“Do you know who I am? You can’t talk to me like that.” He leans forward, getting in my space.
I stare at the bottles populating the wall across from me. They’re all top shelf and expensive, even though the presentation is a bit dull. Kind of like this guy. I shrug. “It’s a free country. I didn’t ask you to come over here. I can talk to you however I damn well please.”
“You little bitch. You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” His voice goes high and angry. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch.”
The air in the bar shifts. I shiver, the small hairs lifting on the back of my neck. Oh no. I thought I could take care of this before Devan arrived. I’d half convinced myself he wouldn’t show up at all. Looks like I’m wrong on both counts.
“Are you listening to me?” The man reaches a rough hand to wrap around my arm.
He never makes contact.
I feel him at my back half a breath before Devan grabs the stranger’s wrist. “The lady said she wasn’t interested.” His voice is low, but clear. He also sounds fucking furious.
Damn it.
“Who the fuck are—“ he curses as Devan tightens his grip, causing the man’s hand to splay out. “Fine. Fuck. She’s ugly, anyway.”
“Leave.” The quiet violence in Devan’s tone makes me shiver. If I were smarter, I wouldn’t find that so attractive. I certainly wouldn’t be quietly delighted by him defending me, even though it’s going to make accomplishing my goals for tonight that much more difficult.
He came.
Victory makes me lightheaded. So much so that I nearly miss his next words. “Get up. We’re leaving.”
Leaving. Because he’s not here for me, not really. He’s here to bundle me up and cart me to safety like he’s done for the last six years. I can’t let that happen, and him interceding just now is only going to make this look like it’s just another birthday.
I have one chance to get things back on track. I can’t yell or get dramatic or cause a scene. That will just confirm to Devan that he’s right and I’m in trouble. The only option is to not give him anything to work with. The bartender finally returns to the bar itself and I motion him over with a smile. “Another, please.”
“Hazel.” The warning in Devan’s tone makes my thighs clench together. “You’re going home.”
No. I am most certainly not going home. Not alone. “Can’t go home,” I say breezily. “Home is a few thousand miles away.” At least one of them.
“You have an apartment a few blocks from here.”
Of course he knows that. He’s the executor of the trust fund I inherited with my parents’ death. He’s been painfully responsible with it; from what my financial advisor tells me, I have even more money now than I did upon my parents’ death because of Devan’s careful investments. He never meets with me about money. All my requests go through the financial advisor. Not that Devan tells me no often. He doesn’t tell me anything at all.
That would require speaking to me.
I check the diamond watch on my wrist. Not much longer now.
“Hazel.”
“Have a drink with me, Devan.” I lift my glass. “For old time’s sake.”
“Hazel.” Something filters into his tone, something besides barely restrained irritation. Devan looks around, seems to clock how many people are watching us. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
I smile, though my chest hurts a bit. “I’m told I’m always difficult.”
He turns back to me, that strange look still lingering in his dark eyes. Finally, he sighs. “One drink and then I’m putting you in a cab.”
Yeah, I don’t think so. I almost laugh, but he won’t appreciate it. I’ve only won the first encounter; it will take a lot of doing to win the war itself. The bartender chooses that moment to appear with the second drink. He sets it on the bar and moves off without a word.
I sip my scotch. “You know, it’s very stalkerish that you keep figuring out where I am on my birthday. Seems like a lot of work without much payoff.”
Devan glares at his drink as if it insulted his mother. “Don’t play innocent, Hazel. It doesn’t suit you. All I have to do is look you up on social media. You post your location for the entire world to see.”
“Oh. That.” I smile against my glass. I always, always post leading up to my birthday and tag my location. I have ever since that first birthday in Mallorca. “It makes sense for me to post so often. I make a lot of money on social media sponsorships. They like to send me places. Nothing strange about that.” It wasn’t something I was overly into in my teens, but there’s a certain high that only a perfectly curated social media feed can deliver. I’ve even started designing them for other people and making a good living at it. Not that I need the money, but I like the work.