Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

SIMON

I was stuck on the phone with a very excitable, nervous, and grateful woman thanking me for my generous donation to the Christmas Eve banquet. Her voice was a mix of awe and gratitude. She gushed over my kindness, telling me how many people this would help. I listened with a polite smile plastered on my face, though she couldn't see it. My mind was going through upcoming meetings, wondering what the profit report would look like and thinking about where I might go for Christmas vacation. I appreciated the woman's personal thank you, but I was bored.

"You have no idea what this means to us, Mr. Locke," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "This has lightened so much pressure on all of us to raise enough funds for years. Now we can maintain a steady buffer and never have to scramble to come up with enough money."

I tried to interject. "I'm glad to hear that, really. But?—"

"Oh, and the number of families this will impact!" she continued, steamrolling over my attempt to get a word in. "We can provide so much more now—blankets, coats, toys, a full dinner. You've made so many dreams come true."

I glanced at the clock, noting the time slipping away. I had other things to do, and as touching as her gratitude was, I needed to get off this call. "That's wonderful to hear, but I really?—"

"And the children! You should see their faces on Christmas Eve when they receive their gifts. It's magical. All thanks to you!"

Taking a deep breath, I decided to be a bit more direct. "You're welcome, doll, but I have to go. Best of luck to you." I hung up the phone before she could respond and promptly blocked her number. I didn't need any more effusive thanks eating up my day. It might be rude, but I didn't need to be showered with praise. It wasn't that big of a deal. I appreciated she was appreciative but the first three thank-yous were enough.

I moved to the window in my hotel suite that overlooked Dallas. Beautiful city. My home city, in fact. But this place hadn't felt like home to me in a long time. Too many people hated my guts here.

Like my own family.

I sighed, thinking about the situation with my mother. I knew I'd gone too far, but I couldn't help myself. They always pushed my buttons, and I always rose to the bait. I needed to check in on my mother and apologize again. I dialed her number and waited. She picked up after a few rings.

"Hi, Mom," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "I just wanted to check in on you and apologize again for the dinner. Can I take you to lunch to make it up to you?"

"No thank you, Simon," she said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I need some space. We'll talk later."

Right. Space. I wouldn't apologize a third time. Twice was enough. "I understand. Take care, Mom." I ended the call, feeling a pang of guilt and frustration. I wasn't sure why I was the bad guy. I thought I had made my position very clear.

But it was what it was. If they all wanted to join together and bash the bad guy, so be it. That was their choice. Now, I had nothing to do. I really thought she would have taken me up on the offer to get lunch. She was always saying she wanted to spend more time with me. I blocked out the afternoon assuming she would want to spend time together.

But I supposed that was before I turned into the bastard son she was ashamed of.

I had several more business meetings at my satellite office while I was here in Dallas for another two weeks, but my calendar was empty for the day. There were more family events, like one of my nephews' tenth birthday party and a cookout, but I doubted my invitation to either still stood after the last time we were together. I was pretty sure I was persona non grata . They didn't want to see me unless I was carrying large bags of cash to toss at them. That was my worth to my family. I was the guy that supplied the money. I kept the family coffers full whether I wanted to or not.

So how would I pass the time?

My mind drifted to the pretty bartender from last night. The one with the long black hair and sharp wit. She didn't fawn over me like most women did. She had given me the cold shoulder, used my own words against me, and had a sharp smile that was as cutting as it was attractive. She was nothing like the women I typically dated. If there was a spectrum of my usual dates, she would be at the opposite end.

She'd do.

I decided to head back to The Hall. Maybe I could charm her, or at the very least, have an interesting conversation. Something to amuse me. I grabbed my jacket and headed out. The familiar streets brought back memories, some good, most not, but I pushed those thoughts aside. I needed a distraction, and she seemed like the perfect one. If she told me to fuck off, that was fine. It would at least be better than sitting alone in my hotel room.

