Page 74 of Strictly the Worst

“So they can run a security check, I bet,” Zoe says. “I can’t believe I’m going to meet them. Do you think they’ll let us take pictures?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s part of the meet and greet,” I tell her. I’m so happy she’s happy, I really am. But I haven’t stopped feeling sick since Linc walked out of the office. And it had nothing to do with all the germs I had to clean up.

And everything to do with the fact that I feel like a bitch.

“Can I go and tell my friends about these?” Zoe asks, picking up the tickets again.

“Of course. Who are you inviting?” I ask, only mildly interested because I’ll be the one responsible for them.

“I don’t know yet,” she admits. “I’m going to let them audition for them. If they want to come meet the band they’ll have to impress me first.”

“Zoe,” I say, a warning tone in my voice. “That’s not a nice way to treat your friends.”

“I’m joking.” She rolls her eyes as she stands up and blows me a kiss. “I’d never treat my friends like that.”

No, she wouldn’t. But I did. I think I’m getting a headache.

LINC

“Why are we getting drunk again?” Brooks asks me as the server comes over and pours another glass of G. Scott Carter’s finest whiskey into our glasses. I motion at her to leave the bottle.

Because I want to sink myself into oblivion tonight. I’ve spent another week in Europe – London and Rome this time, sorting things out for Roman. Staring at my phone and wanting to call her. I saw her today for the first time since our argument in her office. She was in a meeting and I could see her through the glass windows of the boardroom.

She didn’t see me.

“Because it’s been a long day,” I sigh. “And I don’t want to go home alone.”

“As flattered as I am,” Brooks says, lifting his glass. “You’ll still be going home alone. Or at least not with me.” He looks around the club. Even though it’s early in the evening, it’s full of Manhattan’s finest. Rich men, beautiful women.

And us.

There’s a blonde in the corner who keeps looking over at me. Our gazes catch as I down my glass of whiskey, letting the liquid burn my throat.

I pull my eyes away. I’m not fucking interested.

And isn’t that one for the books?

“So Vegas went well,” Brooks says, as I pour myself another glass.

“Uh uh.”

“Apart from the escorts.” He grins.

I finish up my glass of whiskey and put it on the table, saying nothing.

“Well this is scintillating conversation,” Brooks mutters, crossing his legs. “Why don’t you go hit up that killer blonde? She can’t take her eyes off you. Then I can go home and get some sleep.”

“You’re supposed to be cheering me up,” I tell him.

“How? You won’t tell me what’s wrong even though you’ve had a face like thunder ever since we walked in. You won’t talk to anybody else. And that,” he says, pointing at the bottle. “Is gonna cost you five hundred dollars when you could have drunk one of your bottles at home for free.”

The music changes and I wince. The fucking Linebackers. This song is everywhere right now and I hate it with a passion. The blonde is swaying to the sound of the lead singer – Ryker – telling the girl that he’ll never settle down.

Wise fucking man.

“I got tickets to see this band later in the week,” I tell him. My voice is slurring. Shit, I’m more drunk than I thought. I swallow another mouthful anyway.

“The Linebackers?” Brooks asks. “Oh yeah, you did something with their music, didn’t you?”

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