Page 12 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

RHYS

T he club smelled like smoke machines.

I swirled my Old Fashioned and braced myself against the railing on the uppermost level of the Caprizee nightclub in downtown Nashville.

The place had a decent vibe to it. I’d been a handful of times but not since things ended with Trish.

Back before she and I were a thing, this had been my hunting ground.

The women here knew what they wanted and so did the men.

Being the guy with his face plastered all over magazine covers and online articles made it pretty easy for me to take women home.

Of course, that wasn’t all that much fun.

Knowing the girl you were taking home only wanted to see where you lived with her own two eyes and claim to all her friends that she’d fucked Rhys Daniels kind of took the air out of a man’s sails.

At least it did mine.

Clay shouldered up beside me. He tilted his head down at my drink, noting the curled orange peel clinging to the edge for dear life. “Are you still only on your second?”

I wasn’t there to get drunk. Not really. Hell, I didn’t know why I was there.

Oh. Yes. To blow off steam after my run-in with my father.

I tilted my head back and drained the glass.

Then I set it down hard on the bar lip rimming the railing around the third-floor balcony.

It was trimmed in a thin strip of glass that was just as reflective as the mirrored dance floor and ceiling.

I caught a reflection of my cufflinks as I let my wrists rest upon it. “Better?”

Clay grinned. It was a boyish smile. “A bit.”

A waitress in a tight black dress popped up, swept my empty glass off the ledge, and replaced it with a fresh one, with a kind smile and a flirty brush of her fingers along my shoulder.

Clay watched her go with a longing sigh before slumping heavily against the railing. “How do I get a girl to look at me like that, man?”

“She makes money off looking at dudes like that.”

Clay shrugged dismissively. “Yeah. Well, I don’t get the luxury of those either. How pathetic.”

I glanced at him and looked him up and down. “You could tailor your suit.”

“What?”

“Tailor your suit.”

“I heard what you said.” Clay turned back around to face the dance floor with me.

The strobing lights above lit his face up in multiple flashing colors and he ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

He pursed his lips and frowned, which looked unnatural on his usually joyful face.

“I hardly think a tailored suit is going to make girls notice me, man. I’m always the Asian friend.

Half the time, they’re surprised I speak English. ”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He tugged at his suit jacket.

It was a nice jacket. Not the best. But not the worst either.

I couldn’t tell in the dim light what material it was—something light for certain.

Like linen. It was a cool oatmeal color that paired well with the crisp white shirt he wore underneath and his dark blue jeans.

“Well, sort of seriously. It’s happened maybe once or twice. And they were really drunk.”

I nodded at his jacket. “Try the tailoring tip. It will make your suit look expensive. Women like expensive.”

“Isn’t that a stereotype?”

“Just like them assuming you don’t speak English?”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it only happened once or twice.”

“I’m just saying.” I sipped my new drink. It was definitely stronger than the first two. “Make an impression. Don’t hang back. Take initiative. Surprise them with your confidence. Be the guy who doesn’t leave room for doubt in their minds.”

“Doubt about what?”

I grinned in earnest. “That going home with you isn’t a mistake.”

He let out a nervous chuckle and stared into his drink, a rum and coke.

I let him ponder my words as I leaned on the railing and peered down at the dance floor.

It swayed and rolled like an ocean. The bodies moved uniquely yet organically, their movements tied together in a single show none of them knew about. A show for me and the other VIPs.

I spied a woman in a neon-yellow dress in the middle of the floor.

Her hair was cut short. Blonde. She wore earrings bigger than my balls and heels higher than the bumper on my Porsche.

She rolled her hips and arched her back and danced with her arms over her head.

I was considering making my way down to her when I spotted a familiar smile near the bar.

“No fucking way.” I stretched to the balls of my feet to get a better look.

Clay cleared his throat. “What’s up, boss? You recognize someone down there?”

“Yeah.”

It was her. I was sure of it. I’d have recognized that smile anywhere. And those hips. And those legs. Damn. She was all curves and elegant velvet. Vanny Hampton.

“The one in yellow?” Clay asked.

I shook my head. “No. You go try your luck with her. She might be into ill-fitted jackets and pussy cocktails.”

“I—wait. What did you just say?”

Clay’s voice was swallowed up by the club music as I wove through the other VIP members to make my way to the top of the stairs.

I descended to the second level, brushing shoulders on the steps and receiving numerous compliments from women as I went.