I stepped back inside the dimly lit bar around five. The familiar smell of chicken wings and vodka immediately hit me. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant smell, but it wasn't one I would want to bask in for long.

The place wasn't nearly as busy as yesterday. It was going to be a lot harder to be anonymous. The owner, a man I met briefly last night, spotted me almost immediately. His face lit up with recognition. He made a beeline toward me, his enthusiasm almost palpable.

"Big Money!" he called out, clapping me on the shoulders with a broad grin. "Back so soon? You really did a number on us last night. We can't thank you enough."

"Just doing what I can," I replied with a polite smile, but my eyes were already scanning the bar, looking for her.

The owner insisted that my meal was on the house and offered me a table, but I shook my head, nodding toward the bar. My mystery lady just walked up to the bar putting a basket of chicken wings in front of a customer. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I got a glimpse of her and what she was wearing. She dressed to tease—not to impress. She could do that easily. But the teasing thing was what I liked. She was doing her best to pretend she hadn't noticed me. She wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"I'll sit there," I said, already making my way over.

I found my bar stool and cracked a grin as I took a seat. She was still trying to pretend I didn't exist.

"What? Didn't you miss me?" I asked, my voice loud enough to cut through the ambient noise.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps mild irritation? She quickly turned her attention back to the martinis she was pouring, her movements fluid and precise.

"Miss you? Hardly noticed you were gone," she replied coolly, placing the finished drinks in front of the waiting customers.

I chuckled, enjoying the banter. "Ouch. Tough crowd."

She didn't respond immediately, busying herself with another order. But I saw the corners of her mouth twitch. I knew she was holding back a smile. It gave me a thrill I hadn't felt in a long time. I'd always enjoyed a good chase. I could tell she was going to put me through the wringer. But once I got what I wanted? It would be that much sweeter for the effort.

"So," I said, leaning forward on the bar. "What's the special tonight?"

She raised an eyebrow, finally giving me her full attention. "You think you're getting special treatment, Mr. Big Money?"

"I was hoping for a recommendation," I said, keeping my tone light. "You seem to know your stuff."

She sighed, as if indulging me was a great inconvenience. "We have a decent steak sandwich, if you're into that. Otherwise, the wings are always a safe bet."

"Steak sandwich it is," I said, without hesitation. "And I want whatever you just made that guy."

She nodded and got to work. I watched her, appreciating the way she moved, the confidence in her actions. She was a mystery I wanted to unravel. Everything she did oozed sex appeal. I couldn't tell if it was intentional or if it was just her. Or maybe it was me. I had a hard-on for this woman—literally.

She put the mixed drink in front of me. "What brings you back here?" she asked, clearly trying to divert the conversation away from herself.

"I was in the neighborhood," I said with a smirk, repeating my lie from the night before. "And besides, I wanted to see you."

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "You're full of it, you know that?"

"Comes with the territory," I said, leaning back on my stool. "But seriously, I like this place. It's got character."

"Character," she repeated, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "Is that what they call it these days?"

"Absolutely," I said, grinning. "And you? You're part of that character. So, tell me, what's it like working here?"

She shrugged, busying herself with another drink order. "It's a job. Pays the bills."

"Seems like you do more than just that," I said, nodding toward the bustling bar. "People here seem to really like you."

"That's because I don't take their crap," she said with a wry smile. "And I make a mean martini."

I laughed. "I can attest to that. So, what's your name, anyway? Or am I going to have to keep calling you ‘bartender'?"

She paused, considering whether to tell me. Finally, she sighed. "Bartender works for me."

I laughed. "I'm Simon."

"I know who you are," she said, a teasing glint in her eye. "Big Money, remember?"

"Touché," I said, raising my glass to her. "I'm glad I came back. You make this place worth it."

She rolled her eyes again but didn't hide her smile this time. I could tell I was getting to her. I was going to keep working on her. She'd want me soon enough. I was used to using my charm to get what I wanted.