Page 39 of Legally Mine

The waiter skittered away like a scared mouse.

I turned to Brandon. "That was kind of mean. Poor guy is just doing his job. It's not really fair of you to pull out the scary billionaire voice."

"I don't really feel like a nice guy tonight," Brandon replied evenly. "So."

"So."

"You have anything to say?"

I frowned. "About what? You demanded this stupid dinner."

Brandon exhaled strongly through his nose. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Skylar, I swear to God––" he started just as the waiter reappeared with both of our drinks.

Saved by alcohol, Brandon grabbed his glass and put down half of it in one gulp. Without asking, he reached over and took a sip of my wine.

"Hey!" I protested, but was once again ignored.

"What is this swill?" Brandon asked, wrinkling his nose. He turned to the waiter and gave him back my glass. "Bring her a glass of the eight-two Margaux."

"Sir, we don't typically serve that wine by the glass––"

"A bottle, then," Brandon cut in. "And another scotch for me."

I just watched the waiter leave with the glass of wine that, in my opinion, hadn't been bad. Brandon didn't even have the decency to look halfway contrite.

"Railroading," I said pointedly.

"Whatever," Brandon replied. "It's on me."

I didn't know if he meant the wine or the mess we were in.

"That's a very nice bourbon to be shooting like cheap tequila," I observed after watching him put down another gulp.

"I can afford it," Brandon retorted, and tipped back the rest. "And God knows I'm going to need it for this conversation. So, now that we've established your unwillingness to accept anything from me at all, you want to tell me what the hell the other night was about? And don't say no. You contacted me, Red."

I opened and closed my mouth several times before sighing audibly. I wasn't going to get out of talking about this. But there were things that had happened in the last several weeks I also didn't want Brandon to know, and I was absolutely terrible at hiding things, especially from someone who could read me as well as he could.

Brandon sighed again. His expression slowly turned from irritable to sympathetic and resigned. "All right. Why don't we just start with this: what were you doing at that club?"

"The same thing everyone was doing there. Getting drunk. Hooking up. You know."

The look on his face told me that he did know, and that he wasn't pleased to hear it.

"Is that what you came here to do?" he asked. "Brag about your random hookups? You ice me out months ago, and the first time I hear from you is at two a.m. when you're shitfaced at a nightclub, puking on the side of the road. Come on, Skylar, that's not you!"

"Maybe it is," I said petulantly. "If that's what it takes, then..."

"What it takes to do what?" Brandon demanded. "To do what, Skylar?"

"To forget you!" I exploded.

My hands landed on the table with a thump hard enough to make the silverware shake. I sucked in a long breath. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't. Where was my wine?

"Yeah. Well. I'm familiar with the feeling," Brandon said sadly. "Did it work?"