and a bunch of canned responses about work, work, work. So instead I’ll leave you with this: hope you enjoy curling up with your job tonight.”

  When we’re through, I’m so damn relieved to get the hell out of there, because he just doesn’t get it.

  46

  From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book

  Get Your Ass Back in The Saddle:

  One Shot of Tequila

  Let’s say you lost out on a chance that was important to you.

  Maybe you wanted something so badly, and it felt so right, but then you let it slip through your fingers.

  But you had to.

  You had your reasons. After all, you weren’t going to beg him to stick around. He clearly wanted out. And you know what that’s like. Hell, that’s why your last relationship ended. Over work. It would be unladylike to beg him to stay when you would have laughed in the face of a guy who did that to you. Letting him go gracefully is the right thing to do.

  This way, you stay friends.

  This way, he won’t know how much it hurt.

  That’s why it’s time for a straight-up shot of gin.

  But fuck gin.

  The truth is this: you need a shot of tequila. You need something that burns.

  Take one shot of tequila.

  It will burn the ache away.

  Chase it with the fire in your belly, and then get your ass to work.

  A herd of horses is banging their hooves on the door to Gin Joint. We’re not open yet, but I head over and spot Charlotte outside.

  I yank open the door. My best friend marches in and points to a red velvet couch. She grabs the bottle of tequila and we sit down. She pours two shots. “Tell me everything.”

  With a miserable sigh, and chased by my the show must go on attitude, I tell her everything that went down today, from the moment when I wanted to lean on Jason’s shoulder to the one where he made it clear his shoulder was off-limits.

  “So I did what made sense,” I add. “I went along with it. He believes falling in love distracted him, and I was not going to sit there and try to convince him otherwise. I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself and say, No, you idiot, that makes no sense. Instead I said it sounded . . . brilliant.”

  Her brow creases. “Let me make sure I have this right. Mr. Modern Gentleman somehow finessed a breakup to make it seem mutual?”

  I laugh, even though I don’t find a broken heart amusing. “I suppose he did.”

  “And you went along with it?”

  I sigh, shrugging. “What was I going to do? It was clear he wasn’t ready. So I went along with it and said I agree, and that’s what we told Malone too.”

  “So you two made it seem like you preemptively broke up so you wouldn’t lose your focus. Even though your brother is and was totally fine with you two being the couple we all had bets you’d become?”

  “And you all lost, I guess. Turns out we’re not.”

  She takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “It’ll be fine. Men, right?”

  She shakes her head, exasperated. “I swear. They don’t always see what’s in front of them. And it sounds like he’s spiraling. His words. I’ve read his columns on it. He actually has given really good advice to men when they spiral, yet the ding-dong is spiraling. He’s feeding this storm inside him.”

  I sit up straighter, trying to rearrange my emotions as I say, “Sounds like he might be, but it doesn’t matter now. Maybe it’s for the best. I can use this time to recalibrate. Figure out if I want to find a new investor or something else.”

  “So glad you’re diving right back into work and more work and hey, let’s have another serving of work.”

  “What should I be doing? I have responsibilities to Gin Joint. I have employees to take care of. And I need to zero in on my expansion plans.”

  She gestures to my bar. “Look around. You run an incredibly successful establishment. Hell, we both run incredibly successful bars. We are kick-ass businesswomen in New York City. So what if you don’t expand? You have this great place in front of you.”

  “But I lined up my people. Gabriella was going to help run the new pub and get it ready.”

  “Promote her to manager here. Maybe you could work less then.”

  “I don’t work that much!”

  She laughs incredulously. “How do you say that with a straight face? It’s Saturday afternoon and you’re sitting here working.”

  I raise my chin and cross my arms. “Saturday is my busiest time. It’s normal to work on a Saturday.”

  “Yes. But you also worked Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I bet you work Saturday night too.”

  With the reminder of tonight, a new wave of disappointment crashes over me, hard and punishing. “Nope. I still have to go to the stupid wedding with him tonight.”

  She grabs the tequila bottle. “Then you definitely need a shot.”

  47

  Jason

  Sometimes you need comic relief.

  I find it at the gym that afternoon.

  Josh is cycling on a stationary bike like he’s trying to win the Tour de France. What kills me is how he looks.

  I walk straight over to his bike and wave a hand in front of his face, since he’s staring at ESPN like he wants to rip off the screen with his bare teeth. I glance over
at the television captions—something or other about an NFL rookie who signed with Dallas.

  Let me guess—not Josh’s client.

  But I don’t need to stir the grizzly bear.

  Instead, I point to the Bluetooth device dangling from his ear.

  He looks to me. “What? What’s going on?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  He looks at me, still cycling, still panting, still not giving a shit that he looks like a total idiot.

  “You have your earring on. Your Bluetooth, dickhead.”

  He reaches up and laughs self-deprecatingly as he tucks the device in his shorts pocket. “Oh. Guess I forgot to take it off.”

  “You realize you look like a complete twat like that?”

  “Hey, I don’t look like a twat. I look like a dipshit.”

  “No, you look like a total tool. That better?”

  He offers me a fist. “Knock me, brother. You’re getting the lingo down properly now.”

  “You’re so American.”

  “You’re so British.”

  “All right, so you’ve taken that dumb Bluetooth off,” I say as I hop on the bike next to him and begin a warm-up cycle.

  “Yeah, but I was talking to a client before, when I was climbing a hill. That’s why I had it on.”

  “I’m sure your client enjoyed when you were talking to him and panting.”

  “They’re athletes. They’re always working out when I’m talking to them.” He narrows his eyes and raises his chin in a question. “So what’s going on? You’re not your usual happy self.”

  “Am I usually happy?”

  “You’re like the happiest lad around. You’re always a barrel of sunshine or a bollock of dogs or a bushel of cats’ pajamas, or whatever it is that you say,” he says, deliberately botching sayings he knows well.

  I sigh and decide to tell him what went down today. When I’m done, I add, “So that’s the whole pathetic story.”

  “I told you, you can’t let work get you down. You can’t let work dictate your life.”