Page 32 of We Can't Be Friends

I hate work happy hours.

Three hours of ass kissing that I don’t want to do, but unfortunately have to do.

Taking a fourth deep inhale, I release the air from my lungs and open the door to an upscale dive bar.

There isn’t the smell of smoke clinging to your clothes when you leave, but drinks are cheap. I can’t think of another bar in downtown that serves up three-dollar beers and cocktails for less than ten.

It’s also two blocks from work.

Most of the office comes here on Fridays after work. I’ve been a handful of times, disliking almost every minute of it. The amount of people I genuinely like in the office is less than the handful of times I’ve been here.

Paul, a Regional Sales Manager.

Tilly, a Copywriter.

And my direct boss, Ryan.

Our company has taken over an entire corner of the bar. My saving graces are tucked into a small booth, playing Egyptian Ratscrew. I order a glass of red wine from the bar

“No tequila?” Tilly asks as I slide in beside her, dropping my bag on the leather between us.

“Do I need tequila?”

“Tamara is here. And,”—Tilly clicks her lips—“Michael came.”

“Seriously?”

Ryan nods, dealing me into the next round. “They showed up together. She’s been boasting to anyone who’ll listen about getting to work with Vienna Hart, that TikToker with over ten million followers.”

“Did Michael bypass you?” Ryan may have blurred the boundaries of boss and friend with me, but he’s still great at his job and deserves respect.

“Rumor is someone recommended her directly to him. I have a meeting with him tomorrow.”

“Tell me once you know more?” He nods, and all of our eyes dart to her at the bar, loudly clinking shots with someone from IT. “I cannot stand her.” Hate is a strong word, but I’m slowly crossing into that territory when it comes to her. “Sorry, Ryan, I know we are on a team, and I’d never let that get in the way.”

“I know, Chloe.”

They order another round of drinks, ending our game to be good colleagues and mingle with others.

My stomach growls right as they set out apps. I’m stuffing my face with carrot sticks when I spot a familiar blondie.

Callum Sullivan is at a high-top table, sipping a beer. He’s nodding, and even from where I’m standing, I can tell he’s trying his best to pay attention to whoever is across from him.

I can’t see the woman. She has waist-length light brown hair. Pin straight and pulled back with a headband decorated in rhinestones.

A waiter comes by, exchanging his drinks. He switched to something harder—a dark amber liquid, maybe an old fashion.

I’m not sure why I keep watching, but I do. Cal doesn’t notice me, nor does he say a word. Damn, he’s handsome. Slightly relaxed, casual, not in a suit. The hunter green shirt with a few too many buttons undone is doing wonders. He’s all earth tones, the blue of his eyes reminding me of the irresistible water in the Caribbean.

Cal runs a hand through his hair along the back of his head and cups his neck.

My feet are carrying me in his direction before I have a second to think.

“Sullivan.” I pretend to be surprised that he’s here. Cal locks in on me, his mouth fighting a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m with someone,” he chokes out.

“Seriously? That’s rude. I thought we were together.” I turn, finally getting a good look at his date. She’s pretty. Light brown skin, caramel eyes, and rocking a monochromatic linen set. “Did he tell you about me?”

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