Page 17 of Tough Luck

“Perfect.” I cleared my sex-starved mind and finished my honest assessment.

She smiled. “You think?” She shifted so we could both look at it.

I took it all in again, focusing on the ad instead of Sofia’s lips.

My first thoughts were focused on the muted, earthy tones. The aesthetic utilized deep forest greens, rich copper, slate grays, and warm amber light.

The text was clean, elegant, and classy, using a high-end serif font that felt both modern and historic—nodding to Golden’s own rich, old-town heritage.

Simple. Beautiful. Enticing. It spoke of class, yet screamed of something so good, you wouldn’t want to miss out.

“Yes.” I nodded. “It’s perfect.”

This proof would be sitting on an easel as we showed the brewery executives the digital versions of everything else Sofia had come up with—website, billboards, banners, digital ads, and anything else they had requested.

Sofia had worked on overdrive, not only on this account, but on the bakery as well. Their website was set to go live the day after tomorrow. I had complete faith that she would meet that deadline.

After Sofia left, my day descended into meeting after meeting. How had my father, a man in his late sixties, kept up? I was just pushing thirty, but damn, by the time I shut down my computer and headed for the door, I needed either a drink or a hot shower to clear my head.

Seeing the light in Sofia’s office still burning bright, I turned in that direction and knocked on her door.

She half jumped and half turned away from her screen toward me.

“Sorry.” I smiled slowly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I thought everyone had left already.” She glanced at her watch and winced.

“I meant to leave like an hour ago.” I leaned against the door frame. “Phone calls and meetings kept me behind all day.” I nodded toward her screen. “Ready to shut down?”

She glanced back. “Yeah.” She saved her file and shut her system down.

When she stood up, I blurted out, “I was going to hit the Nugget for a beer and some of their really greasy nachos.”

I watched her eyebrows shoot up. “I could go for some grease and beer.” She threw her purse over her shoulders, and I stood aside to let her pass me in the doorway.

God, she smelled good.

I cleared my head as we headed toward the elevators.

“Thank you, by the way,” she said when we stepped inside.

“For?”

“Fixing this.” She motioned toward the elevator doors as they closed behind us.

I chuckled. “It would have happened eventually anyway. I just made a few calls to make it happen faster.”

“Don’t be modest. Elizabeth has spread around the office just how many calls you had to make to get this to happen.”

I shrugged. “My dad should have handled it long ago.” I wanted to rattle off how many other things my father should have dealt with over the years, but then I remembered just how busy I’d been all day.

It was a short walk to the Golden Nugget Mexican Bar and Grill. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d eaten at the historic restaurant just a few blocks away from our building.

The Golden Nugget was exactly as I remembered it: loud, warm, and thick with the comforting aroma of sizzling fajitas and toasted corn chips. It was a Golden staple. There were exposed brick walls covered in vintage mining equipment and neon beer signs, and the place was absolutely packed for a Friday night.

We managed to snag a small high-top table in the bar area that was tucked into a corner beneath a rusted old ore cart wheel that hung on the wall.

“I have to admit,” Sofia said, setting her bag on her lap as she slid onto her barstool, “when you said greasy nachos, my soul instantly screamed, ‘Yes!’ I feel like it should be a requirement at least once a month.” She rested her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands.