“Okay then, what about pushing me toward his car in the parking lot?” My jaw locks, catching the waitress’s eyes piercing holes through me.
“All I did was give a nudge. But I can’t make you do anything…”
“No filter around him?” I push my ear buds tighter into my ear.
“Still you.”
“Then why did you mock me about how I couldn’t help myself from saying my thoughts…”
“Because you couldn’t. Besides, maybe you couldn’t filter yourself because you like him?”
Her words nearly make me choke on my drink. “I barely know the guy.”
“Stranger things have happened. Plus, I don’t understand why you won’t show Chris.”
All I was doing was giving this man what he requested—unfiltered honesty. Anyone who knew Holden’s story would’ve thought of the same stuff. Chris would throw out my suggestions in an instant.
“Good is relative if the client hates it…” My voice stays level.
She flickers her attention to the men at the bar, mumbling, “He’ll come around.”
Some generic pop music starts playing over the loudspeaker as we spar back and forth, ping-ponging until the pendant is glowing a hypnotizing shade of blue, beaming brighter the more we fight.
I guess others have noticed, because I feel like my table is on display.
“We have an audience,” she says as I move my gaze to where she is pointing. In front of me, a badly dressed man in his forties is staring. Ogling at us—I mean me—intently.
Maybe it’s the vodka hitting me, but I pull my hair to the side, showing off the ear buds as I shout, “On the phone, buddy.”
He spills his spoonful of soup onto his lap. I press my lips together, fighting a smile as I turn my attention back to her.
“Nicely done.” The Ghost says.
“It’s my best party trick. If only a withering stare got me further in my career, I would be unstoppable.”
Like clockwork, the waitress swings by with my refill, placing another screwdriver right in front of me.
“So why do you keep following me?” The words slosh around my tongue. My head is lighter than ever before.
“Because I am your magical genie here to grant you three wishes.”
“Really?”
“No!”
“You choose to torture me in any situation, don’t you?” I rip a piece of bread ferociously off the plate, examining her.
“I am not torturing you, Charlotte. Far from that.” Her eyes lower to the nape of my neck. I swallow hard.
In the seat, she chooses to wear the same outfit, same hairstyle as the last time I saw her. Her eyes focus on everyone in this room but me.
“Then what do we call our little rendezvous?” I ask. Her gaze eventually snaps back to me, the buzz hitting me harder.
I think there’s two of her…
“Divine intervention,” she says casually, as if I’m supposed to understand what the hell that means.
I hear a loud clink. Before I can react, the table is covered in wasted liquor that hasn’t reached my lips yet.
