Delilah quickly recovered her composureand arched a sleek brow in Emily’s direction. “That sounded jealous, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.” Emily was quick with the comeback, her headache grabbing a jackhammer and going to work on the foundation of her brain.
“Definitely jealous.” Mac, the dickweed, concurred with his wife.
Deciding that arguing would get her nowhere, Emily pushed away from the doorjamb, skirted aroundFido and his grinning asshole masters, and made her way to the bar cart kept near the back door. The entire journey took no more than five seconds. But during those five seconds, she had time to grumble a whole diatribe under her breath about everyone at Black Knights Inc. rubbing their happily ever afters in her face.
Once she made it to her destination, she grabbed a rocks glass and a bottleof rye whiskey. A quick trip to the refrigerator had her glass half full of ice cubes. Next came the simple syrup, the bitters, a generous pour of whiskey, and two cherries to top it off.
“Who taught you to make an old-fashioned?” Delilah asked.
“My mother.” Emily made a face. “One of the few truly useful things I ever learned from her. Cheers.” She took a healthy slug of the drink, lettingthe whiskey burn down her throat as the sugar tingled on her taste buds.
Mac made a show of glancing at his watch. “It’s only sixteen hundred.” He had a deep Sam Elliott drawl that Emily usually found charming. Not today.
“Oh yeah?” She shot him a look that unequivocally stated,Mind your own business, or I’ll cut off your balls. “Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere.”
To prove her point,she gulped down another mouthful.
Mac mock-whispered to Delilah. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Emily’s fingers inched toward the knife on the bar cart that they used to cut fruit for drinks. The man had no idea, but his balls were in serious jeopardy.
“I’m not in amood,” she lied. Shewasin a mood. She’dbeenin a mood since England. “I have a headache.”
“Most people fight those withaspirin,” Delilah said oh-so-helpfully.
“Sure.” Emily nodded. “But the trouble with aspirin is it doesn’t do a damn thing to take my mind off my long list of woes. But this?” She held up her half-empty rocks glass. “This’ll do both.”
“And bywoes”—Delilah made air quotes—“are we talking Christian?” She hopped down from the center island, and Emily saw Mac lick his lips when Delilah’s boobsbounced.
Emily wanted to label him an oversexed asshole, but the guy had a marriage certificate that pretty much said he had the right to ogle Delilah at will. Plus, Delilah had a pair of bazoombas that were hardnotto stare at. Even had Delilah not used the C-word, Emily would have been annoyed at her for that reason alone. Emily’s own barely B cups seemed to cave in on themselves in intimidation.
“Ugh.” She plunked her drink atop the bar cart, making the liquor bottles and glassware rattle. Fido lifted his head from his front paws again, eyeing her curiously. “Just becausehe’ssuffering under some insane delusion that he loves me—”
“You reckon it’s really a delusion?” Mac interrupted, casually throwing an arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “Because I know the signs of a man in love,and Christian? Well, he seems to show all of ’em.”
“Psshh.” Emily waved a dismissive hand. “I think you’re mistakingloveforlust. The man can’t love me because he doesn’t evenlikeme. We argue all the time. He thinks I’m annoying.”
“Mmm.” Delilah wrapped an arm around Mac’s waist. “Isn’t it fun arguing and annoying each other? Adds spice, doesn’t it?”
Emily assumed Delilah was talkingto her, but Mac answered, “Somuch spice.”
Mac stared at Delilah with such blatant hunger that Emily was forced to roll her eyes. “Gag me.” Deciding the conversation had gone crazily off course, she tried to steer them back on track. “ThewoesI’m talking about have to do with the stalemate in our mission to uncover Spider’s true identity and the fact that it’s making everyone around thisplace snarky, short-tempered, and complete pains in my ass. Ever tried to manage an office overrun with a bunch of hardass dudes who possess too much testosterone?”
Delilah’s expression turned compassionate. “Can’t say that I have. But aren’t we supposed to hear back from Samantha’s contact soon?”
Samantha Tate was a go-getter journalist for theChicago Tribune, Ozzie’s fiancée, and theirlast hope to nail down Spider’s identity. She was friends with a fellow investigative reporter in England. He’d been away, covering the ongoing crisis in Syria for the last month, but he was finally back on British soil. Samantha had tapped him to try to hunt downwhohad given Christian’s name to his colleagues.
“Tomorrow at the earliest.” Emily nodded. “End of the week at the latest. Plentyof time for the men in this place to drive me completely insane.”
“Poor you,” Delilah commiserated. “But maybe it’ll help take your mind off things if you head out front. I hear there’s a show going on.”
Emily wrinkled her brow. “Show? What kind of show?”
Before Delilah could answer, BKI’s overweight, notch-eared tomcat, Peanut, slunk into the kitchen with the sort of nose-in-the-airarrogance that could only be pulled off by a feline. The cat taunted Fido by strolling past the dog with his crooked tail high in the air. Fido, being a big, dumb mutt, took the bait and sniffed Peanut’s butt. In turn, the tomcat hissed and swiped at Fido’s nose with a clawed paw.
Then it was on. The pair broke into a chase around the kitchen island, complete with happy barks on Fido’s partand irritated yowls on Peanut’s part. Emily’s headache ratcheted up another notch.
