Page 11 of Beautiful Scars

“I’m busy.”

I turn my attention back to Meisie, who’s now busy looking at Derek. Brilliant.

Does she want to go home with him instead?

“Boss I rea—”

I cut him off before he can finish. “Come here.”

He unclips the red velvet rope and comes to stand just before our table. “Look at her,” I tell him.

Derek looks everywherebuther, and then finally rests his eyes on the little thing sitting on my lap. “Do you see her? Fucking look at her. Unless the building just spontaneously caught fire then there is nothing more important than the conversation I’m currently engaged in.”

He stays silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Of course he is.

Derek probably knows me better than my own useless brother, and I’m positive he can tell this bit of bravado is purely for Meisie’s benefit. If she falls for it then I’m laughing all the way to the bedroom. Girl’s like to think they’re special.

He clears his throat. “It’s important.”

“Take it to Cole.”

He shifts, and I instinctively brace myself for the worst. “He’s gone and locked himself in the office toilet. I could hear him, but he didn’t want to hear me.”

Idiot.

Cole, that is. Not Derek.

“Do you need to go?” Meisie asks.

“I don’t need to go,” I tell her. Turning back to Derek, I ask him what’s going on.

He looks at Meisie, as if not wanting to talk business in front of her. Normally, that’s a rule I live and die by, but I don’t suppose it particularly matters tonight. She’s not going to remember this in the morning.

“It’s fine, this one’s a keeper. Spit it out.”

“Shipment got busted. I sent Paul over to redirect the second one, it should be alright but I thought you should know.”

I nod my head. “No worries. Keep me informed. And keep your phone switched on.”

Derek removes himself from the situation and I feel Meisie’s eyes bore into my skull.

“Are you…?” She trails off, as if not wanting to say the word.

A gangster? A criminal? A dealer?

I smile at her. “I’m a businessman.”

She smiles into her drink. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Not really.”

“I bet you do this kind of thing all the time.” She says it like a statement but I know she means it as a question.

I’ll play along. “What kind of thing?”

“Choose a girl. Make her feel all special. Take her home with you, and never speak to her again the next day.”