“I could introduce you,” she added when no one perked up.
“Yeah, that’s the plan I should have gone with. Marry rich and retire early so I never have to watch over your scrawny asses again,” JD said and laughed.
“You like my ass, don’t lie,” Carlos teased, successfully dodging the shoulder punch that JD sent his way.
“Boys,” Aberlour warned before they could get too rowdy. They didn’t want to start a bar fight. It was a Monday night. That behavior was reserved for Friday nights.
“What about you, Aberlour? Do you prefer brunettes or redheads? I have this friend, Cathelyn, and she works at Dukes and Donavans. She’s into—” Abby hesitated. “She likes them a little scruffy.”
That’ll be a cold fucking day in hell when Aberlour started dating a fucking snooty lawyer from the big city.
He snorted. “Keep your friends, sweets,” Aberlour replied, which obviously wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.
“Might be fun, though! Cathelyn is lovely! We could do a double date, maybe hit a few bars,” she replied, like she thought it actually sounded tempting to Aberlour. She leaned forward, running one of her fingers down his arm. He could barely restrain the impulse to flinch when she touched him.
“Cathelyn’s real pretty, too. Oli can confirm that,” she added, batting her eyelashes coyly as if that should help seal the deal.
Aberlour looked over at Oliver, curious to see how he’d react to her comments. He looked startled, as if he’d not been paying attention to her latest ploy.
“Huh?”
“Cathelyn, she’s really pretty and sweet. She’d be perfect for Gavin, wouldn’t she?” Abby nudged Oliver. It took him a second to reply.
“Yeah—she’s pretty,” he nodded in agreement, avoiding eye contact with Abe as he spoke.
“See? She’d be perfect for you! So, what do you say?” she asked in that high-pitched girly-girl tone of hers, trailing two manicured fingers up his arm flirtatiously.
“Off,” he growled, looking down at her pointy claws.
Abby jerked back like he’d threatened to bite her.
Carlos snorted a laugh and shook his head smirking.
“Don’t bother with him, Abby. Abe here is an independent old cat,” JD said, nudging Aberlour’s shoulder conspiratorially. He looked tense as he said it. Like he too couldn’t quite figure out what the bad blood was or why Aberlour looked like he wanted to murder the innocent blond idiot.
“I wish you’d call him something else. Abby, Abe, they just sound so similar,” Abby whined, sitting back in her seat. She’d squeezed herself in next to Oli, forcing him to put his arm around her shoulders to accommodate her.
“I think Gavin is a nicer name, anyway,” she declared arrogantly.
Aberlour didn’t make a sound. Not. A. Peep.
None of his men dared to comment either. They knew perfectly well that he hated being called Gavin. The change of name was never going to happen.
The small crowd was at a stand-still. He could feel four pairs of eyes on him as his men waited for him to say something, or change the topic or—
“Need a smoke,” Aberlour said, getting up from his seat. The movement was so sudden that he nearly sent the chair toppling backwards. Marcus grabbed it before it could fall.
“Me too.” Marcus followed Aberlour’s lead and rose to his feet. Oliver looked like he wanted to follow, desperately. Aberlour was almost amused by his lost, unhappy expression. He’d brought her. He’d dug this grave—Aberlour had no qualms about watching him dig the fucking hole that much deeper and doing nothing to help.
“I could go for a—” Oli began to say, but he didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before Abby intervened.
“Not again! My whole house smelled like smoke for a week last time. I hate cigarettes!” she whined plaintively, pouting like a child as she leaned into Oliver’s side.
Aberlour didn’t stick around to watch Oliver give in like a little bitch.
The cold air felt marvellous. He hadn’t noticed how cramped he’d felt in the bar until he stepped outside, lighting up a smoke as he stretched his legs and back. He’d been so tense, his entire body taut as a bowstring. Fuck! How his finger itched to put a few dozen rounds in Abigail’s pretty little face. That would make him feel a shit ton better, for sure.
It was nothing more than misplaced anger. She was not the cause of it. She was nothing more than a bit player in this trainwreck of an evening. It was Oliver he should want to shoot but—no. Never. He’d shoot himself before he managed to pull the trigger on Darling.
