Page 36 of The Last Goodbye

“Don’t cut your fingers off, McGrumpy. I need you in one piece until we finish this renovation.”

His laughter filled the space around us as I walked toward Steven.

nine

​. . .​

Bass

“Are we pretending that we aren’t staring at her?” Brody chuckled as he leaned over the bar, keeping his voice low. I’d arrived at the container park a little while ago, and I was in a mood. Four Clovers was my favorite place to unwind. I sure as fuck couldn’t do it at my own restaurant. My employees loved to tell me their grievances—and when I was off the clock, I wanted a break from all of that.

“We aren’t staring. We’re strategizing.” I reached for my beer and took a long pull.

He was referencing the fact that Briar Sinclair was sitting at the high-top table directly behind me with that weasel architect, Steven. The guy rubbed me the wrong way.

I’d arrived here after they had and I’d walked right past them, pretending I didn’t notice they were there, and of course Briar called me out for it.

She’d yelled my name and then waved at me in a very dramatic way.

Ridiculous.

“You’re strategizing? It appears she’s on a date, does it not?” He smirked, obviously enjoying himself.

“She’s not on a date, though I think that dude wishes he were. He’s the architect for her company. He’s here to take a look at his plans for the monstrosity they’re building and calling a hotel.”

“Hey, this town does need a hotel. I think having more options for tourists is not a bad thing. It’ll help business, so I’m not complaining.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be a sellout.”

He laughed and leaned close, making sure only I could hear him. “This woman is really getting under your skin.”

I flipped him the bird, and someone called him down to the other end of the bar. I was grateful because I’d been eavesdropping on the conversation the douchebag and Briar were having, and Brody was messing that up by yammering at me.

I took another pull from the bottle as Steven continued to try to impress her by talking about himself.

“Just because I went to Harvard doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to have a good time, Briar,” the cheesedick said, and I couldn’t help but let a sarcastic laugh escape. I didn’t turn around, but I was fairly certain they’d heard me.

The guy had been talking about his Ivy League pedigree for twenty minutes, and I either had to laugh or put my head down right here on this bar and go to sleep.

“Hey, no judgment here,” Briar said, her voice smooth as silk.

It aggravated me that she was even talking to this asshole.

“Good to know,” Steven said, followed by a pretentious laugh.

“So, do you think you’ll have new plans to send over this week?” she asked for the fourth time, since he continued to take the conversation in different directions every fucking time.

“Sure. I’ll get those over to you soon,” he said. “But I’m serious about you coming to Martha’s Vineyard. I’ve spent my summers there every single year since I was a kid. I swear it’s so much better than the Hamptons.”

I scoffed, a bit louder than I meant to, because I couldn’t stand the sound of his fucking voice.

I reached for my beer and took a long pull. Brody soon returned with another one and set it down in front of me. He had a ridiculous smirk on his face, apparently enjoying how irritated I was. He started to talk, and I shooed him away, because Briar was trying once again to shift the conversation to work, and the jackass kept finding ways to make it personal.

What can I say? I’m invested now.

“I’m telling you, Briar, if you ever make it to Saint Barts, they blend French-Caribbean cuisine like no one else,” he said. “It’s my favorite vacation spot, and the food is spectacular.”

That was it. I was in no mood to hear this jackass pretend he knew anything about French-Caribbean cuisine, or any food for that matter.