Page 34 of Damaged Mogul
“I’d prefer something stronger than fizzy water and coffee.”
“You’ve had enough for the evening.”
Patronizing much?
I glare at him. “I’m not getting behind the wheel of a car.”
“Perhaps, but there’s nothing pleasant about a brooding, disruptive patron who barks at my staff. It’s bad for business.”
Larkin can never be accused of sugarcoating.
“I need this.” I point a finger at the empty tumbler.
I sound like a petulant child—like a brooding, disruptive patron.
I blame you, Lily Schuyler.
To mock me, the bartender chooses that moment to return with our sparkling waters and my coffee.
Larkin nods his appreciation.
I shoot daggers at Miguel.
I bet you’re the whistleblower.
Larkin lifts his glass.
I shake my head.
“I’m not your parent, so I can’t force you to drink up,” he says. “If you thought Monday was a bitch, try Tuesday with a mighty hangover.”
He has a point.
I drain the sparkling water. Without asking, he pours me another glass.
Fucker.
I drink up.
He points to the espresso.
I purse my lips.
He arches a brow.
Fine, Dad.
I dip my lips in the hot liquid.
“You can do better than that,” he says.
I roll my eyes.
Since I’m in no mood to prolong this stupid game, I sweeten the coffee.
Under his watchful gaze, I take a long sip.
“I get it,” Larkin says, “this must’ve been a long, excruciating day. After all, the media frenzy surrounding your show host is keeping rag trade publications and websites in business. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, drinking won’t make the problem go away.”
