Truly: What should I be doing? I have responsibilities to Gin Joint. I have employees to take care of. And I need to zero in on my expansion plans.

Charlotte: You already run an incredibly successful establishment. Hell, we both run incredibly successful bars. We are kick-ass businesswomen in New York City. So what if you don’t expand? You have a great place in front of you.

Truly: But I lined up my people. I had employees in place. I have a gal who was going to help run the new pub.

Charlotte: Promote her to manager at Gin Joint. Maybe you could work less then.

Truly: I don’t work that much!

Charlotte: How do you say that with a straight face? It’s a Saturday afternoon and you’re at work. Am I right?

Truly: Saturday is my busiest time. It’s normal to work on a Saturday.

Charlotte: Yes. But you also worked Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. All day. I bet you work Saturday night too.

Truly: Which reminds me. I still have to go to the stupid wedding with him tonight.

Charlotte: Good thing you’re at work then. You definitely need a shot.

47

Sometimes you need comic relief.

I find it at the gym that afternoon.

Josh is cycling on a stationary bike like he’s trying to win the Tour de France. What kills me is how he looks.

I walk straight over to his bike and wave a hand in front of his face, since he’s staring at ESPN like he wants to rip off the screen with his bare teeth. I glance over at the television captions—something or other about an NFL rookie who signed with Dallas.

Let me guess—not Josh’s client.

But I don’t need to stir the grizzly bear.

Instead, I point to the Bluetooth device dangling from his ear.

He looks to me. “What? What’s going on?”

“You really don’t know?”

He looks at me, still cycling, still panting, still not giving a shit that he looks like a total idiot.

“You have your earring on. Your Bluetooth, dickhead.”

He reaches up and laughs self-deprecatingly as he tucks the device in his shorts pocket. “Oh. Guess I forgot to take it off.”

“You realize you look like a complete twat like that?”

“Hey, I don’t look like a twat. I look like a dipshit.”

“No, you look like a total tool. That better?”

He offers me a fist. “Knock me, brother. You’re getting the lingo down properly now.”

“You’re so American.”

“You’re so British.”

“All right, so you’ve taken that dumb Bluetooth off,” I say as I hop on the bike next to him and begin a warm-up cycle.

“Yeah, but I was talking to a client before, when I was climbing a hill. That’s why I had it on.”

“I’m sure your client enjoyed when you were talking to him and panting.”

“They’re athletes. They’re always working out when I’m talking to them.” He narrows his eyes and raises his chin in a question. “So what’s going on? You’re not your usual happy self.”

“Am I usually happy?”

“You’re like the happiest lad around. You’re always a barrel of sunshine or a bollock of dogs or a bushel of cats’ pajamas, or whatever it is that you say,” he says, deliberately botching sayings he knows well.

I sigh and decide to tell him what went down today. When I’m done, I add, “So that’s the whole pathetic story.”

“I told you, you can’t let work get you down. You can’t let work dictate your life.”

“Says the man who wears his Bluetooth at the gym.”

“I was taking a call. And I had to because this is a cutthroat business. Sharks are swimming everywhere, and I need to protect my clients. I have to talk to them whenever they need me.”

I arch a brow. “You’re proving my point exactly. You’re constantly on. You don’t have an off mode. I have to be the same.”

“No. I’m telling you that sometimes you have to let things go.”

“Why do I? Do you let things go? I don’t think you do.”

He stabs a finger against his chest. “I’m as single as the day is long. Different boat, my friend. No one gets hurt when I work all hours. But you? You do. You love this woman, right?”

“Did I say I loved her?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re such an asshole. You don’t have to say you love her. You don’t have to use the word love for it to be apparent. The way you told that story, it was stupidly obvious that you’re madly in love with her.”

“‘Madly in love with her’?” I parrot, because there’s a hard shell over my heart right now, and I don’t even know how to crack it.

Josh slows his pace and stares hard at me. “Yes. Madly in love, Jason. I don’t know about you, but if I felt the way you seem to feel, I’d like to think I wouldn’t let work stand in the way. Just food for thought.” He presses a button to end his workout. “And on that note, I have a meeting about the shortstop I’m trying to win.”

“So you’re not letting work stand in the way, right?”

He moves to the front of my bike and parks his hands on the handlebars. “I’m not in love with the shortstop, dickhead.”

“Love you too, asshole.”