Relaxing into my chair, I tune in to the surrounding exchanges to learn about everyone. I shut my eyes, fighting away recollections of when I had something similar. Maybe this is what I need—friendship again. I told myself I didn’t deserve it, but this group makes me reconsider that punishment I set upon myself.
“Are you going to give me your real number yet?” I ask Lola as we eat birthday cupcakes. “Or will it be your priest’s … therapist’s … attorney’s? I’m almost certain you have all three on speed dial.”
I don’t want her number to hook up with her now. I want it because A.) it won’t make me feel like too much of a schmuck, and B.) I want to see her again.
Lola laughs, wiping frosting from the side of her lip. “I can provide you with all three if you’d like?”
I lick my finger before reaching out and sweeping the tip over the frosting she missed. She sucks in a breath, and I grin, proud of myself for obtaining that reaction from her. When I pull away, she snatches her drink and chugs it as if wanting to wash away the response her body gave me.
“Are you still in love with your ex?” I ask.
“Am I in love with a cheating prick? That’d be a negative.” She grins. “I just enjoy a good revenge and need a little entertainment for the rainy days.”
“How about you let me be the entertainment on those rainy days?”
“Fine. You give me your number, and when I have a rainy day, I’ll think about calling. But I’ll most likely depend on Netflix.”
When she pulls out her phone, clad in a bright neon-green case, I beam while reciting numbers.
“Call. Don’t text.” I grin and can’t wait until she calls because she’ll be the one getting the surprise this time.
Chapter Four
Lola
“Now that business is taken care of, when are you free for me to take you out?”
I deliver the generic smile I regularly do when this happens. “It’s against company policy to date clients.”
The man grins, unfazed by my response—unsurprisingly—and runs a hand down his expensive black suit. He’s a guy who thinks the rules don’t apply to him even though I’m sure he has a similar policy at his company.
Vince Billings owns the largest chain of liquor stores in Iowa and has ordered his liquor from 21st Amendment—my family’s business—for years. I acquired their account last year. Initially, I worked with his son, who is my age, but then Vince came to the office one day and saw me. He immediately switched the contact information to himself.
Vince is nice—don’t get me wrong—and good-looking for a man my father’s age. Other than him asking me out, he hasn’t given off any creep vibes. His invitation would thrill most women.
But me? I vowed never to date a client.
Or a man in power, like him, who sees rules as speed bumps, not roadblocks.
My grandfather, Robert Delgado, founded 21st Amendment decades ago. It’s now a wholesale liquor distribution company whose clientele spans over fifteen states. My father, Robert Delgado II, was promoted to president ten years ago, and soon, he’ll pass the company down to my brother, Robby, and me.
Growing up around the business, I’ve witnessed men with authority have no problem breaking marriage vows for other lovers.
I guess my distrust started when I was sixteen, newly licensed, and skipped school to surprise my father at his office. His secretary attempting to stop me should have been a sign to abort mission. Instead, I was the one surprised when I burst into his office and found a woman half his age blowing him. Not only did I want to acid-wash my eyes, but I was also furious. His immediate response was to push her to the floor, buckle his pants, and bribe me to keep it a secret. I got a new Audi … and then tattled to my mother the next day.
That was when our family relocated from the city to a small Iowa town an hour away. My mother saw Anchor Ridge, Iowa, as a fresh start and a way to restrain my father from cheating. Her grand plan failed.
My father was caught with another mistress not too long after—not by me, thank God. My mother divorced him, and I refused to speak to him for six months. After forced therapy together, I understood the divorce was for the best. They were happier apart, and the reality is, some people aren’t made for marriage.
Now, my mother is happily married to a faithful man, and my father’s still unhappily chasing his next screw. So, I blame him, along with the few fuckboys I’ve attempted to date, for ruining my trust in the male species.
Vince laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I spend enough money with 21st Amendment for them to overlook that. Trust me.”
I shyly smile, hoping to appear almost clueless. “I don’t want to lose my job.”
My father wouldn’t fire me, but if I start dating clients who share the same birth year as him, he’d question whether I was responsible enough to run 21st Amendment when he retires. With all his affairs, not one has been with someone involved in the company. He’s not a fan of mixing business with pleasure.
Vince plays with a bottle of a new and overpriced tequila that’s all the rage with millennials. “How about this? If you lose your job, I’ll match your salary without you even lifting a finger.”
No, thank you on the sugar-daddy offer.
I check my watch. “Oh shoot, I’m running late for my next appointment.”
He chuckles. “Ah, I get the hint, Lola.”
I stay quiet.
He motions toward the table. “The same time in two weeks?”
“I’ll schedule you in.”
“Give me more of these products. Campus liquor stores sell this trendy shit like it’s candy. The coeds see it on social media and will pay anything to post a selfie with it.”
“Will do.” I salute him. “I’ll make a list and have it ready.”
“You’re the best. And let me know if you change your mind and want to go to dinner … a movie … hell, I’ll even take you on a vacation if you want.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The first thing I do when I get home from work is take off my heels. As much as I love my black Jimmy Choos, they’re a bitch to stand in all day.
But with heels comes power.
With power comes higher sales.
Some say I had it easy.
That nepotism gave me my position.
Yes, I got my job because my family owns the company, but I’ve also proven my worth there. My sales numbers exceed others every month. I don’t sit in the office and call potential clients. No, I go to businesses and convince them why we’re the distributor for them. Then when I acquire the customer, I upsell them.
It also helps that most of my clients are men—liquor store, bar, and club owners. I don’t mind doing a little flirting to get them to buy an eighty-dollar bottle of vodka instead of a twenty.
All’s fair in the love of sales and marketing.
I trek to my bedroom, change into sweats and a tee, and unlock my phone to order takeout. Just as I’m opening the app, my phone rings.
Georgia.
“Hey, babe,” I answer at the same time my stomach growls.