The Boss's Son Box Set Page 2

  When the server came and trod on the real estate printouts, Britt shrugged. Instead of the bottle of wine she expected, the server brought a large margarita in a frosted, salty glass. Britt’s eyes widened. She wondered fleetingly if this was standard restaurant protocol...someone has a birthday, the waiters sing; someone has a public breakup, bring out the margaritas. She took a long, grateful drink, savoring the sharp lime and the burn of the tequila.

  “Compliments of a gentleman at the bar,” the server said.

  Britt looked to her right and saw that her entire tableau had been visible to the denizens of the bar through a window onto the terrace. She shook her head slightly and drank deeply.

  Chapter 3

  She raised her glass in a general toast to the bar patrons. One man gave her a mock salute, and she smiled. Setting her drink down, she stood, a little wobbly already after downing half a massive margarita on an empty stomach. She made her way to the bar and approached the man who had saluted her. She tried not to drool. He was absolutely gorgeous with a muscular body...just so damn sexy.

  “Thanks for the drink,” she said.

  “You looked like you could use one. Although maybe not as much as that poor bastard you beat up,” he joked.

  “That poor bastard was cheating on me and picked our anniversary dinner to break the news.”

  “He’s lucky that’s all you hit him with. We have a bet going, me and the bartender. What was in the folder? I said it was probably pictures of wedding cakes or something for your reception. The barkeep here swears it’s wedding dresses.”

  “Apartments. We were meeting to celebrate six months together and pick out an apartment to rent.”

  “Ouch,” he said, shaking his head.

  “We already ordered and, jilted or not, I have two meals coming. Care to join me?”

  “Absolutely. What am I eating?”

  “My so-considerate ex ordered lobster because he knew I’d be stuck with the check and I guess they didn’t serve bars of actual platinum here.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “The very best. Do you like lobster?”

  “It’s okay. I’m more of a carnivore. Your guy was a bottom feeder, I guess.”

  “Well played. You can have my steak. I’ll eat Kevin’s damn lobster,” she said.

  “No, I think you’ve had enough indignity without getting stuck eating his fish.”

  “It’s a crustacean.”

  “If you have to dip it in that much butter to get it down, it’s fish. Trust me.”

  “I take it you aren’t a sushi fan.”

  “Not so much,” he said. “I’m Jack.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jack. That margarita is easily the best thing that’s happened to me today.”

  “Glad I could improve your day. Has it all been bad or just this latest bit?”

  “My boss kept trying to feel me up, my best friend made fun of my pretend roof garden and then my boyfriend’s mistress texted during dinner to ask if it was over yet. In the interest of full disclosure here.”

  “That’s a lot of information you just gave me...what was your name?”

  “Britt. I’m not usually an oversharing person. I don’t even really go in for social media...all that dirty laundry. I just decided to air mine on the terrace of Tamarind instead of on Twitter.”

  “You’d need way more than one hundred and forty characters to tell this story.”

  “See, it’s a good thing I’m not live tweeting the breakup.”

  “I think that’s a sound decision. Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “A man who knows Shakespeare and margaritas. You’re quite the discovery, Jack. Here’s my table. What’ll you have to drink? It’s my treat.”

  “Whiskey sour,” he told the server. To his credit, the waiter didn’t seem in the least dismayed by the abrupt change in my dinner date.

  “So what do you do, Jack, besides providing liquor to damsels in distress?”

  “I’m a guitarist. Sort of an artist, too.”

  “Hmm....are you in a band?”

  “Isn’t everybody?”

  “Not the people I know, actually. They’re primarily in accounting and marketing and the like.”

  “Wild crowd you run with,” he sipped his whiskey.

  “I’ve never had one of those. Mind if I try it?” she asked, starting in on her second margarita and feeling a little bold.

  Jack held out the highball glass, and she snagged a cherry floating on the surface and licked the sharp whiskey flavor off the sugary cherry and bit into it, the sweet juice gushing into her mouth. Smiling, she took a drink of his whiskey sour, the blaze of alcohol scalding her throat as she swallowed. Shaking her head with a cough, she handed the glass back to him.

  “Thanks anyway,” she croaked. “I’ll stick to what I know,” she drank down the rest of her margarita.

  “You just made my night a lot less boring,” he said.

  “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she laughed.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So douchebag wasn’t much on the flattery I take it. I can do better than not boring though. How about beautiful?”

  “I like it even if I don’t believe it much.”

  “I could show you how beautiful you are, but the food isn’t even here yet. That would be presumptuous,” he grinned.

  Britt couldn’t ignore the tingling in her palms, the rush of excitement she felt when he said that. A sort of enthusiasm she hadn’t felt about moving in with Kevin, her erstwhile boyfriend of half a year. She blatantly ogled Jack, just reveling in the sight of him, sitting there across from her. She wondered if everyone in Tamarind thought that a man as fine as him certainly didn’t belong at a table with someone like her, some accountant in a tight dress who was obviously trying too hard. For once, she didn’t really care what anyone else thought.

