Page 15 of Villains Never Die

He laughed and stepped in front of me, so that I nearly ran straight into him and had to stumble back two steps.

“You don’t drink because you’re thirsty. There’s a bar about two blocks from here. Get a drink and we can discuss strategy or whatever. C’mon, what’s your poison?”

I considered walking around him and calling my driver to come get me, and then they started to chime in.

Get the drink. What if he has something important to say?

Nothing he said could be that important.

You’re just going to go home and mope, anyway.

“Get the drink, and I’ll tell you a secret,” Rook offered. He had that smirk plastered on his face again, the one I couldn’t decide whether I should remove with my fists or my lips.

A secret! This is juicy! Go to the bar.

“You’re bluffing,” I said, forcing my legs to work and go around him. He reached out and gripped my shoulder with his warm hand, turning me back to face him.

“I’m not bluffing.”

“I could just torture it out of you.”

“But you won’t.” I shrugged his hand off a few seconds later than necessary. “Because that would be a lot of effort, that suit is too nice to get blood all over, and you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

I scrubbed my hand down my face. “One drink.”

***

The bar he chose was surprisingly clean and sleek, not the seedy dive I expected, though we were on the north end of the city—the nicer part of Ashbruck. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when I sat on a leather stool at a gleaming bar top. Rook took the seat next to me, leaning his elbows on the polished wood.

“What is this secret?” I asked as we waited for the bartender to finish up another customer’s drink.

“Nope,” he said, his lips popping on the end of the word. “One drink, and then I’ll tell you.”

“When this is all over, I might kill you myself,” I muttered.

“You won’t,” he said. He ordered a dark beer when the bartender came over, and I ordered top-shelf scotch, something warm to sip on while I listened to this idiot prattle on about whatever. “You won’t kill me,” he continued when the bartender walked away. “I’m too pretty.”

“You are an obnoxious prat.”

“Still pretty.” Our drinks appeared and he sipped his beer. “You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“We are not doing this.” The scotch was smooth against my tongue. “I am not telling you about my personal life, nor do I want to know about yours. I should also point out that you are completely mental. I tried to strangle you, and you’re asking about my romantic life.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and tilted his beer bottle in my direction. “I get it now. You don’t have a life. Your business is too important.”

“And you have endless time to date? You must be doing a poor job of running your business.”

“Maybe you just suck at time management.”

“My business is actually important, and it requires a delicate balance to keep it running smoothly.”

He snorted, his hand rising to muss his hair. “That’s a fancy way to say, ‘I have no life,’ England.”

I nearly spat out my scotch and dabbed at my mouth with a napkin. “Stop calling me that.”

He ran his thumb along his jawline and shrugged. “That’s my favorite one, though.”

“Your favorite…?”