Page 60 of Secret Offer
I can’t help laughing at him. “Wow, so you’re kind of a nerd, too. I didn’t see that coming. That’s kind of amazing.”
We share a smile, and I realize that Ted and I could totally be BFFs if it weren’t for the fact that I already have one. Although, speaking of Brooke…maybe I should introduce them. Because Brooke just so happens to have a very deep, dark, secret love for all things Tolkien.
And as much as I’m honestly enjoying myself with Ted right now, there’s something very clearly lacking between us: physical chemistry. I can appreciate that he’s a catch—he’s hot and nice and funny—but I’m definitely not going back to his room when dinner is over.
Instead, I’m going to go back to my suite, order as much conch as I can off the room service menu, and then pack my bags so I can get the hell off this island. My flight back home is tomorrow, and I’m more than ready to go. My future is waiting.
25
SEBASTIAN
“I forgotwhat a delightful asshole you are when you’re drunk, Sebastian.”
“And I forgot what a delightful asshole you are all the time,” I shoot back at Becker. “Oh, no, wait. I didn’t.”
He just laughs, never one to be affected by an insult or a disrespectful comment.
The East Village party scene pulses all around us as I drain my second glass of scotch, not nearly buzzed enough to enjoy myself. I’d forgotten how much I’ve grown to dislike the city’s special brand of nightlife thanks to spending so much time immersed in the island’s laid-back atmosphere.
The music in here is so loud, I can’t hear myself think. Beautiful people dressed to the nines are packed on the dance floor like it’s rush hour on the subway, arms up, bodies writhing. It’s well after midnight, and a weekday, but nobody cares. They’re living their best lives. Must be nice. Meanwhile, I’m sitting at the bar next to Becker with a scowl on my face, questioning my choice to meet up with him.
There used to be a time when I was always down to hit up the hottest clubs with my friends, but now the scene just makes me feel irritable and restless. The only reason I agreed to come outwas because I didn’t want to spend my first night back in the city drinking alone at home. It seemed too pathetic.
“And I’m not drunk,” I add. “But I will have another scotch. Bartender! Barmaid! Hey!”
“Easy there, tiger,” Becker says, shaking his head as he pulls my arm back. “Her name is Riley. And trust me, you’re not going to get her attention by calling her ‘barmaid.’”
He pulls a few bills from his wallet and folds them lengthwise, then tucks them between his fingers and holds them in the air. The redheaded bartender must have a sixth sense for cash, because she materializes just seconds later with fresh drinks for both of us. Becker didn’t even have to ask.
“Thanks, Riley,” Becker says.
“Anything else I can get you?” she asks, sliding the money out of Beck’s hand.
“We’re good for now,” he says.
She nods and walks off to the other end of the bar, where a bachelorette party—evident by the hot pink ‘Bride to Be’ sash that the woman in the middle is wearing—is screeching for some rosé. Something in my stomach clenches, and I look away and take a drink of my fresh scotch.
“How’d you know her name? You pulled a Nate there,” I ask Becker, glancing over.
“She told us when we sat down. Which you probably would have remembered if you weren’t a few sheets to the wind already when you walked in here. So what’s the story, man?”
“What are you talking about? A man can’t have a few drinks after work?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you better than that. Something’s up.”
“Nothing is up.” I lift my glass and take another drink. A long one.
“Then why did you fly home early? And what got up your ass at the meeting today?”
When I don’t respond, Becker shakes his head and has a few sips of his own scotch.
“Out with it,” he prods. “You’ve been intolerable since you got back from the island. Something happened while you were there, so what is it?”
I scoff. “Fuck if I’m going to tell you.”
“Youaregoing to tell me. I have a vested financial interest in the business that we co-own, and I’m not going to have you running off clients with your bad attitude and letting the resort suffer because you can’t do your job right now. Tell me what the hell is going on so we can fix it and get you past this.”
Tapping my finger against the side of my drink, I consider not tossing back every last drop in the glass, but who am I to waste perfectly good alcohol? I down it all and set the tumbler down with a thunk. The barmaid I barked at earlier—Kaley? Kylie? I can’t remember—promptly appears and sets down another round. Becker grabs mine before I can and holds the drink protectively against his chest.
