When she offered him the position of managing partner, a role which required his relocation to Eddalyn’s home office, Judah saw through her intentions. Nevertheless, he agreed without argument. He knew she meant to groom him. One day, when she saw fit to retire and step down from the company she built from the ground up, it would all belong to him. The prospect of such ownership was exciting, but Judah was in no rush. In his mind, Eddalyn St. Michaels was a genius, and it was his great privilege to work alongside of her.
“I do hope you don’t plan on spending too much more time behind that desk of yours,” she said, gesturing toward him.
She looped the straps of her pale blue Birkin bag around the crook of her arm and then clasped her hands together. Eddalyn wasn’t a particularly tall woman, even in her designer heels. Her stature, along with her narrow build and blonde pixie haircut, provided her with traces of a youthful air. Judah would also argue her drive, her ambition, and her passion kept her as young as she wanted to be.
“No. I’m almost done here.”
“Good. You’ll need your rest if you’re to make our early tee time tomorrow.”
A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he read the quiet challenge which flickered across her blue eyes.
With a slight shake of his head, he assured her, “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Goodnight, nephew. Until tomorrow.”
This time, as he watched another blonde retreat from his presence, he contemplated the night which awaited him. It had been a long and trying week. While he looked forward to the leisurely sport in which he would indulge on the morrow, he knew that would not sufficiently fulfill his physical needs. The release he craved could only be accomplished one way.
Judah glanced at his work and then reached for his cell phone. It didn’t take him long to find the contact he was after. With only a few keystrokes, his invitation was sent. While he had only been in town for a few months, he hadn’t wasted time in creating a short list. When Diana replied to his message with one of her own before he could re-immerse himself in his work, he chuckled softly. He didn’t even need to read her reply to know his Friday night would, at the very least, offer him the satisfaction of satiation.
Chapter Two
I woke to the painfully apparent thump of my pulse as blood rushed through my brain. It was like my body wished to remind me that drinking countless glasses of cheap chardonnay with my best friend had consequences. Groaning, I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with my forearm.
“I had no choice,” I mumbled aloud pathetically.
It was true. The rules of friendship forced me to do it.
When your best friend is nursing a broken heart, you don’t let him drink alone. And when he wants to spend half the night ogling men at the bar—you stay, you drink, and you ogle.
My stomach was empty, aside from the remnants of alcohol which sloshed around down there, and I pulled in a deep breath as I stifled another groan. I needed food—food I, preferably, didn’t have to cook. Except, as the dredges of sleep left me behind, it dawned on me that while my stomach was without sustenance, I was without a car.
Moving to clap both hands over my face, I pictured the three of us piling into an Uber in the wee hours of the morning. Then, in spite of my circumstances, a small smile played at my lips. The thought of Andrew, who had also been coerced—by way of familial obligation—made me feel better. At the very least, I knew I would be battling my hangover in peace. Andrew had offspring who would likely not understand there were beverages in the world which, when consumed in large quantities, required quiet mornings.
You’re lucky we love you, Geoffrey.
Certain my day would get no better if I stayed in bed all morning, I forced myself into a seated position. My hair, tangled from sleep, was everywhere. I ignored it as my body alerted me to an urgent need.
Coffee.
I forced myself out of bed and onto my feet as I made my way toward my beloved coffee pot. My apartment was pretty tiny, but it still took me almost a full minute to drag myself from one end of the unit to the other. My one-butt kitchen—as Geoffrey appropriately named it—was just big enough to fit, well, me. The cabinet space was laughable; but so were my cooking skills, so it suited me just fine. Aside from a small collection of dishes, an embarrassing amount of Tuna Helper, and oatmeal, I didn’t have much to store. Anyway, it was mostly just Mr. Coffee and me, day in and day out. He was, by far, my most prized belonging.
Well, that’s not true. My camera is my most precious possession. I use it as often as possible.
After I prepared my coffee to brew, I let it percolate and journeyed to the bathroom. A laugh bubbled out of me when I caught sight of my reflection. I looked a fright. Well aware that nothing would tame my long, red, wavy locks other than a shower, I tossed them into a messy bun on top of my head before I went about brushing my teeth. I felt a little more human after I washed my face.
I consumed a couple ibuprofens with my first swig of black coffee. I knew the trek to my car would be far more pleasant without the headache, and I hoped the pills would do the trick. I usually enjoyed my dose of caffeine with a scoop of sugar and a measure of cream, but I needed the effects of the beverage to hit me—stat. A hum spilled from my lips as the hot liquid raced toward my belly, and I shuffled my way toward comfortable seating. The light which poured into the main room was overwhelming, but I forced myself to endure the vitamin D seemingly begging to be consumed.
As I curled into the corner of my couch, I looked around at my humble abode. I’d lived there for just over a year. I moved in after I finished my junior year of college. Back then, it was pretty sparse. Of course, I had a vision for what I hoped it would look like, but I was limited to the wallet of a college student. After a bit of saving and more than a little patience—along with a few donated pieces from my favorite artsy men—I managed to turn my place into an eclectic and artistic space I could be proud of. Took time, but it felt like me in there.
I enjoyed my coffee until the last drop and then returned to my bedroom to get dressed. Very little effort was put into my outfit, my only objective to be clothed. After I slipped into a pair of tattered denim jeans and an oversized CSU t-shirt, I found my most comfortable sneakers and laced them up on my feet. I grabbed my purse, double checking for my keys, and then started for the door. I had barely reached for the knob when I got an idea. Deciding to make the best of my morning task, I turned on my heel and went to get my camera. My Nikon D5100 was strapped around my neck in no time, and then I was on my way.
It took me forty-five minutes to reach my car, but I couldn’t complain. It would have taken me a half an hour, but I got a little inspired with my camera along the way. The long stroll also gave me the clarity of mind to decide what I wanted for breakfast. There was nothing quite as delicious as one of Brandon’s signature blueberry crumble muffins.
Since Little Bird Café was only a block away from where I parked the night before, I left my vehicle as I continued to my destination. If I thought my wallet could handle it, I would have frequented the little coffee shop every day. And it wasn’t just the pastries I loved. The atmosphere was charming, and Brandon’s staff was the best.
Upon entering the establishment, I spotted Sarah behind the register. While I was a frequent customer at Little Bird going on more than a year, I’d known the blonde haired, blue eyed goddess for longer. For a short stent, she was a teacher at the same school as my sister. Regardless of how life had separated the two, they remained close friends. That morning, she looked as beautiful as ever, reminding me of my un-showered, hungover self.