  They talked a bit more...he told her about his favorite guitarists, and she admitted that she liked Santana “except for the long guitar riffs” which made him laugh.

  “I’ll have to initiate you, teach you to appreciate the greats. I saw Kenny Wayne Shepard a couple years back. He’s my idol.”

  “Is he...a country singer?”

  “A blues guitarist, why?”

  “That name...he has three names, I figured he was country,” she giggled.

  “I think I need to stage a music intervention. But it looks like our food’s here.”

  The server delivered the lavish meals and, at Britt’s request, replaced her empty margarita glass with red wine. She sipped it with approval.

  “This looks delicious,” he said.

  “So do you,” she blurted out and then laughed too loudly.

  “Want a bite of my crustacean?” he offered, dunking a morsel of lobster in the drawn butter and offering it to her.

  Without hesitating, Britt opened her lips and let him feed her. The lobster was tender and sweet, salty with slick butter. She licked her lips, meeting his eyes.

  “Now I want a bite of that steak,” he said. She cut him a bite and held it out to him. He bit the meat off of her fork. She felt a sudden chill creep along her skin, a jolt of something suspiciously like desire.

  “So what are you doing hanging out at Tamarind?” she asked.

  “Oh, just cruising for women. I hear they get a lot of breakups out on the terrace,” he said breezily.

  “Seriously,” she said.

  “I was meeting a buddy of mine about the band, trying to see if we can lay down some tracks.”

  “Any luck?”

  “We’ll see,” he said. “I’ve been playing since I was in school. How long have you been...”

  “Accounting? Since I graduated and got my CPA,” she said. “And before you ask, yes, it is super exciting.”

  “It sounds that way.”

  “I work for a consulting firm. I do the payroll and expenses and tax stuff. It’s pretty easy, actually, and t
he pay’s good.”

  “So you don’t have the massive rush in April when everybody hasn’t filed their taxes yet?”

  “Ugh, no. Not for me. I don’t do drive-thru 1040’s, although I did in college to get experience. People try to deduct the stupidest things. I mean, not to be judgmental, but Viagra is not a business expense,” she giggled.

  Jack laughed along with her.

  “And all these real estate agents trying to deduct their highlights and Spanx and arguing with me that it’s about presenting yourself as the public face of the business. It was crazy. The worst one, though, was the guy who was deducting thousands of dollars from trips to Sassy Sadie’s Lounge and swore that strip clubs were a business expense. He was a trucker. It’s not like he was entertaining clients to close a business deal. It was just near the truck stop!”

  “Well, imagine you’re trying to break into the music business and get all these bar gigs where you play for free, just hoping someone in the crowd will download your songs or hire you to play a bar mitzvah or something and wham! You get his right in the face with underwear. Men’s underwear.”

  “Did that really happen?”

  “More than once and they were not clean,” he guffawed.

  “Does this only happen if you’re the frontman or do the drummers and stuff get pelted with underpants, too?”

  “That’s where being the frontman, as in, out in front, has its disadvantages. Sure, you get all the phone numbers and all the attention but you also get all the tighty-whiteys with skid marks, too. I’m like a human shield for the drummer in that way.”

  Britt laughed so loudly that she snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand in belated embarrassment. By the time they got to dessert, they had decided to share the sampler. While she waited for another margarita, Jack excused himself to go to the restroom.

  “Are you ditching me?” she asked flatly. “Because that’s been happening to me a lot tonight.”

  “No worries,” he said with a wink. “I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him walk away and had to admit she enjoyed the view. His wrinkled button down clung nicely to broad shoulders and his jeans hugged narrow hips. Britt thought idly that if he ditched her, she’d really miss him. This was easily the most fun she’d ever had on a date, even if it wasn’t a conventional date. He was smart and funny and sexy as hell. She gulped down half a glass of water just to try to cool herself down and get her mind out of the gutter.

  Although to be fair, her mind wasn’t in the gutter so much as it was peeling off his shirt. She thought he’d look amazing with his shirt off, lean and cut. He had long elegant fingers but his wrists were manly and thick. She’d never had a thing for wrists or guitarists, but she most definitely had a thing for Jack, the margarita rescuer. She wondered if he sent drinks to women often and how many of them took him up on it. Switching back to her glass of wine, she decided firmly that she didn’t care. Because tonight, he was with her. If he ever decided to come back to the table where she was waiting not so patiently for him.

  Oh Jack, she thought, I’d be thrilled if you’d introduce me to blues guitar and teach me how beautiful I am. In fact, I’d be thrilled if you offered to teach me to make balloon animals and told me I looked like Jeff Goldblum as long as you were wearing those tight jeans and had that bedroom smile turned on me.

  Chapter 4

  Britt laughed at her train of thought and made herself look out at the water instead of watching the doorway into the bar to see if he was coming yet. When she checked the time on her phone in what she hoped was a casual manner; it had only been three minutes. She was panicked over nothing. The man went to the restroom. He’d be back. They’d share dessert. They might even share more than dessert if Britt had her way.

  The desserts arrived before he returned and he found her halfway through the cheesecake.

