Page 21 of Anti-Hero

My eyes dart to her drink. “Gin and tonic?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” She pairs the sound effects with a series of ridiculous hand gestures, and I can’t help but grin in response.

“What are the stressful circumstances?” I wonder.

She shrugs a shoulder. “I just moved here. I’m searching for a job, a reasonably priced coffee shop, and a guy who doesn’t consider talking about the stock market scintillating conversation.”

I’m still grinning when Scott delivers my drink and asks if I’d like anything else. I shake my head and thank him, swallowing a long sip of the smoky, fizzy drink.

“I’m Cleo, by the way,” the woman tells me.

“Christopher,” I reply automatically.

Which is strange because I usually introduce myself to women as Kit.

“What are your thoughts on the stock market, Christopher?” Cleo asks cheekily.

“Good reminder. I haven’t checked my returns in at least twenty minutes.” I pull my phone out.

Cleo sighs heavily. “Damn, you’re funny. But you still haven’t looked lower than my shoulder. So, you’re either gay or taken, right?”

“Or I don’t want to strain my neck.”

She reaches for her gin and tonic. “Funnyandtall. For the sake of my ego, can we pretend you’re gay?”

I chuckle. “Sure.”

“It was nice to meet you, Christopher,” she says, grabbing her drink and spinning around.

“You too,” I call after her.

It’s not until Cleo’s walking away that it occurs to me that I never considered hooking up with her. That I introduced myself by my full name because I figured I’d never see her again.

She was pretty. Clearly interested. And the thought of having sex with her didn’t cross my mind when she introduced herself. I try to picture what Cleo looked like, and Collins scowling at me in a blue-gray dress is the image that I conjure instead. Followed by a rapid succession of memories of what she looked like with that dressoff. My formerly flaccid dick twitches.

That bodes fucking poorly for Monday.

Lili and her damn meddling. If she hadn’t interfered with my assistant search, I’d have been free to remind Collins what a night in my bed was like the next time we saw each other.

I scowl at the floor before swallowing more of my drink. When Collins accepted the job offer, she rejected any possibility of us hooking up again. Everyone in the building already thinks I only got to where I am because of my last name. A fling with my assistant would sustain the office gossip mill for months. Would disappoint my entire family. Would erase any respect I’ve earned.

I was worried we wouldn’t happen again.

The reality that we won’t leaves a bitter aftertaste I wash away with the remainder of my cocktail. I should have ordered scotch. I don’t drink tequila very often, and I’m not sure why I ordered it tonight. Maybe some subconscious attempt to erase any special association with the alcohol following last weekend.

I text Camden, my driver, letting him know I’m leaving. Then Flynn, reminding him to close out the tab before he heads home. My phone begins buzzing as soon as I slide it back into my pocket, probably with Flynn’s protests. This is the earliest I’ve left a club in … ever. And one of the rare times I’ve departed solo.

Maybe Iamgrowing up.

Several people recognize me and call out to me as I stride toward the exit, but my steps don’t slow. It’s loud enough in here that I can pretend I don’t hear them. I don’t feel like talking, and it turns out my dick is only interested in the one woman who’s completely off-limits.

Camden is waiting outside, as efficient as always. I ignore the commotion from the hopefuls in line to enter Proof and climb straight into the back seat, relaxing against the plush seat and covering a yawn.

“Where to, Mr. Kensington?” Camden asks.

“Home, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

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