Page 37 of Due Diligence

During my brief stint at college, I was a master chugger. Like Kobe Bryant, unmatched, prodigiously talented at it. Once the shit hit the fan and the infamousVanity Fairarticle came out, our PR firm told me I was never, ever allowed to chug anything ever again. Until today, I had upheld that promise—but it was clear I hadn’t fallen out of practice.

Still got it, Fitz.

“I’m stunned,” she admitted, both eyebrows raised. She took a bar napkin and dabbed at her lips, careful not to smear her dark red lipstick. “Is there any chance you cheated?”

“Nope. You ready for my apology?”

“This better be good.” She did this thing where she straightened her back and pretended to brush her hair off both of her shoulders. Even I had to admit, there was a self-deprecating charm to it—like she knew how much it annoyed me to see her looking so prim and perfect all the time.

“Cassie, I’m sorry,” I said, locking all the sincerity I could muster on my face.

Those doe eyes fixed on me. After several seconds of silence, her expression slowly shifted to a frown. “Wait, was that it?”

“Yep,” I responded, somehow keeping a straight face as she glared at me.

“Oh, fuck you, Marcus. That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore and I grinned, smiling as I watched her roll her eyes. The warmth of the beer settled in my stomach. I was four drinks deep, sort of stoned, and definitely in my happy place.

“Were you messing with me?” she probed, her voice rising.

“Maybe.”

In response, she reached out and pinched my shoulder over the sleeve of my shirt.

“Hey,” I warned, rubbing the spot with my palm. “Watch it. Let’s not get violent. We still work together.”

“You’re an asshole,” she declared.

“So I’ve heard,” I said, letting my grin taper out. I scooted forward in my seat and shifted closer to her. “Cassie, I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair to you and I’ve been immature. I’ve been letting shit that happened a long time ago cloud the way I think about you now. That’s wrong of me.”

Next to me, Cassie’s shoulders relaxed, tension slowly slipping away. She let her attention drift down to my mouth before she returned her focus to my eyes.

“You’re right,” I continued, leaning even closer to her so she could hear me over the throbbing music. “I don’t know anything about you. And you don’t have to tell me shit about yourself if you don’t want to, but from now on, I promise I’m going to be better to you. You have my word.”

She lifted both eyebrows in unison before she relaxed her expression. “You mean it?” she asked, serious this time. “No more games?”

“No more games, no more making fun of the data room—even if I think it’s, like, the dumbest fucking thing in the world.”

“Oh, you’re not wrong.” She shook her head. “I cringe every time I have to say that to someone.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she assured me—as if I should have realized that already. “It’s simultaneously the most confusing and yet most obvious name in the world. Right?”

“I completely agree,” I said, snickering. “Hey. Did we just agree on something?”

“I think we did.” Cassie smiled—and for once it seemed real. Genuine. She scooted closer to me, almost imperceptibly so. That small movement made my stomach flip over. Holy shit…was it remotely possible she was into me?

“I’m glad that happened,” I said, before I could fall into a silent stupor at the thought of this goddess of a woman having any interest in me.

“And not a moment too soon, because I kind of want to strangle you with my bare hands.”

“With those waify things?” I said, nodding at one of her delicate, manicured hands. “Please. You couldn’t even if you tried.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’d rather be in hell then spend another minute in the fishbowl with you.”

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