“Good. Thank you.” I sigh. Hopefully, Rick won’t return for round two, but you never know when an ex will decide to be an unhinged, sexist butthole. “Where were the guards?”
“They usually stay in the back on weekends, monitoring the cameras. Staffing is limited,” Emmett says. “Anyway, want to get a drink?”
“Right now?”
“No, a year into the future. Yes, right now. You look like you could use one.”
“I’ll probably need a vat of alcohol to get over the trauma.”
“That’s fine. I’m buying.”
I eye him suspiciously. What’s the catch? He’s being way too nice, and that’s generally not a good sign.
On the other hand, why not? I won’t turn it down, even though a little voice warns that there’s no free lunch.
Chapter Eleven
Amy
The bar, located close to the GrantEm offices, is one the firm often uses for happy hours. It’s dimly lit and cozy without seeming small, and the guy serving us is a tall, morose-looking fellow named Satoshi. By the time he hands me my fifth cocktail, I’m feeling much better about the world. Emmett did good when he brought me here.
And the best and weirdest thing? My boss is actually behaving like a gentleman. He hasn’t made a single suggestive comment. Nothing about us entering into a “merger” or how he’d like a chance to verify my “assets.”
I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved. The fact that I’m conflicted probably means there’s something wrong with me. Or maybe all this alcohol is impairing my logic. In Greek mythology, the god of wine is also the god of orgies. There’s probably a reason…
“You aren’t drinking wine,” Emmett points out.
“I know.” And I’m not thinking orgiastic sex with Emmett, either. That is not happening. We’re both sharing that particular amnesia.
Emmett frowns. “I don’t have amnesia.”
“Not just you. Me too.” For some reason, that’s funny. “Our-nesia! Hahaha.”
Emmett looks at me. “Good one. Maybe you—”
“Maybe I should get my vision checked. Things are looking a little blurry.” Emmett isn’t blurry, but then, he’s sitting next to me at the bar. That’s important. He needs to pay for all this. He said he’d pay, and I’m holding him to it.
“I was going to say, maybe you should make that your last drink.” A corner of Emmett’s mouth quirks up.
“Why?”
“Because you’re already drunk?”
“Am not.” I knock back the rest of my cosmopolitan. “Stop trying to cut me off. I’m getting my money’s worth. ’Sides, if I get shitfaced after only five drinks, it’s your fault.” My recent lack of drinking practice has lowered my tolerance. I’m going to file an HR complaint for violation of my work-life balance!
“HR won’t care,” he says.
“How do you know?” I blink up at him. “Hey, are you reading my mind?”
“No. You just told me.”
“Did not. Stop lying. I want another drink.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“Cheap is not sexy, Emmett.” I gesture at my empty glass. “This is, like, one-millionth of your fortune. Not even. You could put your hand between your couch cushions and scoop up a couple hundred bucks in change.”
He rolls his eyes. He’s actually sort of cute when he