Page 228 of The Rebel Billionaire

“She needs it if she’s ever going to get over Alistair.”

I’m not so sure, but as the least experienced in our group, I’m not going to argue. Alistair was her boyfriend of two years. He left for university last September and hasn’t been back since, breaking our friend’s heart in the process.

“Can I get you beautiful ladies a drink?” a guy asks as he and a friend approach.

I recognise them, although I don’t know their names. I only know they’re friends of Jasper’s older brother, Ollie.

Carolyn nudges me and winks.

“Yes, please,” she says.

They grin, and one disappears, reappearing a moment later carrying a couple of cocktails.

“One for you, and another for you,” he says, taking a bow as he hands them over.

I take a sip, grimacing.

“Wow, it tastes like paint stripper,” I say.

The guy who handed it to me scowls and looks like he’s about to say something when his friend nudges him. He frowns but follows his friend as he moves away.

“Do you have to scare all the good-looking ones away?” Carolyn grumbles, taking another sip.

“Don’t tell me you can actually stomach that?” I say, waving my drink around.

“Hand it over. It’s not that bad,” she says with a slight slur before grabbing it and chugging it down in one.

I shake my head.

A few minutes pass before her hand flies to her mouth.

“I don’t feel so good,” she says, her eyes glazing over.

She staggers into me, and I catch her around the waist.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

“H, I don’t feel so good,” she says, her voice slurring badly now.

“I’m not surprised. You just downed that cocktail, and I hate to think what else you’ve drunk tonight.”

I manoeuvre her through the crowd and towards the stairs.

“We take it as collateral,” I hear someone mutter.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot. I’m not. You’ve lost your fucking minds. You’re not dragging me into this. This is my party! If anything happens, who do you think they’re going to point the finger at?”

I manhandle Carolyn up the stairs and into an empty bathroom, just in time.

She empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl as I hold her hair.

When she’s finished, she lies on the cold tiles, groaning.

“I don’t feel good, H,” she mumbles.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

After she retches for the sixth time, I decide enough is enough.