I take a deep breath, hoping to calm the rapid beating of my heart. “You know me better than that. I’m honestly a little offended you think I would have sex with someone just to get what I want.”
“Chloe, we were just making a joke,” Stacy says gently, though her eyes are a little guilty. “It was a bad joke, I admit it.”
Morgan eagerly nods in agreement, finishing her own drink.
“Good, because I’m going to get a permanent job at Dunn Advertising—and not as a secretary, but as an actual part of the marketing staff. They are the best advertising company in the state and I want to earn a spot there, the right way.”
“Well, Clo,” Stacy says. “If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s definitely you.”
“Damn straight,” I say, more to myself than to either of my friends.
I slam my empty glass down, giving a firm nod and pushing all thoughts of how unexpectedly handsome Donovan Dunn truly is into the darkest depths of my mind.
I will not pine for that man, I will not obsess over how perfect his bone structure is. I will focus only on this new stepping-stone toward my dreams.
Chapter 3
Donovan
‘No’ is not something I hear often and it’s definitely not a word I enjoy.
I don’t face rejection when I make business deals, or when I pitch my advertising services to other corporations. And I sure as hell don’t have anyone tell me ‘no’ when I ask out beautiful women.
Even if that girl didn't know who I was, how could she reject me like that? How could she take one look at me and then just turn me down?
Eric and the guys haven’t stopped laughing yet, each one just as shocked as I am that Eric’s prophecy has come true. I had no choice but to grimly march back to the VIP table to the sound of their laughter.
“Tell me, Donovan, how did that feel?” Eric asks through gasps of laughter. “That’s got to be the first time a lady has ever said no to you, right? Oh man, you should’ve seen your face! It was like she punched you right in the gut.”
To be fair, it felt like she had.
For a whole minute I just stood there trying to process the fact that the beautiful woman was clearly not interested. It’s just such a rare occurrence that I didn’t know what to do.
My friends’ laughter is salt in the wound.
The waitress now uncertainly slinks over, still without the bill even though she’d promised it at least twenty minutes ago. “It kind of sounds like you boys could use another round. Want me to have one poured for you?” she asks delicately, beaming brightly and gesturing behind her at the bartender, who looks over with interest.
No doubt the man behind the bar has heard about our expensive taste and is eager to sell us more. The more we drink, the more we tip, after all. But my buzz has most definitely soured and now I just want to get out of this place. If I never come back, it’ll be too soon.
“No, we don’t need more shots. Or at least I don’t,” I answer swiftly, and admittedly a bit too harshly. “I won’t be staying, and I don’t appreciate that I haven’t been given the check yet.”
The waitress’s face blanches. “Of course!” she stammers out. “I’ll get that right to you.”
Eric reaches out and gently snags her arm, offering her a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’s just crabby because a pretty girl hurt his feelings.”
The waitress offers a tightlipped smile and a hesitant glance back toward me before weaving her way clumsily through the throngs of still dancing people. Though she’d been confident earlier in the evening, my tone has shaken her. She knows her gratuity is at risk now.
Earlier in the evening I’d almost liked the music, swaying just faintly along with the rhythm, but right now it’s making my head ache like a dull pressure is trying to push its way through my temples. I am officially over this bar, these drinks, and my friends.
At least for the night.
“I’ve got to head back to the office,” I say abruptly, looking around for the waitress once more.
She’s tapping away at a digital cash register, her lips screwing one way then the other. I can tell I’ve upset her with my curt tone. I’ll make it up to her by adding a bit extra to her tip, but I’m in no mood to sit around here and wait any longer.
“Aw, come on, man. Just because a girl turns you down you’re going to have a temper tantrum?” Eric taunts. “There’s plenty of other sexy ladies here tonight. Just pick another one to flirt with. I bet the next one will be super keen to go home with you.”
I don’t want another one! The words almost leave my tongue but I bite them back.
The only woman I really want is her. She’s the only one in Club Thorn worthy of my attention, and she’s the only one who won’t have me.
With stiff nonchalance, I manage to steal another glance over toward her table. There’s a fortunate amount of people between us, partially blocking our view, so she probably won’t be able to tell that I’m looking over.
She and her two friends are pressed even closer now, their heads bowed toward one another. No doubt they’re talking about my failed attempt to pick her up. At least they don’t look like they’re laughing at my expense.
With a start, I realize I hadn't even asked her name.
It’s too late now.
I doubt she’d give it to me anyway.
Just looking at her beautiful figure makes me irritated . . . and something else, something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
It’s odd, this feeling swelling inside of me, surging through my veins and creeping up my spine.
Even though she rejected me in no uncertain terms, I still want her. In fact, I want her even more now than I did before I approached her. Maybe it’s a classic case of wanting what you can’t have.
The waitress finally returns and hastily passes me the receipt, all but chucking it at my head in her hurry to get it to me. When I try to sign the thin sliver of paper, already damp with spilled liquor on our table, the pen refuses to work. She gives a little squeak of displeasure and dashes off to find another pen, but I fish one out of my pocket and sign the receipt after adding a generous tip.
When she returns with a new pen, I hand her back the slip of paper along with my black credit card. Once I’ve settled and my card is back in my wallet I climb to my feet. “Gentlemen, it was good to see you.”
“Let’s do this again soon,” Eric murmurs, climbing to his feet after me.
The others wave goodbye, unwilling to give up their awesome seats at the VIP table.
Though Eric is not the sentimental type, he follows me toward the exit and steps just outside the door as I walk out onto the sidewalk, his foot still propping the door open behind him so he can sneak back in once he’s done speaking to me in what I assume is going to be an attempt at getting more cash from me to fund the evening.
“Hey, Donovan,” he says slowly. “Are you alright? I know that thing with the girl is bugging you but is there something else?”
The night air is warm, blowing my hair off my forehead. The breeze carries with it the scent of hot dogs from late-night street corner vendors and faint traces of gasoline and rubber from the traffic.