New York Nights. Kathleen O'Reilly
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immediately Tessa liked her. The woman introduced herself as Marisa Beckworth, who had had a bad day and had come in for a quick pick-me-up after work.
“Where do you work?”
“Cocoran.”
Tessa put down the shaker. “You guys are the best,” Tessa stated, trying not to gush but failing.
“You’re not in real estate, are you?” asked Marisa, being impressively polite considering that Tessa had just drenched her.
“No, I’m studying to be an accountant.”
“Oh.”
“But I am looking for an apartment right now.”
“I could help you out,” offered Marisa, smoothly pulling out her card.
“To be honest, I know where I want to live, only I have to figure out how to get in there.”
“The Dakota?”
Tessa laughed. “Do I look delusional? No, Hudson Towers, on West End.”
Marisa nodded. “That’s a great building, but the waiting list is a mile long and the rumor is that it’s headed for co-op.”
There was always something. “The thing is, it’s not like I want to live there forever. I just want to live by myself for a while, and my choices in this city are currently limited to Hudson Towers and, yes, Hudson Towers.”
“Manhattan. I understand completely. Do you ever watch the obituaries?”
“Not like I should.”
“Who has the time, right? I bet you spend all your waking hours here. So what’s it like working in a bar? I always thought that’d be cool.” She leaned in a bit. “And I heard the bartenders in this place are hot.”
Tessa coughed because she got this a lot. Women who came in alone were notoriously hoping to live out their favorite fantasy—with a good-looking, well-built bartender—and who was she to throw stones? “Saturday night is the night you want to come in. They all work on Saturdays.”
“Single?”
“Yes,” answered Tessa, withholding the impulse to lie or doctor the truth in some way.
“Which one is that?” asked Marisa, pointing to the picture of Gabe standing next to one of the Knicks cheerleaders.
“That’s Gabe. He’s the main owner.” Tessa then went down the line of photos, needing to point out that Prime had more than one gorgeous bartender on the payroll. “That’s his brother Sean next to the mayor’s wife. And that’s their older brother Daniel ducking out underneath the bar. He doesn’t enjoy having his picture taken.”
“I like that one,” answered Marisa, pointing to Gabe as if she were picking steaks at the butcher.
“He’s nice enough,” said Tessa, keeping her head down, her eyes glued to the bar.
“Does he have a girlfriend?” continued Marisa, still full of questions, still firmly fixated on Gabe.
“No.” Tessa tried not to look encouraging. “He runs the bar and doesn’t have a lot of time for relationships.”
“Oh.” The woman sighed with heavy regret. Yeah, get over it, sister. “Still, he’s hot. How much time do you really need to have a relationship?”
“Not a lot, apparently.”
“Are you friends with him?”
“A little,” Tessa replied, neglecting to mention the key facts that she lived with him and was currently sleeping with him, as well. Neither fact would greatly enhance her tip.
“I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll get you into Hudson Towers, you get me a date with your boss.”
Marisa, unlike Tessa, was obviously a woman of razor focus and single-minded determination. As luck would have it, object of said razor focus was Gabe, a man whom Tessa didn’t want to think she had designs on, yet that cold jab of unease in her stomach called her the world’s biggest liar.
“Oh, I don’t have that much pull.”
Which was the exact moment that Syd chose to enter the conversation.
“Sure she does,” he said, nodding in his grizzled-cop manner. One eye squinted knowingly. “Gabe listens to her.”
Tessa shook her head at Marisa. “Not really.”
“And they’re living together, too.”
Tessa closed her eyes, wondering what part of “to protect and to serve” the NYPD detective failed to grasp. When she opened her eyes again, she had a perky smile firmly pasted on her face. “Not that way. I’m between roommates at the moment.”
“Am I poaching on someone else’s reserves?” asked Marisa, wearing a smile on her face that was neither perky nor embarrassed. Tessa felt a momentary pang of envy at such polished composure.
“Oh, no,” answered Tessa. “Consider him unpoached. I know Gabe too well to be interested.” She turned to Syd and glared meaningfully. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Give me a bourbon since you’re not going to let a man have any fun.”
Tessa handed him his drink and then waited until he was firmly out of earshot. It was time for Tessa Hart to grow up and stop deluding herself that men were going to take care of her forever. If she wanted something out of life, she was going to have to make choices. This time, unlike seven years ago, she was going to choose what was best for her.
“You really think you could get me into Hudson Towers?”
Marisa looked at her with palpable relief. “They do not call me St. Marisa for nothing.”
Tessa took a deep breath. Yes, she loved sleeping with Gabe, but that was meaningless sex—two strangers satisfying a biological urge, nothing more. Tessa needed to remember the personal boundaries, and Marisa was the perfect person to put the boundaries up exactly where they needed to be. Then Tessa could get back on the way to independence and grow some female cojones that had been sorely lacking up to this pitiful juncture in her life.
“I can get you a date with Gabe,” she stated firmly, then waited for the obligatory clap of thunder from the heavens or for seven plagues to descend upon Manhattan or for Tessa to be hit by a bus that would suddenly drive through the shadowy plate-glass window. Instead the only thing she got was a pinched nerve in the heart.
Marisa held out a hand over the bar, not sensing the miraculous absence of disaster, nor Tessa’s tellingly aching heart. “Tessa, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. For that,” she said, pointing to the picture on the wall, “I’ll waive my usual commission when you’re settled at Hudson Towers.”
Tessa smiled tightly, then pointed to Marisa’s alcohol-stained suit jacket. “For that, I’ll waive the tab.”
THE O’SULLIVAN POKER NIGHT was a tradition that first started when Sean needed money to buy his first Harley-Davidson at the age of nineteen. Gabe, who was underage at the time, had welcomed the opportunity to skim off his older brother’s beer supply and happily joined in. Daniel, who was an accountant and, ergo, usually took them to the cleaners, saw poker night as the chance to teach his younger brothers fiscal responsibility. But, alas, the lessons were usually unlearned, and Daniel—regretfully—ended up with boatloads of cash.
Gabe liked the quality family time, time spent arguing over rules and in general persecuting his older siblings in whatever way he could. Being the youngest of three boys was tough, and he’d understood a long time ago that if he played fair, he’d lose.
Tonight the beer was flowing and the cards were coming his way. Queens and aces, two pairs and a full house. Daniel seemed to be nursing a run of bad luck, and Sean…well, Sean always lost. Cain was the fourth hand, and he