The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(2)
Crane Tower. Oh la la.
Not only would she live in his glorious fifteen-hundred-square-foot apartment, but he was also paying her. Generously. She could add the money to her savings and put a deposit down on her own place. It was either that or move back home, but she wasn’t willing to concede the battle yet. Chicago may be kicking her around, but she was tougher than she looked.
She hoped.
Once she found a better gig than bartending, a professional and brag-worthy profession devoid of rat-bastard, promotion-stealing boyfriends, she’d be good to go. Not because bragging about her job was important for her, but it was for her parents. They were the ones who were so proud of their daughter, the “city girl.”
Oliver bid her adieu and left as Rachel’s roommate-slash-coworker, Breanna, stepped through the door he held open for her.
At the bar, Bree slid her coat from her arms and stashed it beneath the register. “Soooo. How’s Daddy Warbucks?”
“Bree.” Rachel laughed as she washed a beer glass in the double sink. That roommate situation that wasn’t working? It had nothing to do with Bree or her significant other, Dean. Rachel adored Bree, and vice versa. They’d become close in the two months since Rachel moved in with her, when both Bree and Rachel swore they’d be roommates for years. Then Dean proposed, Bree said yes, and he moved in and well…Rachel was now a third wheel.
She didn’t want to be in the way of what her friends had, which was special. She could tell because she knew what a relationship looked like when it wasn’t right. It was strain and silence and frustration and animosity brewing under a surface that no one disturbed.
“I’m going to miss you when you go live in luxury for a month.” Bree pouted, pushing her full lips out. Her chin-length brown hair was smooth tonight, her eyes sparkling thanks to glittery eye shadow.
“No, you won’t. You and Dean will probably run around naked the moment I leave.”
Bree grinned.
Rachel was happy for her friend. She’d met Bree at Dusty’s, a bar that was a downscale Andromeda. Bree had been working through the last week of a two-week notice.
They’d bonded almost instantly, which Rachel did with almost no one. By the time she’d made the decision to leave her marketing job, Rachel called Bree to ask if the Andromeda Club was hiring.
It’d occurred to her that when she’d moved to Chicago alone, she intended to be an island. She’d never expected to have a roommate—certainly not one she was dating—and since the whole Shaun debacle, she’d become anxious to reclaim her island status. She’d hate to think she’d lost the ability to be independent after coming to depend on a man who wasn’t dependable in the end.
Her recent breakup with her boyfriend of two years, being homeless, and losing the job for which she’d attained her degree was a series of minor setbacks.
Living with a dog was the bridging step from roommate to once again living on her own, and she would take it. Somewhere in her lived a fearless woman who was ready to take on a new adventure.
Rachel was determined to find her.
*
Tag’s oldest brother and CEO for Crane Hotels, Reese Crane, had no love for the board of directors around the conference table. As of last year, when they’d razzed Tag about lagging profits at the hotel and pool bars nationwide, he had recently put them on his shit list as well.
Today, they’d changed their tune.
“Given that the losses fall within an acceptable range, we are downgrading the bar issues at Guest and Restaurant Services from a code red to a code yellow.” Frank smiled at his own joke, but the only thought in Tag’s brain was that the older man’s teeth matched his code. “Thank you for your careful preparation, Tag. Now if you’ll excuse us, Bob, Lilith, and I have a meeting to attend downtown. This marks the end of our agenda. Unless either of you have anything to add?”
Tag had plenty to add, but when he opened his mouth, Reese spoke for him.
“Nothing on our end.”
Tag felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. Reese cast him a sideways glance as the board shuffled into the hall. The door shut behind them and he faced his brother.
“The term ‘acceptable losses’ isn’t bad news.” Reese arched an eyebrow.
“Loss should never be ‘acceptable,’” Tag growled. “The board harps on falling profits in the hotel bars last year, but as of thirty seconds ago they no longer care?”
Tag dropped his unused number 2 pencil to push a hand through his hair, then remembered it was pulled back. Long, nearly to his elbows, he preferred wearing his hair down, but for board meetings he wrangled it into a low-hanging ponytail/man bun hybrid. He’d also wedged his wide shoulders into an uncomfortable button-down and wrapped his bulky thighs in restrictive trousers. He felt…not like himself. Agitated about being here, about this whole downgrading thing.
Ever the underestimated brother, he shouldn’t be surprised that they’d shrugged him off. Even if Guest and Restaurant Services wasn’t his baby—and it was—he’d consider cooperating worth it if the board left him the hell alone and went back to whatever it was they did when they weren’t giving the Crane brothers grief.
“I prefer to handle this, not ignore it,” Tag said.
“They know you’re capable. They’re not worried. Take that as a compliment.” Reese shrugged easily, taking it in stride. A far cry from where he was a year ago, when he nearly went apoplectic on Frank.