Chapter 2
2
Cat
“ W hat are you doing here?” Theo’s brows tug together. “Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Am I being pranked?” Even in his confusion, he’s still handsome. His face is all angles and planes—strong jaw, high cheekbones, finely arched brows over light green eyes. I forgot about the eyes. Foolish of me. A brokenhearted pop star wrote a song about his eyes.
“I work here,” I say calmly. Great job, Cat. I’m keeping it together. My hands only shake slightly when I grab the vodka bottle next to me.
“ You work here?” The derision is heavy in his voice.
“Would you like to order?” Do not yell at paying customers. Don’t do it. You need this job. Sylvia will fire your ass so fast you won’t even have time to ask for your final check.
Theo’s dressed in all black. He looks just like he does in the tabloids—a bigger version of the boy I knew, right down to the broad set of his shoulders and his insufferable way of standing. Relaxed and elegant without even trying. His sandy hair is slightly too long to be professional. He’s annoyingly hot. As beautiful as he was when I realized boys were interesting at age fifteen and he was the guy I imagined kissing. Fucking Theo, with his perfect face and his perfect body. He’s on top of the world these days, and, of course, I’m meeting him again right as I’m about to be crushed like a bug.
“Why are you—” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Hey, babe, let’s order.” A manicured hand lands on his shoulder. I freeze. My stomach churns uncomfortably. Babe. Babe. I stare at the hand. Red nails in Essie shade Rock the Runway, professionally done. A delicate bracelet. I used to have the same one. It costs $1800 in gold, but hers is rose gold, which makes it more like $2000. The bracelet and the slim wrist that houses it connect to a stunning woman with box braids and a friendly smile.
“Yeah, babe . What do you want?” I cross my arms and give him a cool stare. At least I hope it’s cool. Theo makes me feel itchy and hot.
He runs a hand over his jaw. “Twelve cosmos,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, definitely twelve. You can bring them over when you’re done. We’ll be at that table.”
He strides away, loose and confident. I stare at his perfect hair, his perfect ass, those long legs and broad shoulders, and I want to scream.
“What just happened?” Blair asks from next to me.
“I think he’s on a date. As I suspected.”
We watch him sit down at the table with two square-jawed guys in suits, a blond woman, and his date.
“She’s pretty.” Blair’s voice is unamused.
“I know,” I say. “They’re always pretty. It’s fine.” His date leans close to him, whispers in his ear. Her hand rests on his shoulder.
I watch the blond woman laugh at something Theo says. The guys are grinning too. Theo’s face is creased with a real smile. This is the Theo everyone else sees, and suddenly, he’s unbearably magnetic. Women are sneaking glances from across the bar, and I can’t blame them. He’s a walking wet dream. Six feet and three inches of bedroom eyes, tousled hair, and an easy smile for everyone but me.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Blair says .
“I don’t know how to make a cosmo,” I respond. “He ordered twelve.”
“Prick,” she mutters, before shouting at Daryl to pour beers while she helps me. “Two ounces of vodka, then equal parts Cointreau, cranberry, and lime. Use the Tito’s. You don’t need anything fancier. Certainly not for him.”
My hands move awkwardly through the movements. Luckily, the lime juice is already squeezed, and we have enough cranberry juice.
Blair tastes my attempt and scrunches her nose. “Toss it. Too much lime. Easier to start over than salvage this one.” She passes me another shaker. We work in tandem. Blair makes eight drinks in the time it takes me to make four. I carefully balance them on a cocktail tray and mince across the bar, dodging groups of drunk hockey fans.
“Your drinks,” I say to Theo and his group. The tray teeters as I start placing drinks on the table.
Theo’s eyes flick to the neckline of my tank top, and his face hardens. “We didn’t order twelve.”
“Yes, you did. I heard you clearly.” I circle to place drinks next to each of his companions. The tray wobbles when one of the guys jostles me with his elbow. Theo’s date is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him. She has no idea who I am.
And why would she? Theo and I haven’t spoken in nearly a decade.
“Why would we order twelve drinks for five people?” Theo chuckles, like I’m an idiot, and my hands shake. I swallow down the rage.
