Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

SIMON

I tried to stay focused on what the other man was saying, but I had checked out an hour ago. People assumed I had an easy job. They assumed making millions of dollars was all about sitting in a fancy office and counting stacks of cash. It wasn't.

I mean no, I wasn't out there on one of the oil rigs risking life and limb, but sitting in meeting after meeting was beyond boring. I knew the job. I knew what I needed to do to keep the company running and profitable.

Meetings like this one were a slow torture. It wasn't just the monotonous droning of the man's voice or even the fact that we were going over details I had been over a hundred times before. No, it was also the fact that there were much more interesting things on my mind.

Like a certain fiery bartender who didn't seem to care at all about my charm.

I knew her type, or at least I thought I did. She was tough, independent, beautiful—and unlike most women I came across in my line of work, she wasn't interested in my money or influence. Hell, she had flat out rejected me and that was a new experience for me. I glanced at my Rolex, praying for the floor to swallow me or the man to shut the hell up. I was already thinking about going back to the bar tonight. I told her I was going to keep bugging her until she at least gave me her name. I wasn't joking.

After the grueling business meeting, I stepped out into the bright afternoon, ready to clear my head. Dallas was alive with the usual hustle and bustle. I was grateful for the distraction. As I walked down the sidewalk, a familiar figure caught my eye. Marsha, my older sister, was striding toward me, dressed in a sharp pantsuit and heels. I could tell by her walk and the set of her jaw I was about to get lectured. Having an older sister, especially one like Marsha, was a lot like having two mothers. She had her phone in her hand, which she pointed at me like the wooden spoon our mother used to scold us with.

"You have to make things right with Mom," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I rolled my eyes and brushed past her. "Did you come all the way here to tell me that? I haven't heard from you in weeks, maybe months, and now you show up like some fairy godmother trying to keep me on the right path?"

Marsha hurried alongside me, trying to match my much longer strides. "Someone needs to try and get through to you."

"So, they sent you in?" I scoffed. "You weren't there that night. You didn't hear what they were saying."

"Don't you think you might be the problem? Everybody else can't be wrong, Simon. You're an ass. Always have been. You don't get to act surprised that people are over your whole dog and pony show."

I stopped and turned to face her on the sidewalk near my car parked at the curb. "How do you know Mom is that upset?"

"She called me," Marsha explained. "Worrying over you and your life, saying you're not going to have anything real or anything that matters when it's all said and done. She's scared you're going to be alone for the rest of your life."

I frowned. "Does she not know how rich I am?"

Marsha rolled her eyes. "She doesn't care about your money. She knows you'll be able to take care of yourself financially. It's your heart she's worried about, little brother."

I laughed, but it was hollow. "My heart? Seriously?"

Marsha didn't laugh. "I'm worried about you, too. You've gotten too good at pushing people away and keeping them at arm's length. I know your work is your life, and I respect that—as a busy business owner myself, I know what it's like to live for the grind—but you need balance. When are you going to start looking at the bigger picture?"

"Enlighten me," I said, crossing my arms. "What's the bigger picture?"

Marsha sighed, looking genuinely exasperated. "If I have to tell you, you'll never see it. I'll see you at Connor's birthday party this weekend. Don't even think about skipping it."

"I doubt anyone wants me there," I muttered.

"Connor will want you there," Marsha said over her shoulder as she walked away. "And that's all that matters. Don't be a deadbeat uncle."

With that parting shot, she disappeared around the corner, and I was left standing there, feeling as if I'd been hit by a truck. The air seemed to thicken around me, and all at once, Dallas didn't feel so alive anymore. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts before heading toward my car.

Just as I was unlocking the doors of my sleek black Mercedes, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I quickly glanced at the screen and saw it was just another email from one of my business associates. I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat with a sigh.

I couldn't help but feel a mixture of irritation and introspection. Marsha's words lingered with me longer than I liked to admit. Maybe she had a point, but I wasn't ready to concede just yet. However, she had given me a new angle to work with the sexy bartender at The Hall. If my usual charm didn't crack her, maybe talking about kids would. She would be flattered I was inviting her as my date to a birthday party. There was no pressure. No expectations. She would see it as cute and endearing, an insight into the softer side that I seldom showed. Women loved that stuff.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed into my car, the dark leather still warm from the Texas sun. I started the engine and pulled out onto the busy street. I headed back to my hotel for a conference call with my team back in Houston. The joys of being a CEO. This was why I lived like I was dying when no one was looking. This was why I felt the need for speed and danger. Because my normal life was spent inside boardrooms and making phone calls while wearing a stuffy suit.

