Page 137 of Hard Pass

I level him with a scathing glare. “I was ambushed. There was a lot of cajoling. A lot of promises—”

“And that thing I did with my tongue didn’t hurt either.”

I squirm in my seat just thinking about his masterful tongue. “I wouldn’t exactly call holding my orgasm hostage until I agreed an even playing field.”

His grin is devilish. “And yet, here we are. I’d say we both got what we wanted in the end.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you were a great appetizer.”

“Cole.” I gasp and look around to make sure no one heard him. That’s the last damn thing I need to be published.

“God, I love when you blush.” He takes another sip. “My thought process was that you’ve been working hard, been stressing harder, and you could use a break.”

“A break. From what exactly? The career implosion? The public humiliation? The part where my name is trending for all the wrong reasons?”

He sets his glass down, unfazed. “It’s only public humiliation if you hide, Trouble. We’re not hiding.”

I stare at him for a second, trying to decide whether he’s serious. Of course he is.

“That sounds great in theory,” I say and lower my voice as a server passes, “but there’s a line of reporters outside who would love nothing more than to document how I’m handling said break.”

He glances toward the window, waves absently, and then looks back at me. “Then I guess your steak’s making the evening news. I told you it was a travesty for you to order that thing well done, and now we’ll find out if the world agrees.”

“My steak is the least of my problems. Maybe they’ll zoom in when I have another glass of wine, labeling me an alcoholic and declaring me unfit for society.”

“Bold of you to assume they haven’t already decided that.”

“Wow. Supportive of you.”

“Very.”

I shake my head, but I lose the battle fighting a smile. It’s impossible not to when he’s around, trying to lighten the mood, and acting like this is just a blip on the radar.

God. This is absurd. All of it. Sitting here like this. With him. Like nothing has changed. Like everything hasn’t.

“In all seriousness, how are you doing?”

I look down at my glass, tracing the rim with my finger as I try to find the right answer. “I feel . . . disassociated. I think. You don’t realize how much a part of you your job is, until it’s not there.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Cole

“It’s like I’m watching this all happen to someone else from afar,” she says, eyes serious. “I know I should feel more than I do, but I’m just numb. And I hate being numb.”

She’s not telling me the whole truth. As much as she thinks she’s a hard-ass, Dublin Locke still wears her emotions on her sleeve. Right now, I can see them there, but they don’t match the controlled words coming out of her mouth.

Hence the trip to the steakhouse. Walking straight into the fire instead of hiding from it. Forcing her to see it—to see that maybe it doesn’t break her the way she thinks it will.

Then again, I’m going to work every day like nothing happened. Yeah, the guys chirp. Yeah, there are the looks. But my agent put out a statement and life moves on.

For me.

Not for her.

And that doesn’t sit right. The goddamn double standard.