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Authors: Kira A. Gold
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uncomfortable silence until they reached Main Street.
“How did it go with the decorator Donna Edith hooked you up with?” Bengt slapped the crosswalk button. “Is she hot? How old is she?”
“I have no idea,” Killian said. Vessa was in her early twenties, he’d guess, a few years younger than he was. “She’s a professional. I didn’t ask personal questions.” And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell Bengt she was gorgeous as black butterflies and pure midnight sex and yeah, she was hot as hell. The bastard would be over there perving on her in seconds.
“Is she from here? Where did she go to school?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her. The light turned green. “She’s good and she’s fast, and that’s all I care about.”
He didn’t care that she was like no one he’d met before, didn’t care that her mouth got redder after she smiled, and it didn’t matter that she was single.
The pub was packed. Killian stopped at the bar and ordered two Cosmopolitans. The bartender leered at him, flipping the bottle of triple sec. “Those are my favorite, too.”
Killian tipped him five bucks, escaping the caress on his wrist as he passed the money. He carried the drinks to Seth’s table, and set them at the fifth chair. Deb raised an eyebrow at the martini glasses.
“Bossman was an asshole to her today,” Bengt said, pouring beer into the two empty pints on the table. He slid one across the table to Killian. “Skål!”
“ L’chaim ,” Seth said, and emptied his glass.
“ Sláinte ,” Killian said.
“Cheers.” Deb knocked pints with Bengt.
Bengt waved, and Starla crossed the back room of the pub. Her gait was stiff, her head held high, chin jutted forward, until she saw the drinks on the table. “Thank you,” she said, dropping into the chair with a slump.
“Did y’know, when Dad died, Bergman tried to have our name removed, even though mom was a full partner?” Bengt asked.
“He’s a misogynist troglodyte.” Starla swallowed one of her drinks almost whole, then rubbed the lime rind over her teeth. “It took me weeks to put that presentation together, and he deliberately dragged that pointless speech out so he could bump me off the agenda. ‘Oh, we’ve run late, Miss Jamison, next time, Miss Jamison.’” She picked up her second drink. “I fucking hate it when he calls me that.”
“But it’s your name, isn’t it?” Seth asked.
“No,” Deb said. “It’s defining her by her father, her anatomy and whether she has a domestic partner or not. It’s not her name.”
“Why does it matter whether I’m married or not? Would he treat me any differently because I had a husband? Which is none of his business, either way.”
“Oh. Right. Gotcha.” Seth looked at Killian with a what-do-I-say-now? face.
“Every time he speaks to me he only talks about my dad,” she said. “Never about the fact that I have the education or the skills to actually do the firm any good, or that I could pump out a dozen strategies that would pull the company out of the dark ages in minutes. It’s only, ‘What does your father think of the capitol building, Miss Jamison?’ and, ‘Looking forward to addressing his Christmas card to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, har, har, har.’ I’ve worked my ass off to get this all put together, for him, for his firm, and he just blows me off!”
“So what do you have lined up for the open house, Star?” Killian asked after she paused for a drink.
“Oh. Well.” She huffed. “It’ll be interactive rather than the usual static presentation pitch, where each home gets the awkward cramped tour. All the houses will be open at once, and you guys can just hang out and answer questions, and people can look at what they want. But I’m combining it with a wine tasting, with different food and drinks at the different houses, so everyone moves around to try everything at each one.”
“What kind of food?”
“How did it go with the decorator Donna Edith hooked you up with?” Bengt slapped the crosswalk button. “Is she hot? How old is she?”
“I have no idea,” Killian said. Vessa was in her early twenties, he’d guess, a few years younger than he was. “She’s a professional. I didn’t ask personal questions.” And he sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell Bengt she was gorgeous as black butterflies and pure midnight sex and yeah, she was hot as hell. The bastard would be over there perving on her in seconds.
“Is she from here? Where did she go to school?”
“I don’t know.” He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her. The light turned green. “She’s good and she’s fast, and that’s all I care about.”
He didn’t care that she was like no one he’d met before, didn’t care that her mouth got redder after she smiled, and it didn’t matter that she was single.
The pub was packed. Killian stopped at the bar and ordered two Cosmopolitans. The bartender leered at him, flipping the bottle of triple sec. “Those are my favorite, too.”
Killian tipped him five bucks, escaping the caress on his wrist as he passed the money. He carried the drinks to Seth’s table, and set them at the fifth chair. Deb raised an eyebrow at the martini glasses.
“Bossman was an asshole to her today,” Bengt said, pouring beer into the two empty pints on the table. He slid one across the table to Killian. “Skål!”
“ L’chaim ,” Seth said, and emptied his glass.
“ Sláinte ,” Killian said.
“Cheers.” Deb knocked pints with Bengt.
Bengt waved, and Starla crossed the back room of the pub. Her gait was stiff, her head held high, chin jutted forward, until she saw the drinks on the table. “Thank you,” she said, dropping into the chair with a slump.
“Did y’know, when Dad died, Bergman tried to have our name removed, even though mom was a full partner?” Bengt asked.
“He’s a misogynist troglodyte.” Starla swallowed one of her drinks almost whole, then rubbed the lime rind over her teeth. “It took me weeks to put that presentation together, and he deliberately dragged that pointless speech out so he could bump me off the agenda. ‘Oh, we’ve run late, Miss Jamison, next time, Miss Jamison.’” She picked up her second drink. “I fucking hate it when he calls me that.”
“But it’s your name, isn’t it?” Seth asked.
“No,” Deb said. “It’s defining her by her father, her anatomy and whether she has a domestic partner or not. It’s not her name.”
“Why does it matter whether I’m married or not? Would he treat me any differently because I had a husband? Which is none of his business, either way.”
“Oh. Right. Gotcha.” Seth looked at Killian with a what-do-I-say-now? face.
“Every time he speaks to me he only talks about my dad,” she said. “Never about the fact that I have the education or the skills to actually do the firm any good, or that I could pump out a dozen strategies that would pull the company out of the dark ages in minutes. It’s only, ‘What does your father think of the capitol building, Miss Jamison?’ and, ‘Looking forward to addressing his Christmas card to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, har, har, har.’ I’ve worked my ass off to get this all put together, for him, for his firm, and he just blows me off!”
“So what do you have lined up for the open house, Star?” Killian asked after she paused for a drink.
“Oh. Well.” She huffed. “It’ll be interactive rather than the usual static presentation pitch, where each home gets the awkward cramped tour. All the houses will be open at once, and you guys can just hang out and answer questions, and people can look at what they want. But I’m combining it with a wine tasting, with different food and drinks at the different houses, so everyone moves around to try everything at each one.”
“What kind of food?”
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