Page 7 of On the Rocks

The world around us suddenly came crashing back, and I spotted the gaggle of influencers watching us from the VIP booth. My heart clenched.Shit. They had their phones out, pointed in our direction, most likely filming the encounter. This was turning into a damn nightmare.

I rubbed the space between my brows. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’mmaking a scene? You’re the one who basically called me a prostitute.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re the one who threatened me with assault!”

“That’s because you’re the one who deserved it!” she shot back.

“You know what, fine!” There was no salvaging this. It went against the grain for me to back down—from anyone, ever—but sticking around was only going to make things worse. Especially when people were still watching. “I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

“Just figured that out, did you?” she sneered.

I scoffed. “You’re probably overhyped anyway.”

She glowered. “Excuse me?”

“Good luck winning this competition and proving yourself to be another one of those vapid, useless leeches who contribute nothing to society.”

Her jaw dropped.

“And you know what? Rescue Boat is a stupid name for a cocktail.” I turned, satisfied, and walked away, leaving her standing there gaping like a fish.

It was an hour later by the time the contest actually ended. I hadn’t touched the rest of my Old Fashioned, and the condensation melted over my fingers as I silently fumed at the end of the bar. The Masked Mixer had won, of course, wearing a huge smile as she posed with the judges. To my immense displeasure, the only time she’d touched an Elixir bottle in the third round was to grind down a cinnamon stick.

Message received.

Elio, Cassie, and Artie danced up beside me, hanging off each other, their cheeks glowing, pleasantly drunk. At least my money was good enough for some people. “Thanks for a good time, bossman,” Artie said.

“Glad you came out,” I offered. In the end, I’d paid for enough food and drinks to smooth things over with the influencers, keeping them entertained without making myself their target. We were parting on good terms as far as I could tell, but I was more than happy to say goodnight to them now. I wanted this whole evening to be over.

“See you next time,” Elio said, giving me a salute.

God, I hoped not.

They stumbled outside, and I waited until they’d piled into their various cabs and Ubers before I exited the bar. I was grateful to leave the noise behind and let the fresh air clear my head. What a night.

“Mr. Callihan?” my driver called, spotting me.

I waved him off. “I’m gonna walk for a bit, Ian. Pick me up in a few blocks.”

“Yes, sir.” He jumped back into the sleek black car, setting off in the direction I was walking.

I’d barely reached the end of the next block before my phone rang. It was Dominic. If he was calling at this time of night, it could only mean one of two things. From a marketing perspective, I’d either done really good or really bad.

Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I knew he wasn’t calling to congratulate me. Not after that fiasco.

“What’d you do to piss her off?” he asked as soon as I answered.

Fuck.“If you’re talking about the Masked Mixer, you should know she’s a damn nightmare of a person. Don’t tell me our fight’s online?”

“What doyouthink?” he shot back. “Bringing a bunch of influencers who are trigger-happy posters might have been a mistake on our end.”

I groaned. “How bad is it?”

“Could be worse,” he reassured me. “The audio is such crap that no one can tell what you two were saying, and you didn’t touch her, so I don’t think it’ll turn into any kind of scandal, but…” He sighed. “Yeah, not exactly the triumph we were looking for here.”

“We’ve got more events coming up,” I said. “Hopefully those’ll create better PR opportunities.”

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