I was used to the batting of eyelashes, the soft sexy giggles, and the not so subtle pushing together of breasts with a well-placed drink tucked into their side.

Normal distractions that would have caught my eye and stopped me to indulge a conversation or two did nothing to slow my path to Chris’s baby sister.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I began making my way down the second set of stairs.

She’d amused me at her Nannie’s eightieth, and she was still capable of making me smile from across a crowded club as she shot the tall slender girl she was with a temperamental glance which was followed by a prompt and very obvious eye roll.

She was unimpressed.

There were two men standing with her tall slender friend. One of the men had his back slightly to Vanny, while the other was man-spreading against the bar, his arms draped out on either side of him. I noticed just before I hit the main floor that Vanny was tapping her heel.

She wanted out of there and she needed a savior.

Lucky for her, I was on the way.

I cut through the crowds and closed in on the girl in velvet.

The closer I got, the more drawn to her I was.

Her lips were ruby red and dewy. It was a criminal thing for her to do.

Her lips were already so damn tempting. This did not make it easier.

Neither did her dress. It fit her perfectly, outlining the curves of her hips and thighs and hugging her in all the right places.

I tried to ignore the tightness in my chest.

And my pants.

Their conversation reached my ears as I approached. The man draped lazily on the bar was speaking to the tall girl and then glanced at Vanny. “You know,” he was saying, “you’ve got a really pretty face. I mean. Look at those eyes. And those lips.”

Vanny’s eyes narrowed like she knew this wasn’t going to end well.

He ran his hand down his face and added a careless afterthought. “You ever looked into those diet pills the celebs are using? You could get trim like J Lo and be an absolute babe.”

Why the hell was everyone on this girl for her weight?

She already was an absolute babe.

Somebody needed to teach this jackass a lesson.

I moved between him and a stranger, clipping his shoulder. A curse left his lips as I approached Vanny, who saw me coming at the last second. She turned, lips parted in silent surprise, and I draped an arm over her shoulders as I turned back to face Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

“Making friends, babe?” I asked casually.

Vanny stammered. “Erm. I—we—”

I chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, which sufficiently shut her up in order for me to proceed with the charade.

“Always so tongue-tied after one Manhattan. So adorable.” My gaze slid to the two men who were looking back and forth between me and Vanny.

“Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but overhear you giving unsolicited advice to a girl who did not ask for it.

Please tell me. What makes you feel qualified to do such a thing? ”

They stared blankly at me.

One of them, the one at the bar, stood up straighter. “Dude, hold up. Are you Rhys Daniels? No way!” He slapped his knee and stumbled forward a bit, extending a hand for me to shake. “You make good moonshine, dude. Real solid shit. You know? The stuff that fucks you up if you ain’t careful.”

I ignored his hand as it hovered between us. “That’s me.”

He let his hand fall. “No shit. That’s wild. David. Hey, David! Check this guy out. He’s fucking loaded. Could buy this whole place if he wanted.”

His friend, who was clearly more liquored up than he was, offered me a slurred hello.

“I asked you a question.” I pulled Vanessa in a little closer to my side. She didn’t resist. Instead, she sort of fell into me, bracing herself with a hand against my chest. The warmth of her palm was a maddening, wild distraction. “Were you telling my girl to start popping diet pills?”

“What? No. Not really. I mean. I thought I was helping her out and all and—”

“You weren’t. Fuck off.”

He blinked at me, and his friend straightened.

I’d been here before, caught in the midst of two completely dimwitted dill holes who truly believed that their wisdom—or lack thereof—needed to be spread around the world to women everywhere.

A woman like Vanny Hampton did not need the advice of two bozos like this. What she needed was a getaway car.

“Why are you still standing here with your cocks in your hands?” I barked. “Get the fuck out of my club.”

“You don’t own it.” The first man’s words were slurring together and his eyes were rimmed with redness.

I flashed him a confident smile. “I might as well own it. If the owner hears two of his customers were giving Rhys Daniels’s woman a hard time, what do you think he’ll do? Sounds like a lifetime ban to me.”

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb shared an anxious look before concluding I wasn’t to be fucked with. Then they slipped away, the one in the gray suit casting a longing look at the tall gazelle of a woman in the red tube dress. She wiggled her fingers in farewell.

“I didn’t need saving.”

I looked down at Vanessa. “Of course you didn’t. But you know what I could go for?”

“You’re going to tell me whether or not I want to know.”

I chuckled. “Pizza.”