“Well, I made twelve,” I say with admirable calm. “They’re on the house if you want them.” His light green eyes bore into mine, laughing at me. His companions are grinning at each other. The gulf between us is a mere table length and also miles wide. They’re so damnably comfortable with their place in the world. Was I like this? Was I cruel? Is this how Theo felt when he saw me with my friends? My face heats as I wait for his answer.
“What do you think, babe?” he asks his date. “Do you want two?”
She sips delicately. “Sure.” She shrugs. Free drinks mean nothing to her. The liquor in these costs sixteen dollars. Theo makes sixteen dollars just by breathing.
Sixteen dollars is one tenth of one session of a class this semester.
I place the drinks down and stalk back to the bar. Theo’s eyes are burning into me. I can’t let him see me break down. This is a game. It’s all a game to him. I swipe at the bar in short, angry strokes, cleaning the cranberry juice and Cointreau I spilled during my haste to make his drinks.
Come on, Cat. You knew he hated you. Even before that awful night, I’d known he didn’t like me. Not really. He tolerated me. There was always tension between us, a natural consequence of his mom working for my parents. When I was the only person around to play with at thirteen, I was an acceptable companion, but as soon as he went to college, things grew strained. Until that kiss, and that night.
Don’t think about that night.
This isn’t how I imagined seeing Theo again, and I’ve pictured meeting him again a thousand times. In my head, I look better than ever, and I’m on top of the world. He sees me again, and he’s stunned and longing. I walk away before he can talk to me, and I don’t look back. In reality, I’m on the brink of ruin, and he couldn’t care less about me.
I suck in air and avoid looking at him for the next hour, until I hear, “Catherine,” in his low, laughing voice.
My head jerks up. His jacket is off and his shirt is unbuttoned. The tattoo I’ve seen in the tabloids drifts like smoke up his collarbone. His eyes are a little hazy from the alcohol.
“Where are your friends?” I ask.
“I sent them home.” He leans on the bar, and I stiffen.
“Your date won’t be happy about that.” I grab an already clean glass and start washing it. I need something to do with my hands.
“Not a date,” he responds.
“Sure looked like one.”
“Jealous?”
My eyes flick to his smirking face, then down his neck, bronzed and bared, to the triangle of bare skin at his collar. I let my face twist into a mocking smile when my eyes meet his.
“Not likely,” I respond.
His smile grows. “You sure about that? Because you looked jealous. Looked like you might punch Rose.”
Rose. A perfect, pretty name for a lovely woman. I refuse to dislike her. She has great taste in nail polish, and she’s probably being used by Theo.
“What do you want? I have work to do.” I practically growl the words.
His gaze sharpens. “What are you doing here, Catherine?” The way he says my name is a low, sensual purr. I hate it.
“I work here.” I grab another glass and avoid his scrutiny. Maybe he’ll leave if I pretend he’s not here.
He seats himself at the bar. “For money?”
“Yes, for money,” I snap. I press my hands on the wooden bar top and glare at him. Maybe I can intimidate him into leaving me alone. He doesn’t look intimidated, though, as he adjusts his jacket and props an elbow on the bar. He looks like he’s settling in for a long chat.
“But you don’t need money.”
“Yes. I do.”
His eyes narrow. “Is this one of your rebellions again?”
Of course he would ask that. Theo remembers me as the kid I was at eleven, following him around and skinning my knees every time he coaxed me into doing something reckless.
My rebellions were always quiet, made to ensure my parents’ feathers weren’t too ruffled. Just enough to get a little taste of freedom, but never so much that the inevitable tongue-lashing and punishments would actually hurt. As I got older, I learned to hide them better. A haircut my stepmother certainly wouldn’t approve of. Boyfriends they didn’t like. A college major in English literature that they never understood, but not something they could claim was actively harmful. Sneaking out late at night. Claiming I was sick when they needed me at a party with their awful friends .
Until they tightened the screws last year. I dig my fingers into the wood of the bar. Whatever.
“Sure. A rebellion.” I’m not going to try and convince him. Theo isn’t loyal. He’s irreverent, fun, a partier, a playboy. He’s the guy you call if you need a seventy-five-foot boat on two hours’ notice, not the one you call when your parents make you drop out of college so they can make sure you have the right influences. Or when they call you into the formal living room and say, “Marry Arnold Worth the Fourth, or we’ll kick you out of the house and ensure you never have entrance to society again.”
