Page 30 of Last Resort

“Sure,” Brady says. “That would be nice.”

“Fine. Yes,” Sutton says as I motion to the waiter who’s standing nearby, well aware who we are and that our needs need to be met.

“Sir?” the waiter asks.

“We’d like some drinks. The lady will have a—”

“Tom Collins,” we both say at the same time.

Sutton gasps.

Oh fuck.

“Actually,” Sutton starts, “no Tom Collins for me.” Her eyes bore into mine as I cringe at my mistake. Motherfucker. “I appreciate you ordering for me, Callahan, but I’ve found that I’ve rather gone off its taste if I’m honest.”

“I hate that,” Brady interjects, having no clue what he’s stepping into. “It’s usually after a night of overindulging that I fall off my usual for a bit.” He turns to the waiter, oblivious to the fire in Sutton’s eyes. “I’ll have an old fashioned.”

Sutton purses her lips, gaze locked on mine. “Exactly, Brady. Nothing like the taste of a favorite drink being soured.” She’s pissed? At me? She turns to the waiter. “I’ll have a Negroni, please.”

Fucking A. She is pissed. What the actual fuck?

“And you, sir?”

CHAPTER TEN

Sutton

“Johnnie Walker Blue, please. My usual,” Callahan says, never once breaking his hold on my gaze. What. The. Hell. Callahan is Johnnie? And he’s known all this time. The shock that was painted on his face moments ago after his slip-up has now been replaced with a smirk that I can’t figure out if it’s a taunt or an invitation. But make no mistake, there was shock etched in the lines of his face. And if I’m reading his fingers suddenly tugging on the top button of his collar correctly, he definitely had no intention of letting me know. And yet, there is no shame in his expression, but rather a smugness that is as irritating as it is sexy. “I find I’m not one to change my ways regardless of the situation.”

I purse my lips and give a subtle snort, more than aware from our conversation so far tonight that Brady is quite observant.

“Good to know,” I murmur, trying to decipher what exactly Callahan means by his comment.

That he’s not apologizing for what happened and will do it again with the next willing woman on the rebound?

Or did he like what happened and wants it to happen again? But is that want there only because he got caught? Only because of his slip of the tongue?

There definitely were no complaints about his tongue.

Seriously? That’s where my thoughts go as my crossed legs squeeze a little tighter.

All this talk about I won’t be sleeping with him because he’s my boss and at the first affirmation that Callahan is in fact him, my mind immediately goes to his many . . . um, skills.

I fist my hands in anger. At me for thinking this way. At him for thinking he can just let a bomb drop like that—a bomb he was clearly holding on to until he felt it served his purpose or benefit—and that I’d be utterly okay with it.

Well, I’m not.

And what pisses me off more is I’m not sure why. I knew going into that night what it was, so what changed along the way? It shouldn’t matter if I have to work with him or not, because it wasn’t like I was ever going to see him again anyway.

So, is it the fact that he dropped that bomb and then gave me a cocky smirk as if he were so good that I’d bat my lashes and drop my panties at the mere acknowledgment that he’s Johnnie?

Not on his life.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself as the ache within me smolders to life when he runs his fingertip absently around the rim of his glass.

Those fingers.

Those hands.