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“Felt pretty good too,” I add.
“What about Evangeline?” Alistair asks lightly.
My eyes snap up to his. “What about her?”
“It was over her, right?”
I nod, not going into detail.
“So what does that mean?” Alistair probes.
“What do you mean, what does that mean?” I demand, pulling a face.
Alistair shrugs with a smile. “You hired her so you could get control of your parents’ estate.”
I hold my hands up. “Don’t try to be witty, Alistair. Just say whatever the fuck you want to say.”
“You punched a U.S. senator over her.” Alistair laughs, smacking his palms on the table with a loud thud, causing the empty shot glasses to clink together.
I breathe heavily, feeling that same anger that sliced through me the night of the charity dinner while I stood at that podium speaking in front of D.C.’s most prominent. I watched as he dug his fingers into her arm and the look on her face was what made me leave the podium and stalk through the crowd.
She looked scared, and I didn’t like it.
“He fucking touched what’s mine!” I raise my voice.
The table next to us stops talking and stares in our direction. Alistair bursts into laughter, pulling my attention back to him.
“What is so fucking funny?” I ask, incredulously.
“Oh God, Dare,” he continues to laugh. “I have known you for a very long time.”
“Preschool,” I offer.
“Do you remember Taylor Burrell?” Alistair asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I answer suspiciously.
“You dated her for six months, and you didn’t even care when she left the Zeta Psi Halloween party with that asshole, Danny Flay,” Alistair explains.
“He was a shitty midfielder.” I shake my head. “Look, don’t make more out of this than it is.”
“Fine, fine,” Alistair concedes. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.” He shakes his head again.
I motion for the waitress to bring more shots when Alistair stops me. “I gotta get going.” He looks at his watch. “Caroline and Remington,” he says his parents' first names with a purposeful, pretentious undertone, “are hosting a dinner.” He rolls his eyes, and the mention of his parents causes my chest to tighten. It must show in my eyes because Alistair suddenly looks apologetic.
“You know you’re always welcome,” he offers. “Caroline likes you better anyway,” he jokes.
“Nah, I gotta get going,” I say, reaching into my pocket and throwing a few bills onto the table. “Give Caroline and Remington my best.”
Tucking the envelope back in my jacket, I take the stairs up to the street level and realize it’s been raining, so I give Bailey a call to pick me up. It’s a short ride back to the house, even with the inclement weather holding up traffic. The sound of rain hitting the roof of the sedan is oddly satisfying, and I don’t realize we’re at the house until the car comes to a stop.
“Thanks, Bailey,” I say, and stop him before he gets out of the car with an umbrella. “No need.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Walker,” Bailey replies.
I’m not used to being called Mr. Walker, especially by Bailey who was my father’s driver. I can tell in the tone of his voice that it feels odd for him too, but I exit the car without saying anything, and Bailey pulls away from the curb.
The rain is coming down good now, and I jog up the walkway, splashing puddles in my wake, and take the steps two at a time. Everything is dark and cold when I enter, no sound or smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, and when I get to the stairs, there’s no light coming from the guest room where Evangeline has been staying.
