Page 96 of Careless Whisper

“Reggie, this is childish. I’m right here.” She used the adult-to-child tone that would probably make anyone squirm, but I was made of sterner stuff. I was,after all,Faye Lancaster’s granddaughter.

I sipped my drink and nodded at the bartender. “This thing is the bomb”—I peered at his name tag—“Solo.”

The bartender looked at Maren and then me. Then, as if he’d assessed the situation, grinned. He leaned over, pressing his forearms against the counter. “It’s the saffron—makes all the difference.”

“Excuse me, we’re having a conversation,” Maren snapped at Solo, who gave her a look of insouciance.

“May I help you?” Solo enquired pleasantly.

“Yes, you can leave us alone.”

“Stop being such a bitch.” I swiveled around on the stool. “What is your damage? I don’t want to talk to you.Go away.”

She fixed me with a sharp, venomous stare. “I thought you’d like closure.”

“I’m all closed up, thank you.”

“Look, I made mistakes, alright.”

“Maren, if that’s an apology, it needs serious work,” I retorted.

Solo chuckled and when I gave him a nod, tellinghe was fine to leave me with the weird woman, he went to help another guest.

“And,” I continued. “You didn’t make mistakes, you made decisions. Don’t dress it up.”

Maren’s expression held, but her shoulders stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“Just a happy accident then?” I threw back sarcastically.

That landed. A flicker in her eyes—regret or realization, I couldn’t tell.

I realized then that the worst part of what happened wasn’t the write-ups, or the OR ban, or even Elias believing her over me; it was me wondering if maybe Maren was right, that I wasn’t good enough, that perhaps I’d never been.

Maren straightened, her voice crisp. “You got your job back. What more do you want?”

I smiled, cold and honest. “Nothing, Maren. I’m not seeking closure, that would be you. Maybe you’re looking for redemption or…I don’t know. But I can’t give you any of it. What you did is inexcusable—your arrogance hurt a patient, and then instead of taking responsibility, you blamed me for it.”

“I didn’t know you were a Lancaster,” she said tightly.

I propped myself against the counter, suddenly feeling dejected. Maren wasn’t here to give her or me closure or even apologize; she was here because of my family name.

“I’m Regina Sanchez, RN.”

Maren’s eyes widened suddenly. When I followed her line of sight, I saw Elias walk in—his expression somewhere between angry bull and vicious dog—as he strode toward us.

“Hey, baby.” I put a hand on his forearm.

“You okay?” he asked, his nostrils flaring.

“Course I’m okay.” I held up my drink. I didn’t want a scene. I also didn’t want Maren to ruin our evening. She wasn’t worth it.

“Elias.” Maren’s voice was husky like she was holding back tears.

“Maren,” he choked her name out, standing stiffly next to me, crowding me on my bar stool.

“Your father must be happy you’re both together.” She turned her glare at me, her eyes burning with fury. “Did you know that Elias’s father is all about making alliances, and he’d love one with your family.”

“You just lost your job and maybe could lose your license, and this is the shot you’re taking?” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Maren, sister, you need therapy, STAT.”

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