Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,56
did we break up?”
“Because we were happy together until we weren’t. Because we didn’t work anymore. Because people change. Because we each made choices about what we’d do with our lives or who our friends would be or what we’d share.”
Or not share, I think. But I don’t say anything and Molly finishes her thought.
“And I couldn’t fix us but I could fix me. I didn’t handle the end well.” She puts her glass down and meets my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you happy?”
I’m talking about feelings. Shoot me.
“Yes.” A smile curves her mouth.
“With a cowboy?”
She nods. Her eyes watch that cowboy. For a moment, I remember when she used to look at me that way, but then I let it go.
Evan’s given up trying to teach Hazel the moves and is now attempting to limit the swathe of destruction she’s carving through the neat, orderly line of dancers. He’s grinning, though. My Zee has that effect on people.
I review what I’ve learned tonight, starting with the sad truth that apparently I’m an enormous jackass. Okay. I can live with that. I’m still running a full background check on Evan as if he’s a candidate I’m thinking about bringing in and pitching to the board.
The management team makes or breaks a company. Sure, you need great people everywhere, and you should never overlook the guy or gal who’s making the widgets or cleaning the kitchen. Those people count and shit doesn’t get done without them. But you also need leaders, and sometimes people get so busy name-calling and screaming about the compensation package that they don’t see what a CEO can bring to the table. Football games don’t get won without a quarterback. You need everyone in that stadium—the people who buy the tickets, the guy hawking hot dogs, the engineer who makes the scoreboard run—but it’s the quarterback who brings everyone together. The focus. The lightning rod. The guy reacting and putting years of training and practice into play. You can’t cut corners on that guy—so I’m going to make sure Evan’s everything he should be.
“There’s nothing wrong with being friends,” Molly says quietly as Zee and Evan abandon the dance floor and head toward us. “But there’s nothing wrong with taking a chance on being more, Jack.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HAZEL’S UNCHARACTERISTICALLY QUIET after we leave Evan and Molly. It’s not immediately obvious—even at three in the morning, the Strip is a loud place—but I know better than to expect silence from her. Hazel always has something to say. I take her hand, pulling her into my side. The sidewalks are still crowded despite the late hour. Couples stroll past us, arms around each other, but the annoying hawkers have disappeared for the night. No one offers girls or lap dances or a dozen other sexual services. Discarded nudie cards spill over the sidewalks and streets.
We’re on the wrong side of Las Vegas Boulevard for our hotel, so I steer us toward the nearest crosswalk. The light’s not in our favor, so we wait with dozens of other revelers. It’s a noisy, half-drunk, cheerful crowd that jostles carelessly, everyone either judging their chances if they jaywalk, or jockeying for the best position to surge across the street when we get the green light. There’s an older, blue-jeans-and-matching-shirt-wearing couple, somewhere in their midsixties, in the vanguard. The guy’s rock solid, his feet planted. He throws an arm around his lady, anchoring her.
“Six o’clock,” I say, nudging Hazel with my shoulder. “Tell me a story.”
“Jack. Not tonight.”
“Why not?” I brush a kiss over the top of her head. “Tired?”
“You’re an idiot.”
“What’s wrong?” I run through the night searching for issues, but too much has happened. The likeliest candidate for her upset is the way I handled things with Molly and her cowboy, but I need specifics before I can come up with a plan to fix things. Hazel looks up at me, but I can’t interpret the look on her face. Since nothing tonight has gone as planned, this shouldn’t surprise me.
She pulls away from me, marching in silence by my side until we reach our villa. After I slide our card key over the lock and hold the door open so she can slip inside, she heads straight for the master bathroom, shedding things as she goes. Her jacket. Her purse. A cowboy boot. The housekeeper has been in and the bed is turned down. Chocolate mints decorate the pillows and a gold serving cart in front of the fireplace offers a choice