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I slice through the crowd, headed toward the rear alley exit. The bottle feels heavy in my hand, but my heart feels even heavier. Maybe drowning one with the other will balance things.
Or maybe it’ll knock me out cold.
Either is fine.
The bartender shouts again, and I turn around to explain to him that it’s the worst day of my life and he needs to get off my case.
But as I turn, I run into something solid.
Correction: I run into someone.
And my absinthe splashes up the neck of the bottle and onto the front of his very fine, very expensive shirt.
“Oh my God.” I damn near drop the bottle in shock. Instead, I set it down on a nearby table, grab a few napkins, and backpedal into my best form of groveling. “I am so sorry! Are you okay?”
The man gazes down at me with an unreadable storm roiling across his face. “Better than you, it seems.”
I stop and look up at him. Is he… is he mocking me?
His full mouth is curved up in what looks like a suppressed smirk. His dark, curly hair hangs in front of his eyes, but even through that, I can see brilliant green eyes sparkling with mirth. The only thing I can find remotely funny around here is… well, me.
“I’m—”
“NeNe! There you are!”
I stiffen. He notices. The mirth leaves his eyes in an instant, replaced by an icy mask. He buttons his suit jacket around the splash stains on his waist, giving my worst enemies a polite nod.
When he looks at me again, I do something completely out of character.
I mouth the words, “Help me.”
He looks at me.
Glances over my shoulder at the oncoming nightmare. In the blink of an eye, I can see him process everything.
And then he does something completely, utterly unexpected, unscripted. Unbelievable, really.
He scoops my face into his hand and kisses me like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
2
PASHA
I almost walked away.
Maybe I should have.
I’m no knight in shining armor and I’m definitely not the man people turn to for help with their petty personal problems.
Even when this beautiful, distressed-looking creature barreled into me and spilled her self-medication all down the front of my shirt, I told myself, Do not get involved.
Bad things happen when men like me get involved with damsels like her.
But I couldn’t help myself.
It’s something in the way that that insufferable mudak… Conrad Ewing, the artist… the way he looked at her, then at me. I saw an instant flash of jealousy and possession overcome him. He looked at her like he owned her. Looked at me like he thought he could intimidate me away.
That sealed the deal.
