“You’ll have to take all of my meetings,” I say, having already given up.
“Done.”
“Including MCM.” The largest liquor distributor in the U.S. The owner’s a total dickhead.
He scrunches his nose a little, as if smelling something foul, but he nods. “Done.”
“You’re killing me, you know that, right?”
He just comes over and claps me on the back. “Thanks, partner. By the way, how was PA? Sorry I was offline all weekend. I saw the pics—looks like DeLuca’s II is off to a great start. Did you tell Mama DeLuca why I couldn’t make it?”
“It went extremely well. And Mom says hi.”
“So what’s wrong?”
Most of the time I love that Hayden and I are like brothers. But at times it would be nice to have a little separation between business and personal life. In business, I’m known for my poker face. But it’s never worked with Hayden.
What the hell? If I can’t tell him, then who? If I’m being honest, I’ve wanted to tell someone.
“Chari Atwood is what’s wrong.”
He’s never met Chari, but of course he knows about her, from Devon and also from me. From the role she inadvertently, and unknowingly, played in Angel, Inc.
“Talk to me.”
I need a drink for this. Standing, I uncork a bottle of wine from the minibar and pour a glass, not even asking if Hayden wants one. He hates wine almost as much as he does asparagus.
“It was brutal.”
“An interesting choice of words.”
“She sent flowers to the restaurant. Was the only person to go into the kitchen to congratulate Tris before he came out. She teaches third graders, and my sister says no one does it better.”
“So your former crush is basically Mother Teresa. How nice.”
“I’m thirty-one years old,” I growl. “I don’t crush.”
“Maybe you can convince everyone else you don’t have a soft spot for Chari Atwood, but you can’t lie to me.”
“I’m not denying it, you ass,” I say, bringing my wine over and sitting across from him at the window. “I’m telling you about the weekend, aren’t I?”
Hayden leans forward. “So spit it out.”
I shrug.
“She is so fucking hot it took every ounce of self-control not to beg the woman to let me fuck her brains out. Is that better?”
“A bit,” he says, his lips tipping up. “Yes.”
“And I think she felt the same way.”
“Think? Man, you’re losing your touch.”
“She and Devon left the opening early. Their mom was sick.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I say, wishing I had something more to tell him. “On Sunday, my family went to Mass and then breakfast. And then I drove back.”