Version 1.1
May 2019
Chapter 1
Donovan
“To you, Donovan!” Eric announces with a boyish grin, lifting a shot glass off the polished surface of the table between us.
The leather of the bench behind me sticks to my tailored suit as I shift in place, smirking at my oldest friend through the hazy dark of the impossibly crowded bar. There’s a red velvet rope looped carefully around us, keeping me and my friends separated from the sweaty bodies of the dancing crowd. Usually there’s an endless line to get into Club Thorn, but one phone call from my office was enough to book us a VIP table and bottle service for the night.
Perks of being a guy with a bank account bigger than this place’s entire revenue, I guess.
Lights swirl overhead, making Eric’s tan face and brown eyes glow alternately purple and neon green. The bass of the music playing thuds along with the rhythm of my heart, making it hard to hear my friend speak.
Eric slurs just slightly, having already made ample use of the booze available. The rest of our friends chuckle and scoop up their own shots of dangerous amber-colored liquor, joining in the toast as the overhead lights cascade through the glasses and onto the table. Just looking at the liquor makes my throat clench.
“To Donovan!” the group echoes.
When I knock the shot back I can feel the fire of the alcohol searing my tongue. It’s a delicious burn, but a burn nonetheless.
Eric arches an impatient eyebrow, chin jerking toward the second shot still waiting for me on the table. I’m not eager to take it. A night out is rare for me, as is this amount of alcohol.
“What’s the rush?” I ask with playful condescension.
“Down the hatch, Donovan,” Eric chides. “Tonight, we celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?”
Eric grins. “I heard through the grapevine that your nonprofit was just offered a pretty solid merger. That’s cause for celebration, man!”
My stomach abruptly knots like it’s twisting in on itself, my intestines replaced by the gleaming flesh of a slithering serpent, but my smirk stays solidly in place. I can’t help the corners of my mouth from turning down, however.
Eric seems to notice, his glazed eyes curiously monitoring the change in my expression. “Unless it’s not a reason to celebrate?” he asks tepidly, the shot bobbing slightly in his hand as he speaks. “The nonprofit can’t be easy to manage when you also have your corporation to juggle.”
I clear my throat. “No, I’m just surprised that you heard anything. I figured it’d be a while before that news got out.”
Eric laughs loudly, having to set down the shot glass for a second to keep from spilling it. “Donovan, you are anything but coy. Don’t tell me you’re growing a sense of modesty all of a sudden.”
“Hardly. I’m just not one to brag before the ink on a contract is dry.”
Rolling his eyes, Eric again lifts the shot glass toward me. “Well, it leaked fast. You have to remember you’re a big name now. People are watching your every move, wondering what you’ll do next. It’s your own fault for being so damn successful.”
“Careful, Eric. Your jealousy is showing.”
We stare at one another from across the table, jaunty smugness etched into both of our faces before we burst into laughter. Eric can give as well as he can get. He’s hardly one to have his feelings hurt. Growing up around him and his snide sarcasm is probably what’s given me such thick skin as I have—not that I would ever allow him the satisfaction of knowing such a thing. Neither of our egos could stand to swell further or our heads wouldn’t fit inside this bar.
“Come on now,” Eric continues, “I’m hardly jealous. I want you to do well so you continue sinking riches into footing the bill for tonight.”
“I foot the bill every night since you’re not exactly a rock star yet.”
Eric laughs again in spite of himself, the sound thunderous and easy. “To Donovan!”
I nod with an eagerness that my friends don’t notice is forced. But to be honest, the last thing I want to do right now is celebrate. I’d been wondering why Eric called me after lunch today to demand that I meet up with him and our other college buddies at the exclusive and expensive Club Thorn. I thought he was going to tell us that he finally managed to sign with a music label or something.
The last thing I expected was for him to have gotten wind of my merger offer. It’s a rumor that I’m going to have to get on top of before it can spread too quickly. Though, if it’s already at a point where Eric, who has no ties to my industry, has heard it . . .
I try massaging the stress from my temples.
Eric is right to assume that balancing my nonprofit charity and my CEO position at my company is difficult. I severely underestimated the challenges that awaited me with taking on such a task.
Gritting my jaw, I grab another shot glass with decisive fingers and lift it up toward my friends. They cheer as I down another shot, liquor splashing over the rim of the small cup and coating my fingers as the strong scent stings my nose.
What am I doing?
I agreed to come out just for a drink, not to pound shots until I can’t hear myself think.
Even though we graduated college over six years ago, sometimes it seems as if my friends are still caught up in our old frat life. It doesn’t help that Eric is still living his high school dream of playing in a band. He seems confident enough he’ll find a label but we’re almost thirty.
If he was going to strike it big wouldn’t it have happened by now?
Eric refills our glasses and we clink roughly, more liquor splashing down on the table. In synchronous time we tip our heads back, eyes lifting toward the glowing beams overhead. The shot burns like fire down my throat. I feel it the entire way until it dissolves like a plume of lava in my gut. When I finally lower my chin, Eric’s face is all twisted up and he takes a generous gulp of water as a chaser.
“Can’t handle your tequila?” I tease, smacking my lips despite the lingering sear of alcohol on my tongue.
Haughty stoicism is part of my image, my reputation, my brand. It always has been. I can’t show a single weakness or chink in my armor. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in a business meeting or simply hanging out with friends, I have to be confident and resolute all the time. I never know who’s watching and my business depends on me . . . people depend on me.
Eric sucks a lime, grimacing despite the top shelf label of the booze. “Maybe I’m getting old,” he chuckles, dragging the back of his hand across his lips. “I turn the big three-oh in six months. Where’d the time go?”
For a second, Eric looks almost mature as he laments his upcoming birthday, his eyes wistful. It lasts only until the waitress comes sidling back in her tight shorts and low-cut shirt, turning Eric is a horny teen again.
She giggles as she approaches, seductively weaving around the crimson ropes to our special table, carrying another tray of shots. She swivels her hips to the music in the hopes that her exposed cleavage will convince us to part with more cash. If I wasn’t the one footing the bill then it surely would’ve worked. The guys can hardly manage to pick their jaws up off the floor as it is.