10
ISABELLA
My head was pounding. Throbbing actually. Whenever I moved, my stomach protested and threatened to deposit its contents right there on the floor. My mouth tasted like cotton balls that had been soaked in something old and sour.
If I’d ever had a hangover this bad, I couldn’t remember it. I groaned and winced as Parker played with the dimmer on the light switch in his office. He turned it up to its brightest before turning it down and back up again.
The strobe-light effect wasn’t doing my head or my stomach any favors. “Would you stop? I feel like you’re punishing me for something.”
“What do you mean?” he asked innocently, stepping away from the light switch but leaving it at its brightest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He started whistling a tune, and I swore he was being extra loud today on purpose. The volume of his voice was as far up as it could be without him resorting to yelling. Every whistle felt like an ice pick being driven through my skull.
“You’re trying to make things worse for me by doing all the things hungover people hate.” I jerked my head at his desk and flinched when the movement made my brain feel like it was being cracked open. “Like that tuna sandwich, for instance. Who eats smelly fish for breakfast?”
“Me.” He shrugged and sat down at his desk. “It’s healthy, and you made me feel like tuna when you mentioned your cat’s name.”
“I’m never going out with you again,” I complained, knowing but not caring that I was whining. “This is why I have rules. It’s horrible and embarrassing to be at work hungover, and it’s so much worse because you saw me that way. Even if it was your fault, I’m still humiliated.”
“Don’t be,” he said cheerfully—and loudly. “You were a hoot. At least I know you’re not a robot now. I don’t think robots can get intoxicated. I still don’t know that much about you, but I’m satisfied that you’re human.”
I’m satisfied that you’re an ass.“Just so you know, I’m going home early today.”
He smirked. “No, you’re not. We haven’t even done any work yet. There’s no way you’d go before we’ve done everything you’ve got on our schedule for today.”
Ihatedthat he was right. Again. “Maybe you know me better than you think. Can we get to it, then?”
“Really?” He made a show of looking me over. “I thought you might want to freshen up first.”
“Freshen up?” I frowned. “I showered this morning. Obviously. I don’t need to freshen up.”
Tossing his head back, he laughed and waved a hand at me. “You’re not following your own rules today, Ms. Atkins. Your blouse is buttoned wrong, your hair isn’t perfectly coiffed, and I can see your skin underneath your makeup. I didn’t think you’d be able to concentrate on work before you fixed all that.”
My eyes widened and I looked down at myself. Carefully studying every one of my buttons, I realized that he was, once again, right. To my horror, I’d missed a button over my chest, meaning that I was low-key flashing my bra at everyone who cared to look.
I spun on the sofa to face away from him, ignoring his amused chuckle, and slid the button into place. My face was burning, my cheeks feeling like they were on fire. If he’d left the office after pointing it out, I might’ve even cried over how absolutely embarrassed I was, but the ass didn’t even have the decency to give me a minute.
Sure, we’re inhisoffice, but still.Refusing to let him see how close I was to tears, I closed my eyes and breathed in and out deeply a few times before facing him again.
“This is all your fault, you know,” I snapped. “I never drink that much.”
“Hey, I didn’t force the shots down your throat,” he said, but at least he looked a little chagrined. Lowering his voice to a more normal volume, his eyes filled with something that looked a lot like concern. “You could’ve said no or stopped at any time. You know that, right?”
I sighed but dipped my chin in acknowledgment. “I know, but I was trying a prove a point. It backfired on me, obviously. Let’s just not do that again, okay? No more drinking.”
His face fell. “I can’t agree to that. You’re still coming to the weddings with me, aren’t you? You can’t back out now.”
“Well, I can, but I won’t,” I said. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. We don’t have to drink shots again, but you can’t go to Italy and not drink wine in the countryside. It’s just not done.”
I froze, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Italy? You mean Little Italy, right?”
“Nope. It’s a destination wedding. In Italy. The country, not the neighborhood.”
“A destination wedding?” I repeated dumbly. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking. I can’t go to actual Italy with you.”
“Why not? You agreed to come to the weddings, and the first one is in Italy,” he said. “If it’s plane fare you’re worried about, don’t be. My friend is sending a jet to pick us all up.”