“Fuck,” Guy says with feeling. “Fuck.”
Jensen plucks the last glasses off the tray, his bleached hair bobbing as he nods along to a beat we can’t hear. And he carefully leaves two drinks behind, in the exact spots the innocent drinksshouldhave been.
“It looks like it was an accident, at least.” I’m watching between my spread fingers, my wedding ring hard and cool against my cheek as we toss the second shots back on screen. “He didn’t spike us on purpose. Shit. What did wetake?”
“I’ll kill him.” Guy’s face is in his hands. “Jensen loves jumping off buildings so much—well this time, he’ll hit the ground. Asshole.”
I burst out laughing, my head woozy and my stomach sore. I can’t help it. This is so ridiculous. And when I stagger back to the sofa, collapsing at my boss’s side, he shoots me a rueful smile. I beam back, pulse racing in my dry throat.
Okay, seriously. I’m not crazy, right? A quest and an extra day in the city? Alone time with Mr Grumpy? This is fun. This is really fun.
Hangover aside, this is shaping up to be the best day I’ve had in a long time.
Guy
This is the worst day of my life. I am way too fucking old to feel likethis, like a college freshman whose body moisture is eighty percent whiskey, and watching Effie accidentally get spiked on the screen—it’s done something to me. I’m out for blood.
Because every time I close my eyes, I see it all again. The small, grainy Effie on the security tape tips her head back, her dark hair shifting against her shoulders, and I’m sittingright there.Responsible for her, but doing nothing.
Useless. Pointless.
“Wow, Jensen really loves jumping off skyscrapers, huh?”
I jab at my phone screen, scrolling through my idiotic client’s social media feed. He grins broadly in every photo, dressed in floral jumpsuits as the wind whips his bleached hair. “It’s what he does.”
We’re back out on the sidewalk, shading my phone from the sun as we scroll. Every time Effie leans in closer, her hair tickles my shoulder through my thin cotton t-shirt. “So he can’t remember anything either?”
“No. All he could offer was this stupid channel.” I don’t want to think about our short phone conversation. Every time I do, my blood pressure rises.
Effie huffs a laugh, her breath misting warm against my neck, and when she reaches over to tap at my phone, the diamond ring sparkles up at me. Accusatory.
We haven’t even talked about the way we woke up. Half dressed in the same hotel suite. Those fuckingboxers.
She hasn’t taken the ring off either. Can’t dwell on that right now.
“Can you imagine what you’d do if I took a load of photos of you drunk and put them online? You would murder me, boss. You’d put me in the ground. You’d fire me so fast I got whiplash.”
Effie chatters away, her tone light as she scrolls through the feed, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was enjoying herself. She’s perked up a lot since vomiting. Guess she purged everything from her system.
Me? I still feel like I belong in a morgue.
“That is correct.” I scroll past a silent video clip of Jensen twirling around a dancer’s pole on a brightly lit stage. Such an ass. And dread curdles in my stomach as we work through the photos, because they’re all dated from last night and they’re getting messier. I didn’t spin around that pole too, did I?
Shit. Effie can’t see that. She’d never let it go.
“Maybe I should look through these alone—”
“Oh my god.” She grips my forearm tight, her fingertips digging into my skin as she stares at my phone, wide-eyed. “Guy. That’s us.”
Yes. That is us. That… is us.
We’re in the background of a video of Jensen twerking beside the bar, pounding shots and leaning on each other as we laugh. My suit jacket is gone, lost to the ether, and my hair is rumpled. Effie’s wearing my tie like a headband.
“We look so happy.” She sounds wistful. “It must have been a fun night.”
“We were drugged,” I remind her, because apparently I can’t help myself. “It’s not real.”
“Right.” She lets go of my arm, and I could kick myself.