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Oxley leans in closer, his gaze narrowed on mine with a deep suspicion. “Do you have a boyfriend over in New York that Nick should know about? You’re not about to screw him over again.”
“Fuck no,” I say, interrupting Dwayne’s fuming. “It’s my old boss. He fired my ass and now the company is pressuring him to bring me back because I’m the best senior publicist the company has ever had and the clients will walk without me. Just as I predicted. Isn’t that right, Dwayne?”
Dwayne huffs and puffs. “Fuck you, Blair. You’re only making it harder for yourself. You know you can’t compete against SC, and the bigwigs upstairs aren’t going to accept your bullshit for long, especially when you start poaching clients and affecting their profit margins. You’ll be blacklisted in this industry.”
A smile flitters across my lips. “What’s the matter, Dwayne? You sound scared.”
“Come on, Blair. My ass is on the line here,” he finally admits with a heavy resignation. “The clients want you back. Otherwise, they’re walking. Just tell me your terms so we can get on with it. I’ll even reinstate your Christmas bonus.”
“Take your Christmas bonus and shove it up your ass. I’m not coming back. I’m starting my own firm, and if every single one of your clients chooses to sign with me, then so be it. But it won’t be because I poached them, it’ll be because they know who the best person is to represent them. Time to face the music, Dwayne. You got your position because you have a dick, not because you’re good at what you do, and it’s not my fault that the clients have finally figured out that you have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Blair—”
“Good luck, Dwayne. You’re gonna need it.”
I end the call, a cheesy grin resting on my face.
Fuck that felt good.
Oxley refills my glass and arches a brow, far too curious about what just went down to be innocent, though something tells me he’s just looking out for Nick. But he doesn’t need to worry about that because Nick and I are well and truly over . . . I think.
“So, that’s what sticking it to the man looks like, huh?”
“I mean, I prefer when a big burly man sticks it to me, on my knees with my head slammed down into the mattress. And while that definitely doesn’t compare to a good, thorough pounding, it was thrilling all the same.”
“Eww. I just know you were thinking about my cousin when you said that.”
A wicked smirk stretches across my face. I’m not going to deny it. Nick and I always had the best chemistry between the sheets. I laugh and grab my drink, taking a long pull from the straw. “So, speaking of the ring that didn’t pay for itself,” I say, shifting the topic faster than I changed my sheets after the thought of my asshole ex, Marc, screwing around in them with his mid-afternoon snack. “Are you nervous?”
Oxley seems to silently laugh at me, probably realizing exactly what I’m doing. “Shitting my pants,” he says with a charming smirk, his eyes lighting up like Christmas morning. “You’re going to be there, right?”
My jaw drops, and I gape at Oxley, warmth spreading through my stone-cold chest. “Me? Really? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure,” he says, busily moving around the bar. “Besides, something tells me you’ll be sticking around for a little while. Not to mention, between you and me, it’s not like you have any other plans anyway. Unless you were particularly fond of your current plan to spend your Christmas Eve sulking alone at home like the miserable little loner that you are.”
“Ouch!”
“Try and tell me I’m wrong.” He arches a brow, his hand pausing over the bar to fix me with a challenging stare—a challenge I know I would lose every day of the week.
I roll my eyes. We both know he’s right, but admitting it feels like a crime against myself. I’m saved by the bell as Sarah strides through the doors with a wide grin across her face, looking more than ready to let off a little steam.
“Ahhhh. I stand corrected. Perhaps you’re not a miserable little loner after all,” Oxley chimes, already working on a drink for Sarah as though knowing her order like it’s permanently etched into his brain. A teasing smirk dances on his lips. “Perhaps you’re a miserable little couple.”
“Hey,” Sarah says, dropping down beside me at the bar. “I heard that.”
“You were meant to,” Oxley laughs, sliding her drink toward her like the perfect bartender.
Sarah lets out a huff, her gaze swinging toward me. “I’ve had the worst freaking day,” she says, lifting her glass to her lips, bypassing the straw, and drinking straight from the rim. Actually, drinking is the wrong word. It’s more like a desperate chug. The half-empty glass is put back on the bar, and she takes a breath, having to wipe the sides of her lips clean. “Do you have any idea how stupid some people can be? It’s Blushing. Our hospital is supposed to be nearly empty, but the second the snow rolled in, it’s as though people’s brain cells got frozen along with it.”
Sarah launches into the rundown of her day, and I smile and laugh along with her stories before she throws the limelight onto me, and I go into vast detail about how well I’ve managed to avoid Nick over the last few days. I tell her about our lunch together in my kitchen and how effortless it felt, and by the time my cheeks have finished flushing at the very thought of him, we’re both drunk.
Oxley becomes our designated server for the night, keeping a close eye on us as other bar-goers try to shamelessly hit on us, but hell, if they’re willing to buy us a few drinks, I’m willing to spend their money.
We outlast nearly everyone in the bar, and it’s not until a familiar scent assaults my senses and my skin becomes hyper-aware of the man standing behind me that my gaze shoots up to Oxley’s in accusation. “You called the fun police?”
“No,” he says. “You called him.”
My face scrunches. Surely he’s lying because I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t have called that grumpy-ass. But then, maybe I would.
