"No," I say, too quickly. "I'm not in the mood. I'm in the mood for… a drink—a big one." Honey’s still watching, amused. “Honey,” I call over. “Make it strong.”
“On it,” she says, grabbing the tequila bottle.
Harrison adjusts his tie. "Alright then. Me too."
He gives the barstool a reluctant glance before he sits, like he’s making sure it’s clean.
"I'll take a Manhattan."
Honey lets out a snort and heads for the beer cooler. As she grabs a bottle, she starts singing loud enough for half the bar to hear her own butchered version of Avril Lavigne.
“He was a cheater boy, she said see ya later, boy…”
She sets the beer in front of him with a grin. “You wish, cheater boy. Here’s what you’re actually getting.”
He exhales, tired. “Perfect.”
"Go back to Chicago, Harrison." I say, taking a seat next to him.
"Thought I'd stay here a few nights," Harrsion takes an awkward sip. "See where you grew up."
"We dated for how many years? And you've never wanted to come here."
"Yeah well, I'm sorry about that," Harrison says, forcing down another sip like it pains him. "I've had time to think—about how much more I should have done, about how important you are." He leans forward. "And I need you back."
"Harrison," I start, my voice steady despite my scattered thoughts. "There's still things I need to figure out here."
"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "I took a couple days off too. So I can help."
"Where are you even staying?"
"That’s a story in itself. This place—no hotels," he chuckles. "So I called the agent who has that house listed in townand asked if I could pay the owner to rent it for a week. Told him I'd send him a few referrals from Chicago—but we both know no one from Chicago is moving to this dump."
Annoyance builds the more he speaks. It's not just that he's invaded my space, it's that he comes strutting in here with the same arrogance, the same presumption that he can do whatever he wants. And to top it off, I'm frustrated that I didn't think of renting that house first.
I should have seen this coming—the grand gesture, the refusal to let me do my own thing. Because if he ever really lost me, that would mean him losing, and Harrison never loses. Not in business, not in life. And certainly not when it comes to me.
I fix Harrison with an icy look. "Well, whatever you needed could have waited. I'll be back in the office soon. It'll survive until then."
Harrison leans back, the tailored lines of his suit doing nothing to hide the tension in his shoulders. "It's not just the office," he starts, but the sentence is cut off by the insistent vibration of his phone.
He pulls the phone out of his suit pocket. "Sorry, I have to take this."
He turns away slightly. "Hello," Harrison's voice is all business. "Yes, Lexi, I can hear you."
It's her—the boyfriend stealing assistant. My gut twists, anger simmering.
I catch only snippets. He hangs up, then drops his phone on the bartop before he turns back to me.
"How's Lexi?" I ask, casually.
"Lexi?" he echoes, buying time. "She's been keeping things together. She’s been... supportive. Making sure I'm not falling apart without you."
“Of course she is.” The words slip out. I can almost tastethe bitterness. It's so obvious, isn't it? The fact that he's even saying this right now, the fact that she's still in his life—it should tell me something I should've realized a long time ago.
"I know we made a mistake before, but she’s not as bad as you think she is," he says with that smug little smile he always saves for people he thinks he’s outsmarted. "She just wants to make sure I’m okay, you know?"
My nostrils flare.
