Page 33 of Drunk on You

“After?” She quirks a brow.

“Yeah, after. So you can’t talk me out of it.”

“If you’re going to request my presence, it would help if I knew where you were.”

I glance behind me at the masculine voice and then take the shot, watching as the seven ball disappears into the pocket.

Ignoring Julian’s statement, I search the table for my next shot and then lean over and take it. The six ball goes in, and when I glance back again, Julian’s heated gaze is on my ass.

“I was looking for you, but when I checked in this room, I got distracted by the pool table.”

I scour the table for my next shot, and when I find it, I walk over and take it. The three ball goes in, and when I stand up and turn, ready to find my next shot, I’m met with Julian’s hard front pressing up against me. His hands land on either side of my body, caging me in, and his mouth is so close to mine that if I move forward an inch, our lips will meet.

“You play pool?” he asks.

“My freshman year of college, I dated a pool shark.”

He lifts me onto the edge of the table and takes the stick out of my hand, dropping it onto the felt.

He parts my thighs and stands between them.

This close, I can smell his spicy scent, and I hate the way it does shit to me.

“What’s up, Red? What did you need to talk about?”

I lick my lips, and his gaze homes in on my mouth for several seconds before he ascends to meet my eyes.

“You were right,” I say, cursing my traitorous body for the way it reacts to him. My voice is far too breathy, I can feel my nipples hardening under the material of the dress I put on for dinner, and if he were to touch the apex of my legs, he would find me wet.

Julian blinks several times and then says, “What?”

“I said, you were right.” I lift my chin, holding my head up high. “I’m not too proud to admit when someone else was right, and you were right. At Benson, I dealt with mostly older clients, and luncheons were the way to go. Knowing that my dad wants someone who’s more family oriented, I went with the safe route. But it wasn’t the right route.”

“Thanks,” he says with a nod. “I appreciate that.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a sexist asshole who went behind your fake fiancée’s back, but you were right.” I push at his chest, silently telling him to back up so I can walk away, but he doesn’t budge.

“You’re wrong,” he says. “The previous CMO and CTO were both women. Kimberly left when she was offered a better job that would allow her to climb the ladder quicker, and Nathalie had a baby.”

I glare at him, and he clarifies, “We held her position for months after she gave birth while she was on maternity leave, and then we had to find her replacement when she decided she wanted to stay home indefinitely. Both times, I did the hiring, and it just so happens that it was men who were the most qualified and would fit in best. But had either been a woman, I would’ve hired her in a heartbeat.”

“Whatever,” I mutter. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Speaking of which,” he says, “what do you like to eat?”

“What does that have to do with me being mad at you?”

“Nothing.” He laughs. “But I’m hoping that reminding you that you won, which means I’ll be cooking dinner for you for the next month, will make you a little less mad.”

Oh, right, the bet …

“I didn’t win.”

“Your dad picked your idea,” he argues.

“Only because I’m his daughter.” I roll my eyes. “You had the better idea.”

“Does that mean I get to take you away?”

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