“Attention where, Tyler?” There’s humor in her words.
“On my head,” I clarify, and Gina swings a look at me, shaking her head in dismay.
“Which head?” Betsy teases, making the most of her position. It’s not often I’m at a woman’s mercy, and she knows it.
Gina scoffs. “The hair on his fucking head and the head on his fucking neck.”
“Gina!”
“Well,” she huffs. “You want a fucking haircut. It’s not hard.”
“It could be,” Betsy pipes in, and I laugh. Loudly.
“Slut,” Gina snipes.
And Betsy hangs up. “For fuck’s sake, Gina.”
She folds her arms over her bust and slumps back in her seat. “I’m not apologizing.”
“I need a fucking haircut,” I rant, taking a corner fast. “And now I have to creep.”
“Just offer to put your cock in her. Sounds like that’ll work.”
I scowl at her, dialing Betsy again. I go straight in for an apology the second she answers, feeding her some bullshit about my potty-mouth assistant having Tourette’s. “I don’t believe, you, Ty.” She laughs lightly. “But whatever.”
“So when can you cut my hair?”
“I’m fully booked for a month.”
My lip curls, and I thrust a hand at my dashboard, my way of telling Gina to look at what she’s done. Betsy is always fully booked. It’s never usually a problem for her to squeeze me in. “Come on, darling,” I coo. “There must be something we can work out.” I’m a desperate man with a shocking mop of hair.
“I’m free this evening,” she says casually. “Although I’d have to come to yours, as . . . well . . . just as.”
Gina swallows a cough, and I glare at her. “This evening’s fine.” It’ll kill an hour, and I need anything to kill my time, though I have absolutely no intention of doing anything more than having my hair cut.
“Great. Eight?”
“See you then.”
“You will,” Betsy says with all kinds of promises threaded through her reply. She’s going to be disappointed. But, hey. I’ll make sure I get my hair cut first and then deliver the blow.
I hang up and poke Gina in the arm. “What’s got your goat?”
“Nothing.”
“You been laid lately?”
She gasps, throwing a furious glare my way. “That’s none of your business. Just because I know too many sordid details of your bedroom activities, doesn’t mean you should know mine.”
I swing an interested look Gina’s way. “So you have sordid bedroom activities to talk about, huh? With Mac?”
“No. I don’t put out as easily as you.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re tetchy all the time.”
“I’m not tetchy.”
I laugh. “Okay. So how long’s the draught?”
“Six months,” she mutters moodily, settling back in her chair.
“Six months?” The car swerves as I snap my head toward her in utter shock. How is she still alive? “Christ, Gina.”
“Shut up, speedy dick.”
I give her a tired look, turning my attention back to the road. “You know, I’d offer my services just to snap you out of it, if I knew it wouldn’t be awkward between us after.”
“Ha. I wouldn’t go there, Tyler. I don’t know where you’ve been.”
“Ouch.”
She laughs, and I turn a fond smile on my faithful assistant. She returns it. “I love you, Tyler, with all my heart, honestly, but you’re a player.”
I can’t argue with her. She’s one hundred percent right, though my Romeo ways have been curbed lately, and I wonder if it’s a long-term thing or whether it’s simply the circumstances surrounding my fling with Lainey. But then again, I’ve never been a man that welcomes complications when it comes to women. Simple is key. Has been for a long time. I’m upfront, though my reputation makes spelling out my intentions minimal these days. Women know what I want and what they’re going to get. Yet I’m finding myself willingly delving into a huge pile of complications with Lainey, and I have no plan on stopping myself from being buried. I don’t want to dig my way out. For once, I want to go deeper. It’s an alien prospect, but—
“Talking of players,” Gina says casually, reaching into her bag for something, “Sal’s new assistant certainly gets about.”
What the fuck?
I look at her, seriously trying to wipe all horror from my face. “Oh?” I question, appearing curious, but not too curious.
“Yeah, when I left the office on Friday, she was in the arms of a man outside the Trafalgar, and it wasn’t the same man I saw her with at lunch that time.” She points her lipstick at me, nodding slowly. “She’s certainly having fun. I’m kinda jealous.”
I swallow and look away before I show any signs of being bothered. I want to say something like, who am I to judge? But all I manage is, “You have nothing to be jealous of.” My mind spirals. Another man? Surely not? She lied about doing something with Martha? So, there are other men she’s having fun with? Fuck me, we never clarified whether this thing between Lainey and me was exclusive. I just assumed. And wrongly, it seems.