“Of course.”
She grimaces. “Bad idea.”
“What?” I demand.
“Let’s see. You guys broke up last year—“
“Separated.“
“Whatever—because you were an unreasonable prick after Mischa went all pyro on your new project.”
“So, a Russian madman responsible for my parents’ deaths burns down a ten-million-dollar project and I’m unreasonable?”
“With her, yes. She’s more likely to do something if you tell her not to.”
I drop my head in my hands and tug on my hair hard enough my scalp aches. “What is it with women?”
“Brains, empathy, and pussies,” she fires back. “It’s worth taking the time to figure them out. Don’t go anywhere.” She claps me on the shoulder as she rises and crosses to the bar, where she grabs the good whisky and pours a single glass on ice.
“None for you?” I demand as she brings it back to me.
“I’ll come back for mine. First, I’m going to go talk your manager down from the ledge.”