Page 84 of Sweet as Sin (Bad Habit 1)
We were almost nose to nose at this point. I thought people might be beginning to stare. My temper flared; what an asshole!
“Actually we were talking about Chloe. And she was right about you.”
He blinked. Hostility drained away from him as fast as it had come. “She mentioned me? What did she say?”
I waited a fraction of a second, in order to give my words a little more punch. “She said you were a total jerk. Which I’m thinking is the understatement of the decade!”
Heart pounding, I spun on my heel and headed for the kitchen. I’d had enough socializing for one day. It was margarita time.
And lo and behold, who did I find sitting on the marble island in the middle of the cavernous kitchen but Michael, nursing a Scotch and staring glumly at the floor. When I came in, he looked up with a start.
“Oh. Sorry.” I didn’t know why I was apologizing, but I thought I’d probably be the last person on earth he wanted to see at that moment. Turns out I was wrong.
“Kat. I was just thinking about you. Come in.” He set his Scotch on the countertop and slid off the island to stand facing me. He motioned to the army of alcohol bottles lined up on the kitchen counter near the sink, courtesy of the caterer. “Need a drink?”
“Yes, please.” I was grateful. Maybe Michael wasn’t as bad as I’d first thought. Anyone who offered me a drink couldn’t be all bad. I walked closer, inspecting the bottles. “You think there’s any Patrón in here?”
“I’d guess yes. Nico isn’t a skimper when it comes to the good stuff.” His gaze flickered over me. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Or anything else, for that matter.”
I didn’t know precisely what that meant, but it made me uncomfortable. Between Ethan Grossman, the cryptic exchange with A.J., and now this, I was getting a headache.
Michael fished a glass from one of the cupboards, and poured me a shot of Patrón, no mixer or ice. He handed it to me, and hoisted his glass of Scotch and somberly made a toast, all the while staring me in the eye as if down the sights of a gun. “Here’s to new friends.”
I raised my glass. “And new beginnings.”
When I’d downed the shot, Michael was still looking at me with the same strange intensity. He hadn’t taken a swig of his drink.
“Indeed. Nico tells me you’re engaged. Congratulations.”
Oh, Nico. Dammit! My face flushed with heat. “We weren’t going to tell anyone. Under the circumstances, I thought it would be better to wait.”
“You mean, seeing as how everyone thinks Amy—excuse me, Avery—was Nico’s girlfriend.”
My mouth went dry. Nico had told Michael I knew Avery was his sister. When? Why hadn’t he told me? Was this bad, or good?
It felt bad.
“And since we’re on the topic,” Michael said, his voice getting rough, “has he told you what he was supposed to be doing that day she left rehab? Or why she came here, looking for him?”
Carefully, I set my empty glass on the counter. I stayed silent, bracing myself for what was sure to be something I didn’t want to hear.
Michael said venomously, “Nico was supposed to have gone to visit Avery that day. It was her birthday, you see. But instead,” his voice dropped an octave. “Instead he was with you.”
I sensed the rage rising inside him. Heart pounding, I took a step back. “Michael.”
“Rescuing you from the paparazzi, was it?” He sneered, shook his head, and produced a soft, ugly laugh. “Unbelievable. You do realize, Kat . . . ”
He took a menacing step toward me. “That you killed my fucking sister.”
All the blood drained from my face. “That isn’t fair, and you know it. I’m going to assume you’re just upset—”
“You’re goddamn right I’m upset.” His voice was hoarse. His eyes were wild. “I’m beyond upset. I’m fucking furious.”
He was, I could see that. I also saw how much pain he was in. The anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. It appeared he might at any second start to cry.
Remembering what Nico had said about Michael blaming himself for introducing Amy to Juan Carlos, I kept my voice gentle. Though I was angry at what he’d just accused me of, I also understood that he’d just lost his sister. He was hurting. He was lashing out, and I was a convenient target.
As gently as possible, I said, “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m so sorry she’s gone. I’m sure she loved you very much.”
