Once I’m finished pouring some drinks for a couple who are clearly on their first date, I head back to Buchanan and say, “Okay, spit it out.”
“Spit what out?” he questions. His tone is slow and controlled, as if the words alone are foreign to him. He’s probably not used to someone using slang, even if spit it out is about as integrated into our society as Hey, how you doin’? I guess it makes sense considering the private tutors he was likely raised with.
I fold my arms, refusing to let his snooty upbringing deter me from pulling an answer out of him. Besides, I’m curious. Why he’s sitting here. Why he’s been watching me. Why I even care.
“Tell me what you’re thinking and why you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes,” I demand.
His gaze pinches for the briefest of seconds. It makes him look as annoyed as when he first saw me talking with Tukani.
“Did you hire an Uber for the girl?” he finally asks.
“Yeah.” I glance at the exit, confirming she isn’t standing there anymore. “So?”
“With your own money?” he prods, scoffing into his drink. “Oh, wait. What was I thinking? Apparently, you don’t have any money.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“Is your landlord really kicking you out?”
“You overheard, huh?” I lean forward, giving him a glimpse of my cleavage as I rest my elbows on the bartop, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Tukani?”
He brings the beverage to his lips again and takes a sip. “Have you found a job yet?”
“I think we both already know the answer to that one,” I counter.
“Hmm,” he hums, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, staring at it as if lost in thought as he comes to some kind of conclusion, though I have no idea what it is. “I own a building over by LAU’s campus. You can stay there.”
Uh, what?
“Did you just offer me a place to stay?”
“Did I stutter?”
Hiding my surprise, I quirk my brow instead and say, “While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I don’t need a handout, Professor.”
“I’m not your professor anymore.”
“Of course not.” I give him a cheeky grin. “Now, do you need anything else, or can I help a few more customers?”
“Depends.”
“On what, exactly?”
“Are you going to pay for any more Ubers you supposedly can’t afford?” he asks.
Money I apparently don’t have. Ubers I supposedly can’t afford.
What? Does he think my lack of riches is an act or something? Or is he still trying to turn the stick up his ass into a diamond rod?
Propping my hand on my hip, I glower at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if I didn’t pay for her Uber, she would’ve gotten behind the wheel and possibly killed herself or someone else. Thirty dollars out of my paycheck seems like a pretty small price for keeping someone safe, don’t you think?”
“Depends on how much credit card debt you are accumulating,” he mutters into his glass.
“Wow.” I laugh, though there isn’t humor in it. “Good to know where your priorities lie.”
“What happened to the money, Mia?” he asks.
Surprised by the out-of-left-field comment, I shy away from him. “What money?”
“From your OF account.”
My OF account?
Screw. Him.
I knew I would regret telling him I’d sold photos of myself online, but it had to be at this moment when he decided to bring it up, didn’t it?
“You’re a pretty girl,” he continues, “I bet you had a lot of fans. Made a lot of money.” He tilts his head. “Where did it go?”
“Pretty sure it’s none of your business,” I counter.
“But it’s gone?” he pushes.
“Again, I’m pretty sure it’s none of your business,” I repeat.
He studies me carefully as the bastard digs into his pocket and sets several hundred dollar bills on the counter separating us, like the last time he visited.
It only pisses me off more, especially after tonight’s conversation.
“I don’t want your money,” I tell him.
“And I don’t give a shit.”
My blood runs hot and thick as I glare at him, refusing to even glance at the small stack of bills in front of me. “No offense, but if I wanted a sugar daddy, I’d choose someone who’s a little less surly.”
“You think I need another brat to take care of?” he challenges.
“Yet here you are. Handing a random woman a stack of cash. Careful, or your current brat might think you’re looking for a new girlfriend to annoy.”
“Trust me. You’re not my type.” He adds a black business card to the small stack of cash, confirming my earlier assumption.
Yup. I’m definitely not this guy’s type.
Ignoring the slight sting to my ego, my eyes pinch as I take in the bold font typed across the black business card. “What’s this for?”
“It’s for when you realize you don’t want to be homeless and are smart enough to take me up on my offer.” He taps his index finger against the card. “This is my personal number. Don’t make me regret giving it to you.”
“Who said I’m gonna call you?”
The bastard doesn’t even bother answering me. He simply slips off the barstool, rebuttons his suit jacket, and walks outside.
It irks me.
A lot, actually.
His assumptions.
The way he feels like he can boss me––and everyone else––around without any repercussions.
Clearly, he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, and after the shitty day I’ve had, I’m not afraid to show him.
5
HENRY
I should have stayed away from SeaBird. Scarlett told me she would drive separately to tonight’s event, and I was curious if she thought she could slip in a quick fuck before the banquet. Instead, all I did was expose myself to another annoying dose of Mia Rutherford.
The way she flirted with Tukani and gave money away so recklessly when she is already in a precarious financial situation only frustrates me more.
Unless she isn’t in a precarious financial situation…
What did she do with the OF money?
I don’t think she was lying.
She doesn’t have it.
So, where did it go?
And why do I care?
Not the time, I remind myself as I step into the banquet hall my assistant, Erika, reserved for this evening. After the NHL draft last week, I decided to invite a few reporters, along with everyone in the organization and their significant others, to a team dinner. It was the least I could do if I wanted to encourage a sense of camaraderie with the team. My dad might not be perfect, but he knew the importance of creating cohesive relationships in the workplace. I plan to run my organization the same way.
The players mingle with other personnel throughout the large banquet hall. Chandeliers glitter from the ceiling, and hors d'oeuvres are passed on trays carried by caterers in black suits. I’m not usually a fan of these events, but everyone looks like they are enjoying themselves. Erika helped fine-tune all the details, and I make a mental note to thank her for her diligence.