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Ryder
are out here.
    Maybe especially when Ryder is out here.
    He and Jackson, another partner in Altitude, are holed up at an empty
table in a front corner. Jackson’s an architect and he’s
drawn up plans for a new place they all want to open together
again—Ryder, Cash, and Jackson, and the fourth Altitude
partner, Parker, who’s moving back from New York soon, I’m
told. Bending over the table, Ryder and Jackson study the blueprints
they’ve spread out very seriously, their backs to me. More
significantly, their butts.
    I once read that having a great ass is a genetic trait. If that’s
true, Ryder Cole won the DNA lottery.
    “You hungry?” Cash says, jarring me out of admiration of
Ryder’s backside.
    “Not really.”
    “You sure? Because you’re staring over there like you
need a little something in your mouth.”
    I roll my eyes. “You are such a troglodyte.”
    “Hey, now.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I
don’t know that word, but if it means anything like the look
you’re giving them,” he says, “I’m into it.”
    “You’re into it alone, then. It means caveman.”
    Carrying the rolled up plan under his arm, Jackson approaches. Ryder
hangs back near the door, the phone to his ear. Cash pours Jackson a
whiskey as he takes a seat, around the corner of the bar from me.
“Thanks, man,” Jackson says. “Probably want to get
one ready for Ryde, too. I think a girl just bailed on a shift
tonight.”
    “Who?” Cash says.
    “I don’t know,” Jackson says, sipping his drink.
“Staff is Ryder’s department. I’m just the
architect.” He looks at me, takes in the laptop and the piles
of papers surrounding it. “Do you work for us, or are you doing
homework at a bar?”
    “She’s the new Brightfield,” Cash says. “After
he got carted off.”
    “I’m sorry, was he talking to you?” I say to Cash
as I go to shake Jackson’s hand. “Cassie. Nice to meet
you.”
    “You, too,” Jackson says, grinning at me, then looking at
Cash. “Anyone who talks to Cash that way is welcome here.”
    “Thanks, bro,” Cash says as takes Jackson’s drink
and downs what’s left of the whiskey.
    Jackson shakes his head. “Now you’re just going to have
to pour me another one.”
    It’s nice to be around men so at ease with each other, with
themselves. There’s something brotherly about the way Ryder and
Cash and Jackson interact that seems to seep into the vibe of this
place, and makes it a fun hang-out spot. Ryder claimed he didn’t
understand my loyalty to Jamie, why I would work unpaid just to bail
out my fugitive brother, but deep down, I know he gets it. He lives
it with these guys.
    Ryder strides toward us, his brow furrowed, phone off but in hand.
He’s wearing what I’ve come to recognize as his workday
uniform—a pressed button-up shirt tucked into jeans that ride
low on his hips, a blazer that hangs on his shoulders like it was
made just for him. He’s let his facial hair go this week,
growing a little scruff, and his hair looks a little longer, too, a
little disheveled, like sex hair. Not that I would know what Ryder’s
hair looks like during sex.
    And not that I haven’t thought about it.
    “Short-staffed on the floor tonight, Cash,” Ryder says as
Cash hands him a glass of whiskey. “You may have to do double
duty. How do you look in a push-up bra?”
    Cash pours himself a glass, clinks it to Ryder’s. “I look
excellent in everything,” he says. He turns toward me. “And
even better in nothing, in case you’re wondering, Cass.”
    “I wasn’t,” I say. “But thanks for ruining my
weekend with that image.”
    “Don’t distract the help,” Ryder says. He notes my
half-finished beer. “I assume that wasn’t consumed on the
clock.”
    “It’s after five,” I say, raising the tall glass to
my lips and taking a long, slow drink. “So technically I’m
not your employee anymore.”
    Ryder lumbers to my side of the bar, sits on the stool next to me.
“As