Arriving at the hotel, I passed my keys to the valet and strode into the lobby. Bright lights glared down onto the marble flooring, and clusters of people milled around me, caught up in their own worlds. I quickly walked to the elevator, pressing the button for my suite on the top floor. As I ascended, I watched the cityscape grow smaller and smaller through the glass, feeling a mild sense of disconnection. Could it be that I was so caught up in reaching the top that I had lost touch with everything else?

I tossed my key on the entry table and walked to the minibar to grab a drink before sitting down to get on the conference call. I took a long swig before throwing myself onto the plush leather couch in the living room.

I dialed into the call, grumbling a quick greeting to my team before fading into the background as they began to discuss business strategies and financial projections. Their voices became nothing more than ambient noise as my mind wandered back to Marsha's words. Asking the bartender to go with me wasn't just about spending time with her. It was a bit of a shield. My family would behave themselves in front of a guest—I hoped.

While marketing was giving an update, I found my thoughts drifting once again. Was I really that closed off? Did pushing people away make me less human, or was it just a protective mechanism? Or maybe I just felt like I had been disappointed by so many people that I no longer gave a shit. I no longer felt the need to try and make people happy.

That evening, I made my way to The Hall, hoping to see my sexy bartender behind the bar. To my disappointment, she wasn't there. Instead, the owner was manning the bar.

"Big Money, you're back." He chuckled.

I nodded, my eyes scanning the place, looking for my girl.

"Looking for someone?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, the bartender from the other night. Black hair, smart mouth," I said.

He chuckled. "Rylee. She's off tonight. Why? She make an impression?"

"You could say that," I replied, smiling despite myself.

I had her name. Finally . I rolled the name around my mind a few times. It suited her.

"Well, she'll be back tomorrow," he said, giving me a knowing look. "You planning on sticking around?"

I nodded. "Guess I'll have to."

"What can I get you to drink?"

I didn't want any of their cheap whiskey. The only reason I drank it was because I got to look at her. But without her, there wasn't a lot keeping my ass on the stool. But I didn't want to look like a total stalker.

"Whiskey, neat, please," I said.

While he poured my drink, I noticed the cook watching me. The owner gave me my drink and walked away. Mike, the cook, stepped over. "You're back," he said.

"I am."

"Got a taste for the whiskey, did ya?" He chuckled, wiping his greasy hands on his apron.

"Not really," I admitted. "Just getting a feel for the local scene."

Mike laughed at that, shaking his head. "You're a long way from Houston, big man. This ain't no local scene you're used to."

"I can adapt," I said, taking a sip of my drink and grimacing at the burn.

"Is that what you're doing? Adapting?" Mike studied me with shrewd eyes. "Or are you looking for my girl?"

"Your girl?" I repeated.

"Rylee is my friend," he said, his tone holding just a hint of a threat. "She doesn't need some rich dude sniffing around trying to conquer her. I get it. She's a challenge. I'm not an idiot. You see someone who isn't falling at your feet and you're intent to win in this little game."

Undeterred by Mike's thinly veiled threat, I took another swig of my whiskey before giving him a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe you're right," I drawled, deliberately provoking him.

Mike scowled at me. "She appears tough, but she's got real feelings. Don't fuck with her just because you can."

He turned and walked away. I downed the last of my whiskey and left a twenty on the bar before walking out. I understood his warning and I liked that he was protective of Rylee. But he didn't know me. He knew the rumors and the image that was in the media. He didn't know who I really was. Few people did. I would say my family, but I didn't think they knew me anymore. I walked back to the hotel, bummed I was going to be spending another night alone. I had gotten so used to spending my evenings watching Rylee sling drinks behind the bar while simultaneously glaring at me.

As I entered the hotel lobby, I was greeted by the night shift manager. "Good evening, sir," he greeted. "Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you," I replied. "Actually, on second thought, I'd like a bottle of Jameson and a T-bone steak dinner sent up, please."

"Absolutely." He nodded. "Thirty minutes, sir."

"Thanks."

I was used to people jumping to do what I asked. I had planned to enjoy one of those greasy steak sandwiches at the bar, but I didn't trust that cook not to fuck with my food. I stepped into my suite and pulled off my suit jacket before tugging at my tie. I didn't have a meeting until ten tomorrow. I had no reason to get up early.