Page 38 of East

I saw Kin make the drink. He didn’t put anything weird in it.

But Wick said to make it “Blackwood style.”

Was I not focused enough? Did I let my guard down?

Maybe the gin they make in house is stronger than the stuff you get at a liquor store. It certainly wasn’t cheap. I was all too happy to let Wick pay for it.

I shake the thought from my head. If Wick wanted to force himself on me, he would have. I turned him down and then stayed in his bed. The door was locked, but he could have easily gotten inside. It was a cheap doorknob lock, the kind you undo with a pin.

He wasn’t thrilled when I rejected him, but he didn’t force himself on me either. So he’s at least halfway decent. And decent guys don’t drug girls.

I just placed myself in a vulnerable situation. That’s all.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see Wick Blackwood or the Jade Sanctum again.

Except…

Aus.

I’d like to see him again.

But there’s no way I can step foot inside his club after what I did last night. It would be too awkward if Wick were there. Which he would be. He’s a full-time bartender.

Fuck it all.

Plenty of fish in the sea. That’s what my mother might tell me if she weren’t in the ground.

All I need now is to get home and take a long steamy shower. Wash the entirety of the Jade Sanctum off me, including Wick’s smelly⁠—

“Thea!”

I stop in my tracks. So close.

Micaela Fields, the head anchorwoman for O2 news, is right behind me.

Micaela is the fakest woman I’ve ever met, and I work in television. She’ll greet you with a smile and then tell your darkest secrets—or straight-up lies—to a complete stranger. She makes triple my salary and is always bragging about her first-class trips to Europe or her new car. She’s dangling a new Rolex or Cartier off her wrist every month. And of course she has the perfect family. The well-to-do real estate mogul of a husband, Michael—yes, Michael and Micaela, like their whole life was written to be a Sunday comic strip—and two sweet little twin daughters, Misty and Misha. Thank God she had her tubes tied after two kids. She was running out of M names.

I paste on a smile and turn around. “Yes, Micaela?”

Micaela is wearing a khaki skirt and a crimson blazer with gigantic shoulder pads. Her lips—which she’s definitely had done a few times since I met her—are pouty, and her makeup is so perfect she looks almost ethereal.

She narrows her eyes. “Darling, I just wanted to confirm we’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?” I ask.

I don’t work the evening news. I’ve never worked the evening news. Was I supposed to sub for someone? Have I fucked up even more than I initially thought?

Micaela offers a sugary smile. “The gala, sweetie? Remember?”

Oh, shit. Right. O2 News is a sponsor for several non-profits in the area, and I have to attend four or five events each year. They always buy a table and fill it with their most famous faces, which now includes mine.

I blink several times. “Right. What’s the cause again?”

Micaela purses her lips. “You don’t remember? LTB International. They’re an animal preservation group. O2 News has always been one of their staunchest supporters.”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” I turn toward the door.

“Honey?”