Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(4)

“I have a client who is looking to purchase a bar or a club downtown, and I know that’s your area of expertise.” I sit in front of from him and cross one leg over the other, settling my large leather bag on the seat next to my hip.

“So you want my help.”

I don’t want your help. I just didn’t have a choice but to come to you for help, I think as he laughs and leans back farther in his chair.

“What’s in it for me?”

“If you help me find the spot, I’ll split my commission with you. My client is looking to pay cash, so there won’t be a lot of red tape for us once we find the perfect place.”

“Who is this client?” His eyes fill with curiosity—a look that isn’t surprising, given we are talking about millions of dollars.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out if you agree to help me.”

“All right, I’ll take you up on your offer.” He turns to his computer. “Tracy, who owns The Drop, spoke to me recently about selling his bar.”

“Really, did he say why?” I ask, knowing Tracy from my former bar-hopping days. He and his brother, Iggy, were both the reason I always gravitated to his bar. Well, that and the drinks were cheap, and the live music was always the best on the strip. I lost contact with the two of them when things between Cohen and I came to an end, which was unfortunate but necessary, since he started playing at their bar regularly.

“His girlfriend got knocked up. I imagine she’s nagging him about all the hours he works.”

“Or maybe he’s tired of working so much and wants to be around to raise his kid.” I don’t bite my tongue. I hate when men blame shit on women or make it seem like a man is less of a man for wanting to be with his family, especially since it’s the complete opposite.

“Right,” he grunts. “I’ll call and talk to him and put you two in touch if he’s interested.”

“That works for me.” I push out of my chair and grab my bag. “You have my cell.”

“I do.” He stands, and I feel his eyes on my ass as I walk away, which makes it really hard to stay professional and not flip him off over my shoulder.

I walk out of the building and head for my car, checking my phone when it beeps, and see a text from Maxim. Biting my lip, I open it up and shake my head at the audacity.

Maxim: About to jump into the shower and then head down to the bar. What time are you planning to meet me?

I start to tell him that I’m not meeting him because that isn’t something I agreed to do, and I didn’t agree, because every conversation I’ve had with him these last few days has felt a lot like foreplay. Before I can write him back, my cell rings. Not recognizing the number, I answer, holding my phone to my ear while digging my keys out of my bag.

“Hello?”

“April, it’s Tracy,” his familiar voice greets, and I smile.

“Hey.”

“Damn, girl, how have you been? It’s been fucking forever.”

“I know.” I open the door to my car and get in. “I’ve been good. I hear you’re better and that congratulations are in order.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, and I know just by his tone that he’s happy.

“So I guess, since you’re calling, you spoke with Frank?”

“Just got off the phone with him. He said you might have someone who’s interested in purchasing my bar.”

“I might,” I agree. “Are you interested in selling?”

“I am.” He sighs. “Iggy isn’t happy about us letting the bar go, but I know the right price will lessen the blow.”

“How is your brother?”

“Good, still Iggy. Forever single, with no desire to change that anytime soon.”

“I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”

“Me neither.” He laughs. “Damn, it’s good to hear from you. It sucked that we lost you when shit went down between you and Cohen.”

“Yeah,” I agree but don’t say more, because really, what is there to say?

“Have you spoken to him? He’s in town.”

“I have zero desire to talk to him,” I tell him honestly, then change the subject. “So my client who might be interested in purchasing from you is in town for the week. Do you mind if I bring him by to check it out?”

“Of course not. Stop by tonight; I’ll be there, which doesn’t happen often nowadays. It would be good to catch up.”

“All right, I’ll talk to him and see if that works for him. Is this your cell?”

“Yep, and it hasn’t changed, which means you deleted my number.” He laughs.

“Sorry about that.”

“Right,” he mumbles. “Text me and let me know when you’re going to be here.”

“Will do.” I hang up with him, then pull up my text with Maxim.

Me: Drinks at The Drop. Meet you there at nine.

I press Send, then start the engine, put it in drive, and head toward home. When I arrive twenty minutes later, I read the text came through from him.

Maxim: See you then.

Logically, I know there is no reason those three words should make me nervous, but there is something about them that puts me on edge, which is ridiculous, because I haven’t seen him since we were kids, and I imagine that both of us have changed a lot since then.