Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

SIMON

M y assistant was laying out my schedule for when I got back. Her voice echoed around the hotel suite.

"Simon, I've arranged the meet-and-greet with the Westwood executives for Tuesday morning and the contract signing for Friday. Your meeting with the environmental consultant is on Wednesday, and then there's the charity dinner Thursday night."

I nodded, barely listening. I glanced at the clock. I planned on going to the bar. I couldn't wait to tell her I knew her name. I had a feeling she wasn't going to be happy about that. Her disdain for me was evident every time we interacted. But damn, I couldn't stay away. The more she pushed, the more intrigued I became.

"Also," my assistant continued. "Ms. Hamilton personally requested that you attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony for her new research center next Monday. You donated money last year. She made sure to mention that her daughter will be in attendance. Her very single daughter."

I rolled my eyes. "No."

"You know her." Kendra sighed. "She's persistent."

"Tell her I'm flattered by the offer, but my dance card is already full," I responded.

"Will do."

"I'll be back next week," I said.

We ended the call. I stood up, stretching out the stiffness in my back. It was a long day of meetings and boredom and dealing with some employee matters. Tonight, I was going to dress down a bit. I didn't really have anything casual. But I was going to skip the suit jacket and just go with my dress shirt and no tie.

I was thrilled to see her again. She was different from the women I had associated with before. Her modest charm, her dry humor, and that spark of defiance in her eyes—there was something about all of it that drew me in. I was going to wear the woman down. She was going to give me the time of day and hopefully something else.

I pushed open the door to The Hall and stepped inside, the familiar dim lighting and the hum of conversation washing over me. It was early evening, the time of day when the place was starting to fill up but wasn't yet packed. The typical smell of greasy food and cheap beer met me. I was actually getting used to it. And I was hungry, looking forward to some wings or one of those sandwiches. I would see what Rylee recommended.

I scanned the room and spotted Rylee behind the bar, busy mixing drinks. She was wearing a red tank top that showed off her perfect rack. She had another tight pair of jeans on, cowboy boots, and a belt with a big buckle. Her black hair was braided into pigtails. She was rocking the cowgirl look and I liked it. The woman looked like she belonged on a calendar hung up in a men's locker room.

She hadn't seen me yet. I was planning my approach. This time, I had a plan to get through to her, knock down some of that barrier. I figured I'd talk to her about my nephew Connor's birthday. Everyone likes kids, right? Surely, the beautiful bartender would, too. As I approached the bar, I called out, "Hey, Rylee."

She looked up, surprised. I saw a flicker of something. Shock? Annoyance? "How do you know my name?" she asked, a touch of irritation in her voice.

"Your boss told me. Don't get mad at him, it was just a slip-up," I explained quickly, not wanting to get on her bad side.

Rylee turned and yelled at her boss like she ran the place, not him. I couldn't help but find this assertiveness even more attractive. She had fire, and I liked that. When she turned back to me, she folded her arms. "What do you want, Simon?"

"I need some advice," I started, trying to keep my tone casual.

"Get the cheeseburger," she said. "The steak didn't get marinated."

I smirked. That wasn't what I wanted to ask her. "Great. Cheeseburger but hold the onions."

"Wimp."

"I plan on kissing you later. I don't want onion breath."

She burst into laughter. "Good to know. Do you want something to drink?"

"I want a beer tonight."

"You think kissing someone with beer breath is better than onion breath?"

"What would you like to taste on my breath?" I asked.

She laughed. "Nothing. It isn't going to happen."

"Just a beer. I'll pop a mint before I kiss you," I said with a quick wink. She couldn't hide the small smile that appeared, though she quickly attempted to replace it with her usual scowl.

She grabbed a frosty glass from the cooler and poured me a cold one. As she slid it across the counter, her hand brushed against mine. Something sparked between us. A mutual understanding? A shared desire?

"I'll get your burger going," she said.

"Thanks," I replied, fighting to keep my tone casual. I watched her turn and disappear into the kitchen, taking a sip of my beer.

The Hall buzzed with life around me. I felt strangely at ease. She returned from the kitchen. "Probably ten minutes," she said.

"That's fine," I replied. "I'm in no rush."

She was busy serving others. I watched, waiting for the moment she came back to me.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"If I say no, will that stop you from asking?"

I chuckled, expecting nothing less. "My nephew's birthday is coming up, and I'm not sure what to get him. Thought you might have some ideas."

"How old is he?"

"Ten."

"Your nephew is your responsibility. A gift thought of by someone else—a complete stranger, I might add—isn't thoughtful at all. Ten-year-olds are easy to please. You were ten once. Can't you remember what it was like?"

