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“Who cares about the fucking boxes?”

That made me stare at the back of him in shock. Um, Holt cared about the boxes. He was the one who’d asked me to move them all into the storage room.

I let him drag me past the staircase that led upstairs and down the one into the arena, which was empty and cold. Holt paused to flick on several light switches, turning on the big neon Goliaths of Wrestling sign behind the bar and the rest of the wall lamps dotted around the same area.

“Um… what are we doing?” I asked warily, wondering if he’d brought me here to give me another task.

“We’re having a drink.” He pulled me over to the bar and finally let go of my arm.

I stared at him in disbelief. “It’s, like, one p.m. In the middle of a workday.”

Holt waved a careless hand as he rounded the bar. “Yeah, well, it’s Wednesday. Hump day drink or something. Whatever. It’s quiet and empty in here, and aside from Taylor, I’m not really in the mood to be around other people.”

But he’d brought me here. Shifting from foot to foot, I said, “Um… I can go—”

“No. Sit down, Lark.”

Not sure what was going on, I slipped onto a barstool and watched as Holt grabbed a bottle from the back shelf, then bent to open the fridge under the counter.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

I flushed and shook my head. “Really, boss, I’m fine—”

“You can’t lie to an empyn when you’re this bad at shielding your emotions, Lark,” he said wryly, making me realise that I hadn’t been attempting to shield them at all, even though I’d gotten better at it.

My cheeks burned hotter as I looked down at the bar, dragging a fingertip over a gouge in the polished wood.

“Fucking claws.” Holt’s unimpressed voice made me look up again to see him nodding at the gouge marks as he set two glasses on the bar. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to get this thing sanded down and repolished over the years? It’s those damn werewolves when they get drunk. Don’t know their own fucking strength.”

A tiny laugh snuffled out of me as I placed all five fingers in the indents and followed them to the edge of the bar. I wondered if Seb had ever accidentally gouged something with his claws. Surely not. He was too calm and careful. When he’d been in his half-shifted form in the bedroom at the pool party, he’d been so careful not to hurt me with them.

My chest ached a little, for some weird reason. Part of me wanted to go back to the office just to be near him, but most of me was scared in case he wanted to continue that conversation, wanted to tell me that he was done with our whole thing because I’d made it awkward and messy.

“Here.” Holt placed a glass filled with ice and a pale amber liquid in front of me. And a little pink umbrella. I lifted it to my nose and warily sniffed. It smelled like vanilla and apple, and something else super sweet.

“It’s The Creamed Jeans,” he told me dryly. “Your signature cocktail. The umbrella makes it a cocktail.”

A wobbly laugh burst out of me. “Seriously? Noice.”

Holt tapped his glass to mine and took a big gulp, then shuddered. “Fuck, that’s revolting.”

I grinned, feeling a little better. I’d just gotten… overwhelmed after finding out Kit had heard us at the pool party, and then that weird, awkward conversation with Seb. Maybe a drink would help. I wasn’t actually that much of a drinker, I just got drunk every now and then with the wrestlers because they were fun.

“It’s not revolting, dude.” I sipped mine. “Oh man, it’s so good.”

“It’s too fucking sweet. You can’t even taste the alcohol! What’s the point if you can’t taste the alcohol?”

“I can taste it.” I lowered my glass and shot him a sly grin. “But then, my tastebuds are way younger than yours. They haven’t had a chance to get all, like, numb and crusty yet.”

“My tastebuds are not numb and crusty, you little shit,” Holt said without any heat, leaning his elbows on the bar and quirking a brow at me. “So, want to tell me what upset you?”

I squirmed uncomfortably and looked down. “Um, nah.”

After a pause, Holt quietly said, “Alright.”

“It’s just… there’s this thing,” I burst out, going hot again. “I kind of did this… thing, and now I feel… It’s weird and I don’t know how to…”

Holt sighed in resignation. “Did you finally fuck one of the wrestlers?”