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It took several seconds to decide whether I should be offended, and I opted to gather more intel. “What exactly do I look like?”

His gaze drifted over my face, appraising. “You’re pretty.” The compliment was paid just like his near insult—effortless. “In a sweet way. It’s why I asked you out.”

Asked me out?

The prickles turned to full-on panic as my mind jumped to the paper I’d signed not two days ago stating that I understood workplace romances were frowned upon. But I didn’t know I was breaking the rules, so this didn’t count. I thought this was a work thing.

“You know, Buford had a sort of Sweetheart,” he said, oblivious to my consternation. “We called her the Buford Belle. She was, like, the prom queen though. Not…like you.”

My head tilted as I gazed at him, wondering if he understood that such titles only upheld the patriarchal customs inherent in Southern upper-class society. Wondering whether he knew how deeply that last sentence cut into me.

Not like you.

Better than you.

You’re not good enough.

“Fancy seeing you here,” drawled a velvety voice behind me.

I turned in time to watch Bennett slide into the booth beside me. Without permission, he snatched my glass and threw back the remains. His gaze slid to me. “Honey, huh? Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

“It’s lovely.” I gave him a sincere grin.

Bennett moved his attention to Xavier. “You ever wonder where he got the inspiration for it?”

A vague air of irritability had overtaken Xavier, but he lifted one shoulder. “I thought it was his version of Tennessee Honey.”

Bennett offered a mysterious smile. “Perhaps.”

“What are you doing here, Bennett?” Xavier asked, nonplussed.

Palm pressed theatrically to his chest, Bennett tutted. “I’m merely here to greet my fellow comrades and share libations after a long and trying workday.”

Xavier shot him a not-so-subtle look that said, Get out of here, cockblocker.

To which Bennett only settled deeper in his seat, a dark glint in his eye. His riot of black curls gifted him the look of a young Antonio Banderas, and he exuded fuck-me vibes from his pores.

Not aimed at me though.

Or Xavier.

They just…wafted off him.

I was infinitely grateful for his timely presence.

“What exactly do you do for Henley?” I asked him.

“Barkeep!” Bennett raised one elegant hand to catch the bartender’s attention. “Another round, if you will.” He twisted toward me. “I work in the finance department.”

Xavier snorted. “He’s a glorified accountant.”

Bennett’s smile didn’t waver.

“Shep loves him, though.”

I glanced back and forth between them. “Shep?”

“Camden Shepherd, Sr.,” Xavier said.