Page 21 of Sweet Redemption

It may not be my best decision, but as someone who’s done nothing but make smart decisions her whole life—well, mostly smart decisions—I think getting stupid drunk and forgetting everything sounds like a great plan.

Forgetting Hendrix.

My job.

My dad.

My lack of direction . . .

Basically my whole fucked up life.

She pushes my hair away from my face and smiles. “Whatever you say.”

Wow. I must really look bad for her to soften.

“What time is your meeting?” I glance at my phone again, then flip it face down on the table and shove it away. I know I should just look. Rip the damn Band-Aid off and get it over with. Hell, I’m probably building this up to be so much worse than it actually is. But I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I eye the champagne, again contemplating just going straight for the bottle instead of the glass. “Better question. What time will you be back? No one knows us here, and I definitely need to get drunk tonight.”

She grabs the half-empty bottle of Cristal and holds it out of reach, like she can read my mind. “In what world do you think they don’t know you here?”

“In a world where we’re half a country away from Kroydon Hills and all its residents. Now give me my champagne, go to your stupid partners’ meeting, and get back here so I can get drunk without having to defend myself to anyone tomorrow.” God, I hate when she’s right.

“You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow,” she warns, checking that she has everything she needs in her bag.

I’m so proud of her. She’s worked her ass off for partner, and nobody in this world deserves it more than Liv. “Yeah, well . . . you’re going to wake up a partner in your firm tomorrow. So we can act like we’re both celebrating tonight.”

Damn it. My voice cracks on the last few words.

Olivia St. James has everything in the world going for her.

She’s strong and smart and beautiful and the biggest badass of a businesswoman I’ve ever known. Well, besides her mother. She deserves this, and I can’t wait to celebrate her success with her tonight.

“Serena . . . Maybe just talk to⁠—”

Oh fuck no. “We are not speaking his name.”

My blood thrums in my ears.

I’m not doing this.

Not now.

Not again.

“How old are we?” she groans and throws her hands up in defense when I grind my teeth. “Forget I asked. I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to stay sober enough to leave the room when I get back, okay?”

Lifting a shoulder, I force the black silk strap of my dress back in place and smile. “Whatever you say, Liv.”

There’s not a chance in hell I’m staying sober tonight.

Oh. My. God.

Why can I feel my heartbeat behind my eyes?

And why is it thrumming in time with a phone ringing?

Not ringing. More like screeching.

Oh God. Pretty sure that’s not my ring tone.