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But before I can even pick up the glass a hand slams down over the rim. A woman’s hand, with chipped neon pink nail polish and a paper cut across the middle knuckle.
“Don’t,” the hand’s owner says.
I look up to find troubled hazel eyes.
The woman’s curly black hair frames a round, flushed face. “That guy you’re with? My friend saw him drop something in your drink.”
The friend in question cranes her neck around the other woman’s shoulder. “You were distracted and he thought he was being sneaky. Fucking bastard.”
A fucking bastard indeed.
I have no doubt they are telling the truth.
“Thank you. I’ll deal with him.”
The woman who saved me sighs and slides off her barstool. “Be careful, hon. Men like that don’t take kindly to being cornered.”
Oh, he’ll be cornered all right.
“Thanks again.”
She throws one final curious glance over her shoulder. I smile at her to show that I’m grateful but inside I’m raging. Mostly at myself.
How much of an absolute idiot could I possibly be?
Pierce Carrington should never have had the opportunity to spike my drink. I shouldn’t be here with him. I shouldn’t even be on this side of the city.
My father would pitch a fit if he knew. He’s up north, attending a retreat with some of his biggest campaign contributors. When I texted him earlier I let him think I’d be out with Dani tonight.
Technically, I’m a grown woman with no obligation to tell my father where I am and what I’m doing. We’ve always been close but the Olivia disaster made our tiny family even smaller. I try not to chafe at my father’s overprotective nature. I’m his only child and he puts a lot of trust in me. I won’t let him down.
The move back home to the West Emerald house I grew up in was just supposed to be temporary. Then he launched this campaign and everything kind of snowballed. I think about moving out. I think about it a lot. Some days living in that house feels like a slow suffocation.
But independence will have to wait until after the election. I can’t take off when he needs me. I’ll just bite my tongue for now.
Still, I feel like crawling under a barstool when I picture the look on his face if he caught wind of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
A mess that’s still not over.
The lighting in the bar is horrible and the Friday night crowd keeps growing thicker. The top of Micah’s head is visible in the far corner and thanks to the Pierce situation I’m now extra grateful Micah hasn’t noticed me. It’s never a good idea to give Micah Lyonne something to hold over my head.
While scanning the room, I catch sight of Pierce, who sticks out like a sore thumb. Just like me. Before we walked in here, Pierce shelled out five hundred dollars to a guy on the street to watch his car, promising another five hundred if it was undamaged when we returned.
He’s now speaking to someone, a man I’ve never seen before. A vine of anxiety curls through my stomach.
I ignore it.
There’s no reason to be afraid. I haven’t taken a sip of the tainted drink and I’m surrounded by people. If anyone should be fearful it’s Pierce Carrington.
Perhaps he can feel the daggers firing from my eyes. He stiffens and turns his head. Our eyes meet and I really don’t like what I find in his. He’s quick to cover the devious spark with a smile. After a quick word he leaves his companion, who retreats into the depths of the bar like a rat.
Before Pierce finds his way back here I swiftly swap our drinks. He already drank about a third of his while mine was full.
Can’t wait to see if he notices.
“Sorry I was gone so long.” He flashes that cocky grin and takes his seat.
I’ve already placed my phone on the bar. Now I discreetly press a button.
