Page 88 of The Surrender
“I wondered what the low rumble was. I thought the ice machine was about to blow up.”
I smile around the rim of my glass. “He’s very aware of his passive-aggressive possessiveness,” I muse.
“And what about you?”
“Oh, so you heard about my run-in with Katherine?”
“May have.”
Brilliant. I peek over my shoulder, checking the bar entrance. “How much do you know?” I ask, testing the water.
The look on his face alone tells me Clinton knows a lot.
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I ask.
“Totally.” He spots someone at the end of the bar. “Just be careful, okay? The last woman Jude was seeing disappeared.”
I recoil, not knowing what part of that statement to process first. “Disappeared?” He was seeing someone?
“She was a rep for one of the beverage companies that supplies Arlington Hall. Jude was seeing her.” He falters. “Sleeping with her. Whatever, I’ve already said too much. I’m just saying, Jude called it offand suddenly we had a new rep. I like you. I don’t want Katherine and her misplaced sense of ownership to chase you out of town.” Clinton places his finger over his lips as he leaves me.
Well, damn.Ownership? She’s deluded. And why didn’t I ever wonder about any other women? Maybe because Katherine filled up that space for wondering.And, damn you, Clinton, I’m grateful for the heads-up, but I can’t do much with that information since I’m not supposed to have it.
“Huh,” I murmur to myself, looking out the window onto the front, where I see Jude waving to someone. I get up and wander over, looking out. Katherine’s husband, Rob, climbs out of a sports car and approaches Jude, and despite not being able to hear what’s being said, the body language speaks volumes. Jude’s arms come out, in the kind of way that suggests he’s asking,What the fuck is this?Rob looks at my car. Then looks up to the heavens.
“Oh my God,” I say quietly to myself. Rob obviously thinks it’s his wife too. My teeth clench. So she thinks she’s going to chasemeout of town?Never,I vow to myself. She’ll have to drag my dead body away.
Now who’s passive-aggressive possessive?
I huff to myself, making my way back to the bar and slipping onto the stool, finishing my drink.
“Another?” Clinton asks.
“Yep.” I slap the bar. “Keep ’em coming.”
“You got it.”
“And pass me some of those olives too.”
Clinton sets a bowl down on a smile and gets to work on my second drink as I pluck an olive out and nibble around the stone. “Pitted or not?” I ask.
“Not,” he calls.
“Me too. They’re firmer when they still have the stone inside. Kind of creamier.” I study the flesh of the green olive. “Black or green?”
“Green.”
“Me too.” I sigh and drop the stone onto the side plate. “I bet you didn’t expect such a riveting bar conversation today, huh?”
Clinton laughs. “I’m a barman. It’s in the job description to help take people’s mind off things.”
I laugh, not in amusement, and help myself to another olive. I’m on my fifth when Jude appears beside me, nodding at my empty as Clinton replaces it with a fresh new drink. “That kind of day?”
I look at him with exasperation. “Had better. What did Rob say?” I ask, making him tilt his head in question. “I saw you out there talking.” It’s not like he was hiding, and there’s a direct view onto the front from here.
Jude glances back over his shoulder, as if reminding himself of that. “I wouldn’t put it past her. But I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“I’m not,” I say with grit, surprising Jude.
