Byron Wells is playing darts by the bar. His back is to me, so he doesn’t see me take a seat around the nearby billiards table. Just as I grab the menu on the table, a chorus of cheers echoes from behind the pillar.
Tilting back in my chair, I peer around the corner.
Byron is reclining on a barstool like it’s a throne, both his elbows planted on the bar counter. His hair is slicked back with a thick wad of gel and he’s wearing a silk shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest.
“It’s been a good day all around.” No one asks, but he adds, “Scored a nice li’l victory at work.”
“Does this victory have something to do with that hot ass little assistant of yours?” one of his friends asks.
“Maybe.” Byron shrugs coyly. “Maybe not.”
I can’t even pretend to be interested in the menu anymore. When the waitr
