Dirty Talker (Slayers Hockey #4) - Mira Lyn Kelly Page 0,2

the better part of a decade. She’d be letting headhunters woo her and entertaining offers for positions that were better than the last.

She wouldn’t be taking two weeks off while the “restructuring” shook out and a new position was found for her.

Why is my drink empty?

Nettie’s friend, or rather client—both?—shakes his head with a chuckle. “Sorry, babe. It’s for the whole week. And he needs someone willing to pretend to be his girlfriend.”

My brows inch up.

The one who needs a date groans. “Dude.”

Ouch. Well, at least I’m not the only one facing down embarrassment tonight.

Client Dude waves him off. “Relax, Nettie and Harlow handle our money. They’re not running to TMZ.”

He’s right about TMZ. We would never. But the money? Not quite. While Nettie’s a senior account manager in the sports division of private banking, I don’t work with anyone’s money directly. In fact, until the announcement this afternoon, I’d been heading up compliance.

Nettie taps a red-tipped nail against her chin, giving Dateless the once-over. “But you’re hot.”

It’s true. His body is insane, if you’re into that solid-packed-muscle thing.

“Why can’t you get a date?” She turns to Client Dude. “Is he a dick?”

Dateless tips his head back and covers his eyes with the heels of his hands. And whether he’s a dick or not, the bulging thing that happens with his biceps and already broad chest is kind of wow.

“Nah. Grady could probably land a date before our next round arrives.” And like he was some kind of magician, a girl in a short, glittering dress breezes in and starts unloading drinks… including another Snowflake Martini for me. Client Dude winks. “He just can’t score the unicorn he’s hoping for.”

Goofy shakes his head. “Fucking picky. He wants a girl who’s not into him in any way. A girl who won’t get ideas.”

Wow. What a catch.

But then this date-thirsty, built egomaniac shakes his head, shooting what looks like a worried glance… my way? “Yeah, because I don’t have time for a girlfriend right now, and I don’t want to end up hurting someone’s feelings.”

Dateless, don’t worry about me. I don’t handle your money and I don’t care.

Only, I guess I do. Because there are a lot of jerks out there who never factor in other people’s feelings.

Nettie nods slowly. “I thought all you pros had teams of people on staff to help you out with stuff like this. Isn’t there some pop princess your PR team can pair you up with?”

Goofy answers for him. “Sure, but what happens when her IG feed blows up the next week with some boy-bander’s tongue down her throat? Too easy to debunk.”

Grumpy adds, “And said unicorn needs to come with references. No more than two degrees of separation.”

“Right, right,” Nettie agrees, a furrow digging in between her brows. “You don’t know whether she’ll sell your story to the Enquirer or take a kidney while you’re sleeping.”

Okay, and I love Nettie. Because the expression on poor Dateless’s face right now? He’s totally thinking of his kidneys. And it’s pretty funny, actually.

I have another sip of my drink as the guys all start chiming in.

“No randoms.”

“No celebs.”

“No hookers.”

Classy.

“No bunnies.”

Bunnies? What are these guys into?

Nettie bounces in her seat, clapping her hands. “I’ve got it! Don’t any of you have a sister?” There’s a round of coughs, grumbles, and cleared throats. “Okay, so no sisters.”

I can practically hear this Dateless’s molars grind as he casts his buddies a killing glare. “I’m. A. Good. Guy.”

Nettie bites her lip, but then something catches her attention from across the room and she’s standing to go. “Hey, I gotta check in with my bride-to-be.”

She turns to me, navigating carefully around the mile-long and triple-wide legs surrounding us “Just give me a minute and I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” I don’t know the bride that well. I’m only at the party because another girl from their department canceled last minute and Nettie essentially dragged me out with her. The truth is, I never say yes. I never do the impulsive thing. The fun thing.

I never do any of the things that would leave my father—a man committed to career above all else—bristling with disapproval. But tonight, I’m sour over how the career I committed to has treated me. I’m hurt by his disappointment. And maybe… some petty little part of me is loving how much my father would hate this scene.

The club.

The party.

The frilly drinks.

The jocks.

The jocks he would hate most of all. I smile and snuggle back into my seat.

The guys