Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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This sucks. I hate everything about this and yet there’s a stupid part of me that’s happy that he’s not with some stupid bitch. just using him for his money and status. I’m not precisely a pick-me kind of person, but I can’t help but think it right now. Maybe this is my fault. I never set any boundaries. I fell in love with him even before he became the man he is now.
Mr. Thorne, because I refuse to call him by his first name, and I have been a team from day one. I was nineteen and a sophomore in college when I started working for him. He was twenty-two and inherited his father’s multi-billion-dollar pharmaceutical company.
I was his personal assistant then, and now I’m V.P. of the company, but it still feels like I’m taking care of him most days. I owe him this life, but I think it’s time I start setting those boundaries. We’re not kids anymore and I’m done sitting around for him to see something that’s a fucking delusion in my head.
“Fuck it,” I snatch his fifty dollars off the table and change out of my comfy clothes. “The least you can do is buy me a fucking drink,”
Where am I going? Probably somewhere sad where I can get drunk and maybe make some bad decisions with a hot mouth breather. Okay, maybe not a mouth breather, but definitely some hot weirdo. There is no way in hell I’m calling Silas ever again.
I drive around the strip until I find the sad little corner I’m seeking. A bar with an ugly neon sign that reads WISE MEN SAY, and then there’s an outline of a martini underneath it. A scrony guy is sitting on a wooden stool in front of the heavily armored door, someone did a terrible job of painting black.
The guy looks to be in his mid-twenties or early thirties. He has a black jacket and baggy pants held up by a utility belt. His shirt says, “I Support Single Moms,” and there’s an outline of a stripper above it. His hat is turned so the visor faces the door. There are two huge studs in his ears. It looks like he had bad acne as a teen and picked his face a lot.
“I.D.,” is all he asks for when I approach him.
I hand it over and he looks between me and the picture on the card. He offers it back to me and swings his head a little too aggressively for me to go inside.
“Thanks,” I say, dropping it in my handbag. He gives me a single nod and goes back to looking around.
My heart skips when I walk through the thick red velvet curtain to find my reflection staring back at me. The walls are divided down the center. The top half is mirrored, and the bottom half looks like black plastic. Down the middle, where the glass meets the plastic, is a golden border. The same one adorns the bottom where the wall meets the shiny black tile.
There’s a door at the end of the corridor with a second red curtain covering it. The sign above it says VIP in neon red letters. Deciding that’s not where I’m going, I spin around and head inside. The corridor curves to the left and opens up to the bar. I didn’t expect it to be as nice as it is. There’s a huge old oak bar along the room’s right side. At the end of it is an iron spiral staircase leading up to the loft space above, with booths overlooking the dance floor and pool tables.
The tables are tall and black. There’s a candle in the center and two stools to either side. There are a lot of them along the walls, some cheesy neon signs, dart boards, and imported beer posters. I love how the tables are set up and have a hidden feel under the loft space above. There are no windows, but there are more of those red velvet curtains along the trim of the loft platform above.
There aren’t that many people here. A few guys are shooting pool. Some of the tables around the room are taken. But for the most part, the place is empty. At a low level, alternative music is playing in the speakers around the room. It’s only nine forty p.m. I head over to the bar and am greeted by the bartender.
“Hey, gorgeous, what can I get for you tonight?” she asks. Beverly stirs inside of me, telling me this girl is a wolf-an omega by the sweet fruity scent coming off her.
“Something strong,” I answer. “It’s been a long night.”
1/3
13:29 Wed, 13 Aug
Chapter 3
“It’s not even ten yet, she grins, I can’t bring myself to smile back, and she nods. “Okay I got you. Take a sext. I’ll find you, she taps the bar and walks away. I look around, trying to find a place to sit, and decide I’m going to sit near the steps Here you go. Welcome to Wise Men. Things don’t kick off before eleven around here. Don’t get too sloppy. You should stick around for the show.”
“Thank you,” I say as I look down at the dark liquid and make my way to my table of choice.
I put my things on the tabletop and take a tasting sip from the glass in front of me. The drink is sweet with a sting, leaving a pleasant aftertaste of cherries. I smile and look up at the bartender who made it for me to see her looking back at me. I give her a thumbs up and she drums the bar pleased with my approval.
I start sorting through some of my emails. Work never stops, and well, I don’t exactly have anything better to do. I reply to some of them, and while I’m in the middle of typing one out, a message bubble pops up, and I accidentally press it when I try to send the email.
It’s my sister, Verona, and a picture of my boss and Riley
-WTF is that and wtf is she wearing ur dress??????
-That’s Riley. Last min inv.
I go back to my email and send it. It takes her seconds to reply.
-Let me guess-new squeeze.
-Idk. She’s different.- I type out and hesitate to hit send but I do it anyway
-Ru okay?
-No.
-I can come over and we can watch Bridgington or whatever you’re into rn?
-I’m not home and it’s Bridgerton.
-THAT POS BETTER NOT HAVE MADE YOU GO INTO THE OFFICE WHILE HE’S OUT HERE TRYING TO GET HIS
DICK WET VIOLETTA!!!!!!!!!!
-Not at the office. I’m @ a bar actually and that text needed more exclamation marks.
-Ur so lame. Wtf ru doing @ a bar? wut bar?
-Idk and it’s called Wise Men Say.
-Wise Men on Cabrio Ave?
-You’ve heard of it?
-Yeah. I guess it’s perfect for you. Well, have fun. Try not to get shit-faced.
-Wdym perfect for me?- she doesn’t reply and I doubt she will.
“Bitch.” I take a drink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
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