Page 81 of Tattletale

I stareat the new bartender at Martinis, trying to work a puzzle out in my mind. She must take my gawking as a sign I need a drink. She makes her way to the end of the bar, where I’m perched on a stool.

“Hey there. Can I get you something?” she asks, tucking her long, wavy dark hair behind her ears.

“Where’s Ollie tonight?” I ask.

“Ollie’s been having an unfortunate second wave of morning sickness lately. She broke down and hired backup.” She holds her hand out, her fingers perfectly decorated with dark purple polish. “I’m Sydney. I take it you’re a regular?”

I nod as I shake her hand. “Sydney, I’ve had a really long night, so it might be my mind playing tricks on me, but didn’t I see you outside the bar in a car earlier…with red hair…and an entirely different outfit?”

She glances down at her blouse and laughs. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she shows me her screensaver. I see double—two women with identical features have their cheeks pressed together as they smile at the camera for a selfie. Each ofthem is cradling a cat. “My twin, Genevieve. She’s my ride. She’s outside waiting for me to finish my shift.”

“Ah, that would explain it.” I reach for my phone in my pocket, but I remember I turned it off. Vienne told me it was fine for me to leave President Baker’s birthday party early. I didn’t want to have my phone on in case she changed her mind and called me back. I couldn’t take one more second of Cricket’s shameless flirting with the pain-in-the-ass, handsome billionaire. “What time is it?” I ask.

“I was just about to do last call. What can I get you?”

I look around the lounge. There was another occupied table about ten minutes ago. The couple must’ve slipped out in the last few minutes of me brooding at the bar. “Don’t let me keep you,” I say. “It’s probably late.”

“No, it’s fine. We’re just slow. Ollie said we could shut down early.” She pulls her phone back out and sends a message. “There. I just told Genevieve to pick up some dinner. So, we have time. What can I get you?”

“Dealer’s choice,” I say.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, make me your favorite. I’ll buy you a drink, too.”

Sydney smiles and pulls a blender out from underneath the bar. “Is a frozen margarita too girly for you?”

I give her a pointed stare. I will never, ever admit out loud that I happen to love a frozen margarita with an extra squeeze of lime and a little umbrella. “I’ll make it work,” I mutter.

Sydney sets her phone down on the bar and then starts collecting supplies. Her screen lights up when Genevieve texts her back, and I see the image of her cats again.

“How many do you have?” I ask.

“Huh?” she asks.

I tap my finger by her phone. “Cats,” I clarify.

“Oh. Three, total. Raven, Phantom, and Pansy.”

I nod. “Cats are pretty self-sufficient, right?”

Sydney sighs. “Well, they were a nightmare in the car when we drove from Long Beach. Genevieve and I just moved here from California a few weeks ago,” she clarifies. “But other than road trips, they’re great. Definitely independent. I have to keep a stockpile of catnip to coax them from their hiding places.”

“I’m debating getting one. I travel a lot for work, but I feel like a cat could survive on its own for a few days. It’d be nice to return home to some company.”

“Do you know what breed you’re interested in?” Sydney asks distractedly as she pours shots of tequila over the ice cubes she’s placed in the blender.

“Not really. Something smart and sturdy. A playful breed that’ll go on runs with me, but also likes to lounge around from time to time. I just want something loyal. A cat that will wait by the door for me to get home with their tail wagging. What breed would you recommend?”

Sydney stops filling the blender with ingredients. She stares at me, her brows pinching together like she’s concerned for my sanity. “For all that?A dog.”

I laugh. “Fair point.”

“You know, in my experience as a bartender, when there’s a lonely guy at closing looking all mopey, talking about pets that’ll cuddle with him, it’s usually girl problems. You want to talk about it?”

“No.” I run my hand over my face as I sigh. “Maybe.”

“Bad breakup?” she asks.

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