~~~This is a prequel, spin-off from Ties~~~
Briar Hayes has lived her entire life being polite, never daring to express the crazy and wild thoughts running laps in her head. At almost twenty-five, stuck in the throes of monotony, she finally snaps...
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"Trey." His name leaves my mouth in a whiny way once the video comes into focus. A relaxed smile curls his lips. "I'm so fucking horny," I fall onto my bed, in the hotel room multiple time zones away from my hottie, who's shaking his head. "Today, I deep-throated a chocolate eclair. An eclair! I made myself gag on it. On purpose."
"Briar!" His cheeks ignite while rounds of hilarity erupt around him.
My face, in the tiny square at the top corner of the screen, scrunches momentarily before forming a zero-fucks smirk. Be real, I can evolve in so many ways but still be me.
"I'm at work." He directs his embarrassment to the supposed crowd in front of him. "Give me a few minutes," he says.
"You gonna go get frisky with a donut?" one of them asks, and I cackle.
"Yeah, boss. Didn't realize pastries were you and your woman's kink."
He shoots me a glare, but it's totes fake. The failed attempt to suck his bottom lip into his mouth, stifling laughter of his own, is obvious.
"Alright, alright. Figure out who's taking what tonight. Divvy up the sections. We have seven high-end VIP parties coming in, so make sure it's equal."
Pride skips in my chest at his success. I'm looking at the man who has become the owner of one of the most it clubs in Savannah. Potentially even all of Georgia, according to some of the multiple magazines that have spotlighted him.
What?
My—once upon a time—shy and soft-spoken stutter bug in the spotlight?
Yup, it's happening.
With Michelle's presence on opening night, combined with Kyra's complimentary review, and a photo shoot of the venue, sporting several images of Trey, he boomed. Of course he did. He looked delish in the portraits. Some were of him in casual wear, and others of him dressed in a suit that made my upright wink, blink—did you get it? I shouldn't have even given it.
Each article advertised a mutual opinion: Second Floor was the spot to be. Every interview—the magazines provided to me by Michelle's people. Yes, she has people—all came back to the same thing, or rather, the same person. Me. The now ten different highlighted pieces had him bragging about his exceptionally talented girlfriend. When I'd read them, I blushed, reminding Trey he's the brains behind the business. Though, according to my current mentor, a single contribution, one recommendation, or a solitary endorsement can only take anyone so far.
The rest is up to talent and grit.
I replied to several inquiries of my own, to those who'd been tenacious enough to track down my personal email. My response was universal, that I was away, but would respond to any job offers once I was back, stateside.
Like multiple job offers. In my field. Without even knowing me!
"Go cream your puff," someone calls out, and I can hear Trey's retreating steps pick up speed.
