“And what am I? A loser, hiding in her shadow? That’s the way everyone has always seen it and I’m sick of it. Dad left her in charge of the company, with me heading up that bullshit sidearm of Daringly So. It’s pathetic. So what if I spent a few years travelling around Europe instead of studying? A guy has to live. And live I did. Some of the stories I could tell you about the parties, and the women.”
Dave shifted in his seat, staring at the frothy beer in front of him, while Simon waxed poetic about his wild gap year, which turned into three, funded by his father.
“We need to get my bloody company back. I should be the CEO.”
After a few minutes of silence, Simon slammed his hand down on the table and bellowed, “Even better. I’ll steal her ideas before she gets them to market and pretend I came up with them. Then who’ll be laughing? I’ll look great, she’ll look shit. She’s been working on something. She thinks I don’t know but I’m not stupid. I just need to find out what it is and get to the market first. That will distinguish Daringly So as a force to be reckoned with and the board will have to consider me as a more viable CEO.”
“Simon,” said Dave shaking his head firmly, “I’m not sure.”
“Shut up. Let me think.”
Nick listened with rapt attention. This was way more interesting than his usual clientele of older men who discussed little more than the weekend’s dismal football games. But eventually, the gin gang filtered in to sip away their work stresses. He called them the gin gang, as he could predict which specialty posh brands each of them would choose and the various ways they would drink it—some asked for apple “to cut through the bitterness,” others had cucumber, some even had strawberry and black pepper in their G&T. Some asked for more than gin. Sometimes he was tempted. Sometimes he wasn't.
Nick was getting good at remembering who liked what and had a smooth system running, right down to the two grinds of the pepper mill at the end. The gin gang were mostly businesswomen—gorgeous, fit, and oozing self confidence. They never held back on flirting and Nick was their prime target, especially after the first gins warmed their bodies and loosened their vibes. Not that he minded.
One blonde in her forties stuffed notes of cash into his hand, “A little tip for London’s most handsome bartender,” she said with a wink. Nick laughed and put the cash in the tip jar.
Darlene, a brunette that looked to be maybe a young forty apologized for her friend. “Sorry about that. She’s just made partner, so she’s lording it over the world right now.”
“’S’not a problem. I’m used to it now.”
She studied him. “Yes, I suppose you are, the way you look.”
He shrugged, skirting the compliment. “Comes with the territory.” He indicated her glass. “You okay then?”
She nodded. “I’ve already had more than I should. Impending divorce will do that to you.”
Nick nodded sympathetically. He’d figured as much. A few weeks ago, she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring. He felt bad for her. She seemed a nice enough lady. “You know what? That one’s on the house.”
“Really?”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, you tip well. Least I can do.” He glanced up at the clock. “I’m heading on break. Chelsea will take care of you while I’m gone.”
When he left the bar, the weirdo in the corner watched him with interest and Nick glowered back. What was that bloke’s problem? On his break, he used the opportunity to work through part of his essay in the back hallway near the locker room. But before he could even get into it, Darlene stumbled down the stairs. “Nick.”
He glanced up. “Oh hey. You looking for the loo? It’s upstairs to the left, down the hall across the lobby.”
She licked her lips. “Oh God. I’m so embarrassed.” She shuffled forward, clearly not comfortable in her heels. “I just wanted to uh…thank you for being so nice to me.” She looked like she wanted to say something else.
Nick frowned. Something was off. He hadn’t escaped the estates without learning to listen to his instincts. “It doesn’t cost anything to be nice.”
She nodded. “I was wondering, would you be willing to be nice to me in other ways?”
Shit. That’s what this was about. “Look, Darlene. You're fit and all, but I don't—”
“It’s just my friend, Charlotte, she’s been here before. She said, you, uh, helped her after her boyfriend dumped her at the bar. I thought maybe you were into doing another good deed.”
Oh fuck. Yeah, he remembered Charlotte. Blonde, late thirties. Big tits. Mouth like a Hoover and wanker of a boyfriend. Nick had tossed him from the bar several months back. He’d consoled Charlotte after. Called her a cab. But not before she’d pressed her breasts into his side, laid her head on his shoulder and her hand on his dick.
He fucking knew better than to fuck around at his job. But that was the night he’d found out he was a candidate for the Day Internship. He’d called his mother, so excited he might burst, but she couldn’t even muster up the appropriate enthusiasm. Because she was sick. He’d been feeling sorry for himself. So, yeah, he’d taken Charlotte up on what she offered. Which had been a quick shag against the wall in this very hallway. He’d never even seen her naked. Just her firm ass as she’d lifted her skirt.
His dick twitched at the memory. How long had it been since he’d gotten laid? Probably too long.
“Darlene—”
She unwrapped her top, revealing high, firm breasts. “What, aren’t I as pretty?”
Shit. And this is why you don't fuck up and sleep with clientele. “That’s not true at all. You are beautiful. You don't want this.”
She laughed. “Yes I do. I want to feel desirable, I want to feel wanted. I want to feel sexy.”
He swallowed. This, was all kinds of a bad idea. And he promised himself. No more of this. Until at lease he got his life sorted. No more banging anonymous women. His dick twitched in protest. But Nick wasn’t listening to that fucker anymore. Most of his mates would count their lucky stars, but he knew better. This chick could be a clinger. He’d had one of those. Had to block her number after a while. Then there’s been the one who was married and only ever wanted to shag in public places. The thrill was amazing, but fuck, she was nutters. And then there’d been the legions who equated a big dick, and multiple orgasms with him being husband material. Now, those, were the worst.
“You are sexy. You don't need me to tell you that. Your husband is a wanker if he couldn’t see that. But this—you shagging some bartender in the employee locker room, I don’t think that’s you.”
She sobbed as she fumbled to latch her blouse. “You just don't want me.”
Fuck. He needed to study, not deal with this shit. “Darlene,” he kept his voice low, crooning as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You are beautiful, sexy, self-confident. And you don't need anyone to tell you that. Especially not some random bartender. You can have anyone. I’m not what you want. Random and anonymous gets very old. I wouldn’t want that for you.”
She finished the last button and sobbed into her hands. “Oh my God, what am I doing?”