“Don’t bother her,” Cary said, scowling at Tommy while Sebastien casually sipped champagne. Her boss was oblivious to sexual harassment since he was often the culprit.
“Hi, Bob Shaw.” Tyler sat beside him as he lifted his mocktail to acknowledge her. She felt bad for him and his terrible sober time. He wouldn’t be in this predicament if he’d listened to Doug Stanhope.
“Can I get you a drink?” Sebastien asked, inspecting his empty glass. “It’s time to switch to whiskey anyway.” He held up a cocktail glass of amber liquid from the table, presumably Tommy’s drink, and signaled to a server.
Tyler pointed to the magnum sitting in a bucket of half-melted ice. “I’ll have champagne, thanks.”
“I’ll do it,” Cary said, pouring her a glass.
“Cary, my man!” Tommy slung his arm around his shoulder. “Who’s this little minx?” He took out his phone and shared his screen. “Did you get into trouble last night?” He laughed. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
Shit.
“How was the fan event?” Tyler asked, changing the subject. “I saw the socials.” She scrolled through his Instagram. “You were there all afternoon, weren’t you?”
“I was.” He nodded proudly. “I must’ve signed a thousand autographs.”
“It was freezing,” Sebastien said, plucking a glass of whiskey from the server’s tray without so much as a nod. “And they didn’t even bother to pay us.”
“It was a charity event,” Tyler reminded him.
“It looked fucking awful,” Tommy said. “Tyler, let me tellyou—”
“Where’s your wife, Tommy?” Tyler asked bluntly. He never brought her to music industry events. In fact, she’d never met or even seen a picture of Mrs. Napolitano. It was hard to imagine what kind of woman would put up with him.
“Not fucking here, thank god.” He slapped his knee and laughed at her expense before Sebastien joined him.
Fucking idiots.
At that moment, Lara appeared in her signature strapless leopard-print dress with matching heels. Leopard print was practically her second skin. If she’d been in the wild, a lion would have mistaken her for dinner—and regretted it instantly.
Tommy whistled with two fingers while Tyler rolled her eyes.
Dirty old bastard.
Not to be confused with Old Dirty Bastard from the Wu-Tang Clan, her favorite member next to Method Man.
“Hi, Cary.” Lara clasped her hands below her waist, squishing her boobs together.
Cary nodded politely. “Maybe you could move down my way a bit, Tyler?”
At least he didn’t say “ babe.”
“That’s okay.” Lara pulled up a chair beside him. “I’ll scoot around.”
Get away from my boyfriend.
“Where the fuck is Vegas and what’s-her-name?” Sebastien glanced at his watch, annoyed.
“Kim,” Cary said. “Her name is Kim, once and for all.”
Tyler texted Kim:ETA?
She wrote back.Sorry. 2 seconds.
“There they are.” Tyler gestured toward the lobby.
Kim wore a simple blue dress and Vegas wore a navy suit he must have bought at the big and tall shop.