Her question caught me off guard. I blinked, momentarily at a loss. As I tried to think back to my ten-year-old self, the bar suddenly became crowded with a group of people who clearly knew Rylee. She was pulled away. I felt like I was kicked to the curb without a second thought.

I listened as they greeted each other. Names were tossed around—Ward, Jenny, Mary Ellen. I glanced over, trying to figure out who they were. They all seemed like well-rounded and successful people, the kind who had their lives together. I was happy to see that Rylee surrounded herself with people like them rather than some of the usual barflies.

I supposed I expected her to be hanging out with bikers and musicians. She had that look about her. The people she seemed to be friendly with looked like lawyers and librarians.

I tried to join in the conversation, keeping my cocky and confident demeanor, but it didn't go as planned.

"Who are you?" one of the guys asked.

"Simon."

"I'm Ward. That one with the tattoos is Archer and the other guy is Jameson."

I nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"Is it?" he asked. "Rylee mentioned you've been hanging out here. Are you trying to mess with her?"

"Mess with her?" I repeated.

I wasn't dumb enough not to pick up on the man's dislike of me.

"I'm just getting a burger and a beer," I said, keeping my tone light. "Didn't know that required messing with anyone."

Ward leaned in. "Rylee's had enough trouble with guys hanging around here trying to get her attention."

"I just wanted some advice on a birthday gift for my nephew," I retorted.

He scoffed. "That's a pretty shitty line."

The other guy, Archer, stood next to his buddy. "We know who you are," he said.

"Congrats." I shrugged, taking a drink of my beer. "Do you want an autograph?"

Yes, I was cocky. They thought they were going to intimidate me. Silly kids, I'd dealt with rougher and tougher.

"Don't get smart," Ward warned. "We know why you're here."

My brow rose. "Oh, you do? Enlighten me."

"You're here for Rylee," Archer said, his voice dripping with accusation. "You think she's going to be impressed with your money? I'll let you know right now, that's not Rylee's thing."

I sighed dramatically. "I wish people would stop assuming things. Is it so hard to believe that I come here because I like the ambiance?"

They looked at each other, then back at me. "Just give Rylee some space," Ward said, his cold eyes fixed on mine.

"I'll do what I want, thanks," I shot back with a smirk.

"Why don't you give us all a break and find another bar to haunt?" Ward said, his tone icy.

Jameson chimed in. "The only reason Rylee's talking to your sort is because she's paid to be behind the bar, not because she wants to. She knows you've got money. She works for tips."

Their words stung more than I wanted to admit. I acted like I was taking it all in stride, laughing it off, but it got under my skin. I wasn't used to being shut out, especially not like this.

"Here's your burger," Rylee said, sliding the plate in front of me. "What are you guys doing?" Rylee asked her friends. "Don't harass my customers."

I was a little flattered she stuck up for me, but I couldn't help but let their words about her working me for a good tip get to me.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Go sit down, guys," Rylee said. "I'll bring you a pitcher."

We exchanged a few last glares before they walked away. I was left with the cheeseburger that I no longer wanted. I picked it up and took a bite. I pretended I was cool. I drank my beer, ate my burger, and did my best to ignore the fact Rylee was at her friends' table laughing and joking. I was jealous. I didn't have that kind of circle of friends.

I saw my chance to leave without anyone really noticing and took it. I left a hundred-dollar bill on the counter with my half-eaten burger. It was a message. That was what it was about—money. I slipped out the door into the cool night air. This stupid infatuation with Rylee was never going to go anywhere. I didn't know what I was doing. It was stupid. I wasn't going back. I was the butt of their jokes.

As I walked down the street, I thought about my family and the things they had said about me. How I was pushing people away, keeping them at arm's length. Now these strangers had some of the same things to say. Was I really that screwed up? What the hell was wrong with me? Why did no one want me? Marsha and my mother said it was me.

I couldn't get Rylee's question out of my head. What had I been like at ten? I remembered wanting a bike more than anything in the world. The freedom it represented. My parents eventually got me one, but it came with strings attached—chores, responsibilities, expectations. Nothing was ever just given. Everything had to be earned, with a lesson attached.

Maybe that was part of the problem. I had learned to measure everything in terms of transactions and deals, value and cost. But people weren't business deals. Relationships weren't transactions.

I stopped at the corner, looking up at the night sky. The stars were faint, washed out by the city lights, but they were there. I had always thought that if I was successful enough, rich enough, powerful enough, everything else would fall into place. But here I was, standing alone on a street corner, wondering if I had missed something fundamental along the way. I had a feeling this was what my future held.

Loneliness.

Solitude.

Isolation.