Page 53
Despite my sour mood, the edge of my mouth turned up.
Sutton casually scanned the area, glancing at the cameras before sweeping through the crowd. Then, for a brief second, her spine straightened as she fixed her attention across the room.
I followed her line of sight—toward a woman in a silk dress with narrowed eyes, aimed right at Sutton. The woman scowled and turned her back, now focused on the members of her group. I’d seen her once or twice in the club, but she wasn’t anyone I knew by name. It was obvious they knew each other, and I wanted to know why that woman shot daggers across my club. Sutton blushed and sipped her drink once more.
“Who is that?” I asked, but Sutton shook her head. “Did she do something to you?”
“Uh… more like, I did something to her,” she admitted without an ounce of regret in her tone. Interesting. Sutton stared at her lap, her nervousness tainting the air.
“I didn’t peg you for being a bully,” I teased, and her eyes snapped up.
“It’s not like—I didn’t bully her.”
“Awfully defensive for someone who claims she’s not a bully.”
To my amusement, the bait worked.
Sutton growled beneath her breath and set her drink down. As she faced me fully, pinning me with a glare, I stifled a grin and braced my elbow on the bar.
“Look,” Sutton said, entirely too flustered, “it happened a long time ago. I just wasn’t nice to her at the time, okay?”
“But it’s clear you don’t regret it,” I pointed out.
“Who said I didn’t?”
“Alright.” I smiled weakly before jerking my chin toward the unfamiliar woman. “If you’re sorry and regret your actions—whatever they are—then go apologize.”
“Wh—what?” Her face seared red.
“If you truly care, then be a good girl and apologize to her. Tell her how sorry you are.”
Horror passed her features, the silence stretching as if she were too afraid to breathe. As if she were trying to decipher whether I was serious or not. Dancers breezed past and music escalated on the stage near the back.
Still, Sutton remained seated, and our gazes held for another minute. Anyone else would have passed her off as being shy or embarrassed, but I knew better. Sutton was not shy. I inched closer, enough so that my knees nestled between her thighs, and leaned in.
“Here’s what I think,” I murmured. “I think if it mattered that much, you would have already apologized. Looks to me that we have more in common than you think. Should I call her over here?”
“You’re delusional if you think we have anything in common,” she said, nostrils flaring. “But you’re right, I don’t regret it. Do not call her over here.”
Her admission shocked me, but I masked my surprise. “Well, now I’m really curious. Did she deserve it?”
Sutton’s eyes flashed, but her shoulders dropped with an exaggerated sigh. “She just… stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. That’s hardly anything to be curious about. There, happy now?”
“Mm.” I leaned back, studying the way her knee bounced and how tightly she clutched the stem of her glass. I let it go for now, worried she’d clam up.
As the music changed from one song to the next, my thoughts drifted back to the meeting with the Crowes and how she had seemed shocked by Luka’s reaction. Sutton, to my surprise, played the perfect performance. But I knew what was coming—the demand for her stalker's name. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have requested a drink.
I toyed with the rim of my empty glass. “Did you finally come to your senses and decide to work with me?”
“Depends on what you have to offer,” she said sweetly.
“Another?” the bartender asked, and I nodded.
He produced a whiskey for me, and refilled Sutton’s glass with more dark red wine. I didn’t miss the way the bartender’s eyes lingered, and I clenched my fists. It was only when he looked at me that he flushed red and slinked away. My eye twitched. He’d be lucky if I tipped tonight.
“I want the name,” Sutton said.
“Careful, Sutton. You’re starting to look predictable again.”
