I held her gaze. We were inches apart, and I wanted to keep her eyes on me. Not on Dylan. The ferocity with which I did not want her to look at him was kinda nauseating.
“How long did you crush on me?” I asked her, point blank.
“Only as long as the acid trip lasted. Then I sobered up and realized you weren’t cartoon Justin Bieber.”
I smirked. Colorful lie.
She’d crushed on me. She’d told me as much when she was drunk. Even if she wouldn’t admit it right now.
“Here’s an idea,” I suggested. “Why don’t we go say hi to Danielle Duke?”
Angeline’s sweet face frosted right over. For sure, she knew her former almost-boss was here. If I’d noticed her, Angeline sure as hell had. “Sure,” she said. “Right after we say hi to Dylan.”
“Right.”
She grabbed my arm again and tried to drag me toward him. “Come on.”
“Angeline.” I dug my heels in. “Can you just accept that there are some people who hate me, and that’s never gonna change?”
She glared at me. “Yes. Because I hate you.” Her hand dropped from my arm. “And that is never going to change.”
She said it with such passionate conviction… I almost believed her.
Maybe she almost believed it, too.
ChapterSixteen
Johnny
“Dylan Cope doesn’t want to see me,” I informed Angeline. We were still in a standoff. She wanted me to go chat with my ex-wife’s husband, maybe congratulate him on his hot new nightclub and his general success, and I wanted to do something more fun, like maybe put a drill bit through my hand. “I don’t particularly want to see him either.”
“Why not?” she demanded, glancing across the club at him again. “What did you do?”
“Maybe it was what he did.”
“Right.” She half-laughed, like there was no way her precious Dylan could ever possibly do wrong.
“I’m gonna go get another drink.”
She caught my arm again. “What did he do?” She couldn’t even stop herself from rolling her eyes, pre-rejecting whatever I was about to say.
“Okay. You really want to know? He clocked me at a bar in L.A..”
“Clocked you. Like… hit you?’”
“Like sucker punched me for no reason.”
Angeline scrutinized me. “I don’t believe it. If Dylan hit you, you did something.”
“Yeah. I had a conversation with my ex-wife, his girlfriend at the time, that turned into an argument with his bodyguard. And then my bodyguard got involved, they started brawling and I tried to yank Amber out of the way. A bunch of people were pushing and shoving, and Dylan punched me. In the face. And yes, it was on purpose.”
“Well.” She crossed her arms. “You must’ve done something to deserve it.”
“Right. God forbid Dylan Cope makes a mistake.”
She considered that, maybe. I had no doubt Dylan’s pristine reputation was still intact in her mind. Though she was probably liking me less as the night went on.Story of my life.
“You’re talking to him,” she decided. “This is exactly the kind of thing you need to get past.”
