“A secretary,” I echo.
“Unless you want to work as a bartender or a chef. Though I don’t see many of those credentials on your resume.”
I walk out of the Electra without answering. I don’t speak to anyone or look at anyone, even as they greet me. The audacity of offering me a secretary position after everything I’ve worked for. It’s lower than…a personal assistant.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Tourists bustle around me, but I stand still. Because that’s when it hits me. Damien. I should have known. Breaking my contract with Damien…brokemy chances of being employed anywhere, possibly in the entire city.
I head for my car and then realize I’m not ready to go home. Rachel and I are still kind of on the outs. She’s upset because I didn’t tell her what my job actually entailed and feels guilty knowing where the money I’ve been giving her is coming from. Not that the bulk of my salary was tainted…
I need a drink. So I walk into the first cocktail bar that I see that isn’t connected to a hotel. It’s dark and swanky and uncrowded at ten in the morning. It’s exactly what I need. I take a seat at the bar, and the bartender nods up to me while restocking glasses.
“What’s your poison?” he asks. He’s a lanky man with black curly hair and a nose ring. His arms are stained in green tattoos like a pirate. He is the opposite end of the Vegas spectrum that I know. And in a way, I envy it.
“Is poison an option?” I mutter.
He grins. “That bad, huh?”
“I’ll just take a gin and tonic,” I say. “Please.”
I’m not looking for frills today. I need something that cuts to the quick and dulls my memories around the edges.
“I’ve never known you to like gin,” a familiar voice comes from behind me, and I stop, mid sip. But I don’t turn around. Maybe if I don’t look, he isn’t real. Because nothing could ruin my already bad mood more than–
“Mr. Decker,” the bartender says. “You don’t come here often. Or ever.”
Fuck. It is him, and he is here. Well. Bottoms up.
I down about half of my drink, and Dylan takes a seat next to me at the bar. After a moment, he smirks and speaks again, without looking at me.
“Are you just going to pretend you don’t know me, Ellie?” he asks as the bartender sets a beer down in front of him.
“I was hoping to pretend you don’t exist, but you’re making that a little difficult right now,” I quip, and he chortles before taking a pull from the bottle. “Glad to see you didn’t lose your salt working for Graves.”
“What are you doing here, Dylan?” I demand.
“Having a drink, like you.”
“No,” I snap. “Why are youhereat this bar in the middle of the day? You followed me.”
“I did notfollowyou, Ellie. But I may have been in the area and happened to see you–”
“Bullshit,” I nearly shout. The bartender finds something else to do.
Dylan nods, smirk still in place. “I may have heard…through the grapevine…that you were looking for a new job. And I wanted to see for myself if it was true. Looks like it is.”
“Let me guess, you’re enjoying this,” I state.
“Karma is a funny thing…” he says and I nearly spit out my drink.
“Karma?”
“Yes. You were the reason I struggled so much at the beginning of my career. Do you have any idea how hard it was working beside you?”
His words are enough to make me turn to face him. “You’re kidding, right? I made things hard for you?”
“You did. Because you were always in the limelight. That is, until you weren’t. And after you left, it was even harder. So hard in fact that I was forced to leave the Suerte and build a hotel from the ground up.”
“I’m sorry, but in what way are you the victim here?” I demand. “You cost me everything. And in the end, you are the one succeeding. Meanwhile, I am walking around with the metaphorical red A stitched to my dress everywhere I go. All because of you.”