  “What? It had chocolate on it. You weren’t here. That practically screams ‘go ahead and eat the best one without me’,” she said as he grinned.

  Jack had one hell of a grin. It was almost, nearly as appealing as his ass was in his faded jeans. She smiled back. For the first time in her life, she understood the expression about undressing someone with your eyes, because she totally was. He was talking about desserts and a rustic ricotta cheesecake with lemon that he had once. She was staring openly, possibly ogling. In her mind, she unbuttoned his shirt very slowly, savoring the sliver of tanned muscled chest revealed by each slow, sweet button. Then, in her mind, she licked her way down his chest. She was pretty sure that kind of behavior was frowned upon in Tamarind, so she kept the idea to herself. For the moment anyway.

  They finished off the dessert sampler and she asked for the check. The waiter shook his head.

  “We are aware of the—predicament in which you found yourself. There will be no charge for your meal. Tamarind wishes you the best, and hopefully, you will be our guest again in the future.” The server said neatly.

  Surprised, she nodded.

  “Thank you so much. The meal was lovely, really. And the margaritas kicked ass,” she said and then pressed her lips together in dismay, fairly certain she’d said something inappropriate.

  Britt left a big tip and stood, holding out her hand to Jack.

  “Thank you for joining me. Because of you, this was a much better evening than I thought it would be.”

  “It kicked ass,” he smirked.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re making fun of me, but I don’t much care right now.”

  “I had fun, Britt,” he said. “I’m glad your guy acted like a douche. If he had been decent, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “You would’ve had to hit on some other woman at the restaurant.”

  “I think it’s safe to say you’re a higher quality than the general run of women who get hit on.”

  “You mean I’m not as hot as the general run of women who get hit on?”

  “Not at all. I mean there’s more to you than that. You made me laugh, a lot. You’re smart and self-deprecating, and that dress is practically a dirty movie.”

  “Thanks. That’s not exactly what I was going for. I was going for elegant and a little sexy.”

  “I think you ended up with extremely sexy and...what was the other part? I got stuck on sexy.”

  “I don’t mind you getting stuck on sexy,” she said.

  “You know, I’ve never slept with an accountant,” he remarked, and she smiled slyly.

  “We’re just as exciting in bed as we are at work on those spreadsheets,” she joked.

  “Somehow I don’t think you’d be boring anywhere, Britt,” he said.

  “So take me home,” she offered.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m super sure. Like six thousand percent sure,” she said, nodding enthusiastically.

  “That’s a very high percentage for a person who does math for a living.”

  “So you should take me seriously.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Did you drive?”

  “I took a cab.”

  “Then you can ride with me.”

  “You’re not driving anywhere, slugger. We’ll get a cab.”

  “Why?”

  “Three margaritas,” he said. “I don’t want to die, and I don’t think I have bail money if you have to take a breathalyzer test.”

  “Fine,” she said. “We’ll take a cab.”

  Jack led her out of the restaurant, taking her hand in his with assurance. He held up his arm and a cab swung to the curb and picked them up. She gave her address and held onto his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. She felt warm and loose, relaxed and happy. He had great biceps, firm under her fingertips and made her anticipation grow. They raced through the darkness, neon lights whizzing past the window in a blur. At her building, they stumbled out onto the pavement after he paid the cab. She managed to get her key in the lock on the fourth attempt, and they crashed up the stairs, laughing and talking in stage whispers. At her d
oor, he covered her hand with his, stopping her from turning the knob.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes. Six thousand percent, remember?”

  “I just—don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning when you’re sober.”

  “I’m not drunk, Jack. I’m tipsy, and I’m a little bit high on you—the hot stranger who bought me dinner.”

  “I didn’t buy you dinner. Tamarind bought you dinner.”

  “Right. You disappeared for ten minutes, then suddenly the waiter says we’re not being charged. I’m not so sure restaurants give a shit if I get dumped, particularly restaurants with thirty dollar margaritas.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Let’s just say you shouldn’t look for work as a spy if the band doesn’t work out.”

  “Damn, I thought I was so subtle,” he said with a half-smile.

  “Are you convinced of my cognitive ability to provide consent?”

  “Anyone who can say cognitive ability can’t be that wasted,” he said and followed her inside.

  Britt flicked on the lights, briefly concerned that the place would be a mess. Immediately, she figured out that he wouldn’t care. Jack cupped her cheek in his hand with unexpected tenderness, stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, and brushed his lips against hers lightly, teasingly. Smiling, she stepped in closer to him, her keys clattering to the floor as she put her hands in his hair, pulling his face down to hers. He kicked the door shut and claimed her mouth. Jack’s shirt landed on the floor near her keys, and her shoes joined them. In a frenzy, they peeled off their clothes, parting their kiss only long enough to remove essential garments. He was a phenomenal kisser, his tongue darting sensuously into her mouth and withdrawing. She nearly sang with ecstasy, remembering for a second the way that Kevin used to just jam his tongue in her mouth and leave it there like its mere flaccid presence should thrill her. This man, on the contrary, knew what to do with his mouth, his hands driving her wild.