Page 14 of Late Nights

He wasn’t going to hire me. My stomach dropped. If a friend of Cannon’s wouldn’t hire me, then what hope did I have of finding another job? I needed this, and I wasn’t going to let my lack of bartending knowledge keep me from my goals. If I could tell Victor Vanderhall I had dropped out of his precious college that he had wanted me to go to and that I would not be joining him at the company he loved more than anything, then I could win over bartender Robby.

I stood a little taller and looked him in the eyes. “Yes, you’ll have to train me. But I have a Stanford education, and if I can survive years excelling there, I’m pretty sure I can handle making drinks. And let’s be honest, my face is prettier than yours.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “You’ll see an influx of customers, and I’m willing to bet that they’ll be willing to wait so they can order their drinks from me.” I put off a more confident air than I was actually feeling, but, hey, sometimes you had to fake it until you could make it.

He folded his arms again as his stare bored into, like he was waiting to see if I would crack. That wasn’t going to happen. I was tougher than I looked. His stare-down had nothing on my dad’s.

“You’re hired.” He still didn’t take his gaze off me. “Be here tomorrow at noon, and we’ll start training.”

I nodded. “I’ll be here.”

Finally, he relaxed his stance, spreading his hands out on the counter. “Now, what can I get you two to drink?”

We gave him our orders and went to take a seat on two stools at the end of the bar. Robby slid us our drinks before leaving to take more orders.

Cannon lifted his drink in a toast. “Congratulations on getting your first job.”

I tapped my drink against his. “Thank you.” I took a quick sip before adding, “Your best friend’s little sister may not have work experience, but I do have people experience.”

He set down his drink with a smirk. “Call me crazy, but I think I’m sensing some annoyance at having been called West’s little sister.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You pick up things quick.”

“I’m a fast learner, too.” He winked.

I gave him a deadpan look, which only made him smile. I was tempted to smack the smug look off his face. It was annoying how handsome he was, how he made simple sentences sound flirty, and how he didn’t seem to be as affected being around me as I was with being around him.

“Funny.” My sarcastic tone was impossible to miss.

“Oh, c’mon, Demi.” He nudged my arm with his. “You can’t stay mad at your roommate forever,” he teased.

First, I’m his best friend’s little sister, and now I’m his roommate? I knew Cannon kept his personal life private, that he kept people at a distance, but could he truly not refer to me as a friend? We hadn’t ever had long conversations or really gotten to know each other, but we’d hung out on holidays and family vacations for the last ten years. We’d had family dinners together once a month. What was his deal?

I should have just blown the whole thing off and not let it bother me, but I couldn’t. It was probably dumb of me, but I wanted to know this man who kept himself so closed off. I already knew he’d never be interested in me romantically—heck, he couldn’t even call me a friend let alone a girlfriend. I knew he wasn’t the relationship type. But was it so wrong to want to be his friend?

I turned on the bar stool, facing him. “Are we not friends?”

He blinked a few times and straightened in his seat, caught off-guard by my question. “I don’t know. Are we?” The teasing glint in his eyes was now gone, a vulnerability filling them instead.

I stared down into my drink. “I don’t know. I thought we were.” My voice came out quiet, and I worried he might not have heard me over the noise filling the bar. “At least friends enough to introduce me to someone as your friend.”

Cannon didn’t have friends. That he was so close to West was a miracle in and of itself. I had just thought after knowing me for so long, I might have been added to his extremely short list, if one name could be considered a list.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to say,” he admitted sheepishly. “Your brother is really our main connection, and your parents, I guess.” He spun his drink on the counter, seeming to get lost in the movement. “I know you think of me like a sibling, but I’ve already told you I don’t view you like that. So again, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you told me that last night,” I said, remembering for the millionth time how he’d looked when he had said it. But now sitting here next to him, I worried I had seen something that had never really been there at all, just my own wishful thinking.

Silence stretched between us, the tangible tension from our conversation late last night back.

Did I dare ask him the question now on my mind? He’d told me twice now that he didn’t see me as a sister, and I guess not as a friend either, so what was I to him?

Nerves seemed to crackle under my skin at the thought of asking him.

His focus wasn’t on me but still on his drink in front of him, giving me the strength to say the words.

Looking up at him through my lashes, I asked, “How do you view me?”

His whole body stilled at my question, his fingers halting his drink he’d been so focused on spinning.

Slowly he turned to look at me, and the way his blue eyes seemed to darken as they roamed my face had my breath catching in my throat. His lips parted to answer but abruptly closed, as if he had thought better of what he was about to say.

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