Page 338 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

or say a word⁠—

Raymond turns his attention to me. “We have a minor crisis. The bar staff is falling apart. Kid just threw in the towel, and we’re dangerously short.” He pauses, a cold, conspiratorial smirk cutting to Andrew. “Actually, this might be a fortunate coincidence. You’re a bartender, aren’t you?”

All eyes fly to Andrew.

His throat strains as he swallows hard,

hand burying deep in his pocket.

“Raymond, don’t go there,” I hiss out quick, horror shooting through me. My first reaction’s to step in front of Andrew, but I force myself to stand strong. “He’s our guest tonight. He’s not workin’ the fuckin’ bar⁠—”

“Allison—” Andrew stops me, turning to face me, gazing down at me with that why-did-I-think-I-could-belong-here look in his eyes. “It’s all good. This is your label’s Christmas event. If your guests are waiting, I got it handled.”

He brushes my hip with his thumb to reassure me, but then it slips away, and I instantly go cold.

He turns to offer Digby and Ace a hurried handshake.

“Excuse me, fellas.”

Andrew’s behind the bar, five-grand blazer abandoned on a hook in the back, sleeves shoved to his elbows, forearms flexing under sepia lights as bottles spin through his hands. Sweat slips down his temple, and I’m one fake smile away from breaking a champagne flute against the bar and slicing Raymond from throat to balls.

As Andrew pours,

his eyes search for me across the room.

“Allison, please tell me the Christmas duet survives another year…”

“Mhm?” My eyes slide back to Morgan.

She talks loud over the music, the gold holly pin in her hair reflecting light from the chandelier. “You and Raymond still doing your version of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” tonight?” she asks hopeful. “Raymond tells me you rewrote the lyrics and the melody for the duet when you were eighteen?”

“Sixteen,” I correct absentmindedly,

glancing back at the bar.

“That duet’s basically part of Soundwave history now.” Her smile gleams. “I think your version ruined the original for me.”

“Yeah. That’s nice—listen, Morgan? Thank you for being here, there’s… something that needs my attention.”

I beeline for the bar,

heels beating out anger,

then step behind it.

Andrew’s head snaps over instantly.

“Allison—what’re you doin’?

“You can’t be back here.”

I yank his sleeve,

pulling him aside,

bottle still gripped in his fist.

“We’re leaving.” I grab the bottle out of his hand and set it on the counter. “I’m saying it nicely before I stop saying it nicely. We had fun. We can go do literally anything else—dinner, drinks, a walk in Central Park.”