“Nope.” I picked up my jacket and purse. “We’re not a good fit, Thad. You’re not actually interested in me except for how my connections can help your business. You’d better figure out a way to fix this investment fiasco with Galen Frisk, or I will be recommending he takes legal action.”
“Babe!”
“And I hate when you call me that. I truly do.”
Then I walked out of the restaurant, helping myself to a breadbasket from the astonished server on my way.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alexei
* * *
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sexy Rexy Maximov.”
I narrowed my eyes at Conor Kershaw, the first person in my sightline when I walked into the Empty Net.
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Your Rebels fan fiction choppelgänger.” Conor grinned. “You need a drink?”
“Sure.” I scanned the crowd, and my gaze landed on Hatch and his girlfriend, Summer, seated at a corner table. Not far off with her back to me was the person I was here to see. “IPA, whatever’s on tap.”
Conor sketched a salute and headed off to the bar while I moved like an invisible string pulled me toward her. She was gripping the juke box, staring at it as if doing so would convince it to play whichever tunes she commanded.
“Hello.”
Her shoulders stiffened; she didn’t turn. “Why are you here?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not good company, Nazarov. Well, actually I am, for myself. I’m finally in a great place.” I detected a slight slur in her voice. “That moment after you realize that you’ve been wasting your time with a man who is all wrong for you. It’s extremely literbating.”
“Literbating?”
“You heard me.”
Lauren was always the cutest when she was drunk, but I wasn’t here to take advantage. I was here to take care of her after Jason sent me a text telling me she had finally rid herself of her loser boyfriend and was drowning her sorrows in the Empty Net. My friend would have helped her out, but he was home with Franky and Cammi, and besides, “she’s your wife.”
His words.
Also mine.
Maya had told me she was looking for extra hours, so I asked her to come over and watch my father, then I came here as soon as I could.
Conor appeared with a pint of IPA and passed it to me. “You need a drink, Lo?”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Lauren stared at me, then moved forward poking a finger in the well of my shoulder. “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t need.”
“You can share mine, zhena.”
“Don’t like IPA. Tastes like fermented cat piss.”
“She’s not wrong.” A grinning Conor sipped his Sam Adams what-the-fuck-ever. “What does ‘zhena’ mean?”
I ignored him. “Perhaps water or coffee?”
