No Weddings (No Weddings #1)(43)

“I bought a killer dress.”

“Yeah? So I was fated to die anyway?”

She giggled. “Death by dress.”

“Potato sack, baby. Remember, it’s the woman under the dress.”

“So the low-cut number skimming my breasts, just for you, should be discarded?”

I swallowed hard.

“It has a super-short hemline.”

I inhaled deeply. “How short?”

Her voice lowered. “Like you can’t tear your eyes away, hoping-for-a-peek short.”

“Damn. Keep the dress on ice.”

“I also have a pair of matching strappy black stilettos…”

“Stop. I’m already dying. And I’m now hanging up the phone before you tell me what’s underneath it.”

Laughter chimed out as I disconnected.

Okay, maybe waiting wasn’t the end of the world. Hannah made waiting worthwhile.



Wall-to-wall people filled the dance floor. We were bursting at the seams and threatened to risk the wrath of the fire marshal if we weren’t careful. Bar glasses clinked as we restocked to keep up with the demand. The night broke sales records after another “polar vortex” deep-freeze for days on end had given the entire Eastern Seaboard cabin fever.

“It’s stretching back about a block.” Mark, our floor manager and, at the moment, lead doorman, informed me regularly on the hour how long the line was.

“And our VIP sections?”

“Packed to the maximum. Trey took care of that already.”

I nodded, pouring another tray of drinks, trying to keep up with orders. “Perfect. And tell the guys to stay on their toes. Anyone even looks the wrong way, they’re out in favor of waiting patrons.”

“Got it, boss. I mean, Cade.” He laughed, honoring my request at discretion. When I was on shift, except for when decisions needed to be made, I was one of the team.

A quick nod at the best security money could buy, and he was out, keeping the club running at its optimum and protecting the patrons.

Although it made sense for me or Ben to take a floor manager role, we didn’t want to be tied down to the club. The idea was to create a business that could run on its own, and we followed a formula we’d created to accomplish that goal. Our hands-on involvement in the last year had been as efficiency experts, examining and streamlining every process. And with the hiring of extra bartenders, we’d been able to pull back quite a bit, letting the rest of the employees take the reins.

I glanced over at Lisa, who was a blur pouring drinks at the other end of the bar. A hard worker and ethical beyond question, she’d become an invaluable asset.

“So, Cherise and Kyle? They been hooking up?” Not that it was any of my business who the employees dated, and due to Pennsylvania law, we didn’t prohibit workplace romance. But it helped to know what was going on to be able to properly manage the situation—for short-staffing issues just like this.

Lisa shrugged. “Not sure. Don’t know if it was mouth-to-mouth, shared glasses, or a runaway sneeze. Just know she looked like death warmed over last night, and he said he couldn’t get out of bed this morning.”

Customers at the bar were pushing in three deep. The waitresses never stopped moving, sending in electronic orders through our tablet system, then picking up trays when the orders were filled.

“Next week, I’m holding a flu shot clinic here.”

Lisa laughed. “Good luck with that. I won’t go near a needle while conscious.”

After doing a speed-pour round of shots on a tray, I dropped her a deadpan look. “Unconscious can be arranged.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be in line right behind you.”

Damn. Did women know men hated needles? And the sight of blood. A natural aversion to being stabbed is built into male DNA.

Lisa stared out into the crowd. “Uh, Cade. Look to your three o’clock. You’ve got fans.”

Glancing toward the dance floor, I spotted a quartet of brunettes on the outer edge who turned heads through the crowd behind them like a wake behind a jet boat. I swallowed hard, shocked motionless for the seconds it took me to process who I saw.

Hannah.

Wearing a dress exactly as she’d described, she was a vision, all toned legs, high heels, and devastating curves. Flanking her were Kiki, Kristen, and Kendall.

“Forget the flu shot; I may not survive the night. Cover for me, I’m taking ten.” Without waiting for a reply, I stepped out onto the floor.

Oblivious to the wrath she’d provoked, Hannah laughed at something Kendall said. Pissed the hell off, I strode forward with my blood boiling in my veins. Everyone in my path must’ve sensed the imminent danger, because people moved out of my way with every step.

What was it with women and pushing men’s buttons?

I get that a woman wants to look attractive. News flash: you already do. We see it. But apparently to women, owning their own beauty isn’t enough. They arm all the weapons in their arsenal to gain the attention of every Y chromosome within a ten-mile radius. Why do they go to all the trouble? Validation.

Meanwhile, biology dictates survival of the fittest; battles ensue, wars are fought, and somewhere amid all the carnage, a victor emerges to claim his female. All because said female just wanted to go out and feel pretty that night.