Not Just Friends (Hot in the City #3) - T. Gephart Page 0,52
for the privilege. It was just too insane.
“Scott, I’m sorry, but that is a hard no from me. Your club sounds like a . . .” disaster, shitshow, dumpster fire, “interesting, but not the kind of project I want to be involved in.”
I was just about to usher him out, and end what had truly been a waste of my time when he made one last attempt.
“I’ll give you equity. Not just a salary but a share in the business and the profits. And we’ll cut the bells and whistles in the main part of the club and have a private room just for me and my friends.”
“Scott, I—”
“Come on, Presley. I need this.” It was as if I was seeing him for the first time, the fake exterior completely gone as his walls dropped. “You know how hard it is to live in the shadow of my dad? Help me out here. I’ll cut the bullshit, I swear, and we’ll do it completely your way.”
The confident swagger he’d came in with was gone, and in its place, desperation. He wanted this, and not just so he and his friends had a place to party. He was determined to have some kind of success that his father hadn’t been a part of.
“Look, Scott, I get it.” I stood, walking around my desk, genuinely feeling compassion however ill deserved it was. “But this isn’t the way to do it. I’m sorry, but even if I could pick up and move across the country to set up this club for you, there are too many variables. It is a huge gamble, and I’m not just talking money. It could affect your career too, demolish your personal brand. Think about buying a vineyard, something social but where you can maintain most of the commercial control. You get the winemakers to do their bit, and you get a product you can sell to every licensed venue in America. It won’t be your name on a door, but on the shelf of every club and bar across the country. And I don’t need to tell you about the ridiculous marketing opportunities for promotional parties at all those bars and venues? It would be a non-stop party coast-to-coast.”
It wasn’t a new idea. Rock stars, actors, and celebrities of every kind of persuasion had been bottling booze and putting on a fancy label. And for good reason, most of the time, it was incredibly profitable.
So if Scott needed me to throw him a bone . . .
“Jesus, Presley, you’re a fucking genius.” He leaped out of his seat and stopped as he moved to hug me. It had surprised both of us, his hands out, his body inches from mine, the contact suspended in a moment of indecision. “Sorry.” He dropped his hands, the apology written on his face. “I got caught up in the moment. I promise I’m not trying to hit on you.”
I laughed, amused at the contradiction. It was a completely different Scott Collins to the guy I’d met the other night, and I liked the new version better. “If I hug you, are you going to make it inappropriate?” I asked against my better judgment.
“Well, considering I’ve given you enough material to seriously fuck me over, I’m a little scared.” He chuckled as he moved closer and wrapped his arms around me. “Thanks, Presley. I owe you.”
There was a subtle knock at the door, and I assumed either Jared was back, or Bennett was checking on me. And I knew how quickly the hug could be seen as something other than it was. I pulled away, feeling slightly guilty even though I had no reason to, and gestured to the exit. “Well, let me know how it goes and I expect a case of whatever when you go to market.”
“Are you kidding? You’ll get the first bottle off the line.” He grinned, following me to the door. “And seriously, thanks. We both know you probably just saved my ass.”
My hand went to the lock, the door popping open almost instantly. It was Bennett, and as much as I hated to admit it, part of me was glad.
Things between me and Jared were not only new but ambiguous, the terms of our new relationship not really discussed. It wasn’t just sex, with real feelings there but the last thing I wanted was for something as stupid as a misunderstanding screwing it all up.
“Great timing, just wrapping up here.” I opened the door wider, inviting