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"You're doing it because you get paid to. That's why. You got paid to be there last night and drink champagne with a bunch of rich dudes. That doesn't sound like hard work."
She gave me a sarcastic smile. "You'll never know, will you?"
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I've been to a hundred of those things. They're all the same."
"You couldn't make it a hundred and one?" she asked. She sighed and shook her head. "You haven't told me why you didn't turn up. If there was some kind of emergency, you could at least have texted me?—"
"I don't have to tell you why," I said, soft but firm. "It's my business. You still got paid either way."
"You're right," she said after a moment of heavy silence. "You don't have to tell me. But you will have to tell Carson Thomas. He's angry enough to have you skinned and your hide used as a ball."
I laughed. "I'd still get to play if he did that."
She snorted. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
I thought for a moment. "Sure I do. Stuff that interests me. Rubbing knees at some black tie thing isn't one of them. I tried to tell you that."
"I think the expression is rubbing elbows," she said. "Was it a woman?"
"What?" Her change of subject almost gave me whiplash.
"Did you blow the event off because you were with a woman?" Her eyes narrowed at me.
"Jealous?" I gave her a slow, teasing smile. The kind that was supposed to melt panties.
She snorted.
I guess she had cast iron panties.
"No," I said after a moment," I was not with a woman. Well, not like that anyway. Women were present."
She groaned. "Please tell me you weren't out getting into more trouble."
I raised my hand. "I pinkie swear I was not. You woulda seen it online if I had anyway, right?"
Her mouth twisted to the side a little. It was a cute expression. Cuter than her laser eyes from a few minutes ago, but every bit as hot.
"Yeah, I would have," she agreed. "And Carson would have hunted you down himself and torn you a new one." From the look on her face, she thought he might do that anyway.
"He might have waited until I was in the middle of the field and landed his helicopter on top of me." I nodded in the direction of the roof, where the machine was parked.
"That would only damage the turf," she pointed out. "And leave a nasty stain."
I grinned. "And the guys would nickname me Splat instead of Bam."
She almost smiled. "Yeah, they would. It does have a certain ring to it. Splat Clinton."
"Hey,” I protested. "Don't sound so happy about it."
"After you ditched the event and made me look like an idiot, don't expect me to have any sympathy for whatever Carson does to your sorry ass." She paused for a moment. "I'm not sure I can call it that. You don't seem to be sorry at all."
"Call it a mighty fine ass," I said and wiggled my eyebrows. "That would be accurate."
"I'd rather kick you in it than praise it right now," she said dryly. "I suppose you should go in and see Carson. You kept him waiting long enough."
"I'd be in there now if you hadn't sidetracked me," I said. "I have that effect on women."
"You make them angry?" she asked.
