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“Wrong. You need to mourn your good friend, Arnov,” German says, sarcasm heavy in his voice. He arches his brows pointedly. “We should honor his memory with lots andlotsof drinking.”
I stare at him for a few seconds before it sinks in. “Right. I’m sad about Arnov,” I say, buying into German’s bit, if only because getting blisteringly drunk sounds better than any other option tonight. “Devastated, really.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” German pats me on the back and pushes me towards the door. “Let’s go drink away our demons and outrun our ghosts. My treat.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about Arnov anymore. But I nod. “Careful. You can’t afford to outrun my ghosts.”
“Right. I’ve been meaning to talk about a raise with you,” he jokes. “But I’ll save it for an hour or two from now. I have a feeling you’ll be a lot more agreeable then.”
I snort. “Don’t count on it.”
* * *
The bar German takes me to is a small beach shack just down the road. I don’t recognize it, but he swears it was here the last time I stayed at the house.
“You were so preoccupied that you never came down with me,” he explains.
“You’re confusing ‘preoccupied’ with ‘had better things to do.’ Someone had to watch the paint dry, after all.”
He rolls his eyes and holds the door open. “After you, boss.”
I step into the bar—and my eyes are already on her.
It’s automatic. The pull I feel towards the bar. The draw is like a wire tied around my ribcage, pulling taut whenever Rayne is near.
She’s perched on a bar stool, her silk tank top draping low across her back. She has her hair twisted loosely over her shoulder, exposing even more skin. I want to lay her across the bar and lick salt from her thighs.
Behind me, I hear German curse under his breath. “So much for outrunning your ghosts.”
RAYNE
FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER
“You didwhat?” I splutter. My eyes sting from the alcohol that just tried to spray out of my nose.
Natalia hands me a napkin and continues staring at me. I want her to rush to explain that I misheard her or that I’m somehow misunderstanding things. But she’s still and patient. Waiting for me to come to grips with this atomic bomb she just dropped.
I gasp, a new realization crashing over me. “Is this why you offered to pay for the babysitter tonight? A bribe?!”
"No! I truly thought you needed a night out…" She sags under the weight of her deception. "Okay, it was sort of bribery! I'm not above it. I just knew you’d be mad about this, and I wanted to soften the blow. With tequila.”
I drop my face into my hands and mumble something garbled.
“What?” Natalia asks.
I lower my hands and glare up at her. “You can’t work for Kirill.”
“I already do,” she winces. “I’m sorry, babe. But he gave me a ten percent raise from the last time I worked there. Joke is on him because I would have worked there for a hell of a lot less. Actually, I would have done it for minimum wage plus tips if it meant not working for Genevieve anymore."
"She can't be that bad that you have to betray your best friend,” I hiss.
"Yesterday, she asked me to clean out the grout in her crawl space because she smelled ‘something faintly musty’ in the air. Like I’m a fucking plumber or something.”
“Okay, fine, that’s pretty bad,” I admit. “But you could get a job anywhere else, Nat. You can’t work for Yuliana’s dad!”
I realize I spoke a little too loudly, and duck my head. Even though the likelihood of me running into Kirill is still next to zero—Los Angeles is pretty big, after all—now that he is back in town, I expect to see him around every corner.
“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to know what he’s up to?” she asks. “For instance, I could tell you whether he is dating anyone. If he's bringing women home a lot…"
