"I don't know." I bat my lashes, pretending I'm just another vapid socialite who only speaks in flirtation. If he knew I was only flirting to piss Asher off, I doubt his gaze would be fixed on my tits like it is right now. "Why don't you surprise me with something sweet, and then keep me company while I drink it?"
Corey's brows fly up, his gaze still locked on my chest like he expects my tits to pop out. I lean forward just enough to tease him.
He blushes, but recovers quickly, finally lifting his gaze to my face. "You got it. I'll make sure it's as sweet as you." His voice is playful, hungry, his line about as original as a Picasso in a dollar store.
I pretend to be hooked anyway, smiling like he's the best thing since sliced bread. Guys like him are so fucking easy. They don't care that I'm forty pounds overweight. They don't actually see me, anyway. When they look at me, all they see is dollar signs or my family's name.
A hint of spice swirls around me, and Corey's grin falters. I don't even have to turn around to know what he's staring at…six-plus feet of hand-tailored Italian rage with a face so beautiful it's wasted on him.
Asher's hands land on the marble bar on either side of me with a thud. "She's allergic to alcohol," he grits out, not sparing me a glance. Not even his expensive suit hides the violence of his brawny body caging me in. "And you'd probably kill yourself after the first date anyway, so don't bother."
I'm not allergic to alcohol, but I don't bother correcting his lie. There's no point. In this city, Asher gets what Asher wants.
Corey swallows. "Uh. Sure. No alcohol." He shoots a quick, nervous glance at me before he flees.
I whirl on Asher, shoving him back a step with my hands planted against his broad chest. "What is your problem?"
He smirks, like he's thrilled to be the villain in my life yet again. I'm sure he probably is. It's the highlight of his psychotic life. "Just saving his life, princess," he drawls, his voice a deep purr. "We both know he couldn't survive you."
I laugh, loud enough to make people further down the bar turn to look. "What's wrong, Asher? Jealous? Or just pissed you don't stand a chance?"
He leans in, so close I can smell his cologne and the brandy on his breath. So close his body brushes mine. I try like hell to pretend it doesn't bother me. "What's wrong, princess? Don't like anyone hearing the truth about you?"
"I just don't like that you think you get a say about who I fuck," I snap. "Just so we're clear, you don't." I turn on my heel, hitting him with my bag in the process.
The sad truth is…I've never fucked anyone. Asher's gone out of his way to ensure no one ever gets that close. I think he wants me to die a spinster virgin. Actually, I think he'd prefer if I just died, period. Being permanently rid of me is probably his biggest wish in life.
I don't know why he bothered to save me in the first place. We both would have been better off if he'd just let me die in the street that night. Instead, he saved my life just so he could torture me.
He follows me as I stalk away from the bar. Of course, he does.
I move fast, my heels rapping an impatient staccato as I head for the private dining room. The maître d' holds open the door with a flourish.
I toss my hair and sail through, refusing to check if Asher is right behind me. I already know he is. I feel the heat and fury pouring off him.
Inside, my brother is sprawled across a velvet banquette with his phone in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
He grins like a pirate when he sees me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always makes me ache for our parents. For a moment, he's not a hotshot director I barely see anymore. He's just Liam, and I'm just his little sister. The world feels…almost normal.
Until I remember Asher standing behind me.
I launch myself into Liam's arms.
He laughs and squeezes me until my ribs creak, then presses his lips to my temple. "Hey, Brie," he murmurs. "You look feral tonight."
I smirk against his shoulder. "I missed you, too, asshole."
He laughs and ruffles my hair, which I immediately smooth back down, scowling at him. The second I pull away, Asher is there, all heat and restrained violence, crowding too damn close.
I ignore him so thoroughly that I hear his teeth grinding together again.
"Blackstock!" Liam yells over my head, thunking his glass hard enough on the table to make the ice clink. "You're late. Again."
Asher doesn't bother with an apology. The only acknowledgment he gives is a grunt so low you'd have to be listening for it. I am, unfortunately. I'm always listening.
Liam sweeps a hand toward the empty place settings. "Sit," he says. "I ordered the wine I know you like."
My brother thinks this is a normal dinner. He doesn't know how wrong he is about that.