“I’m surprised you’d choose bartending. It’s not what I’d expect for you. If I’d known you worked here, I wouldn’t have come in.”
“Had I known you’d be here tonight, I would have called in sick,” I respond.
His lips curve up in that smile he always wears. He looks so damn smug in every tabloid photo, like he knows everyone wants him, and he’s proud of being naked in public.
“Where’d you learn to pour a beer?” he asks.
“I’m a bartender,” I say flatly.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Six months.”
He considers me, those green eyes flickering with emotions I can’t name.
“When are you going running back to Daddy?”
“I’m not speaking to my parents,” I say lightly.
“Little Catherine Peterson. All grown up and walking on the wild side,” he muses, still looking amused at my expense.
“You’re two years older than me,” I say, even if it always felt like more. Theo was always so worldly compared to my sheltered na?veté. He lived on my family estate with his mom while we were growing up, and he was wild. He stole cars, always had liquor on him, made out with girls, women even. He got into fights and defied my parents every time they tried to punish him.
He always defied my parents. That lazy grin plays on his lips, and his eyes are alight with mischief. He might hate me, but he’s certainly not going to bother himself about it. He’s perfect.
Maybe he’d marry me.
I nearly laugh. Not a chance in hell. I’d rather sleep on Blair’s couch for a year than marry Theo Archer.
“What’s so funny?” Theo asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “My shift’s almost over. You want another drink? On the house.” I’ll give Theo anything to get him to go away.
“What I want, Catherine, is to figure out why you’re here. Why you’re really here.” He leans forward on the bar. My pulse flutters at the way he’s looking at me. All intensity. All heat. I’m the only person in his world right now.
I have to deflect. I have to stop this.
“Tell you what.” I scoop up two shot glasses and slam them on the bar. They’re thick glass and won’t break, even with some manhandling. “You go shot for shot with me, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” I have no intention of giving him anything beyond the bare minimum.
“Really, princess?” he drawls. “You think you can go drink for drink with me?” His eyes gleam in the dim lighting.
“I know I can. I’ll do vodka. What do you want?” I feel a little bad for what I’m about to do, but then I remember the twelve drinks he had me make, and my resolve hardens.
“Vodka.” He grins, and my stomach swoops. “Wouldn’t want to mix alcohol.”
“Heaven forbid,” I mutter, and whip two bottles out from behind the bar. Right hand for me, left hand for him. I pass him his shot, and his thumb brushes my hand. I jerk back from the contact.
We grab our glasses, clink, and shoot them. I sputter. Theo drains his like it’s mother’s milk.
I’d almost think I gave him the water shot, except I know I drank it myself.
“Another.” He slides his shot glass back to me, sparks catching in his gaze as he watches me work .
I pour two more shots, vodka for him, water for me, and we slam them. A third. His eyes are hazy and half-lidded now. I’m going to have to start pretending I’m drunk too, at least until he’s well and truly wasted and doesn’t realize I’m sober.
“Ready to give up?” I ask.
“Not on your life.” He gives me a grin that makes me feel too warm and loose. This is the Theo everyone else gets. Wicked, smiling, too cocky for his own good. I get it now. You can stop, universe. Theo Archer is hot enough to make my brain feel fuzzy.
“Where’d you learn to drink like this?” he asks.
“I’m a bartender. Part of the job.”
“I just wouldn’t have thought prim and proper Cat Peterson would know how to do a shot, much less pour one.”
“Maybe I’m not as prim and proper as you think.”
“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “I do remember you having a hankering for whiskey.”
I freeze. Is he really bringing that up right now?
“Let me try the whiskey, Theo.”
“Say please, princess.”
“Please,” I’d whispered, wide-eyed and trusting and so very infatuated with him.
He’d swigged the whiskey, and right when I was ready to pout that he wasn’t sharing, he’d grabbed my chin, pried my lips open with one blunt finger, and spit it in my mouth.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pour more shots, even as my pulse runs in my throat. I hate it. He still has this power over me.
“No?” He arches a brow and slams the shot, all while keeping eye contact with me. “Tell me what happened, Catherine.”
I do a quick calculation in my head. He had a drink when he arrived. Five shots of vodka. He’s probably six drinks deep right now. If we keep going, he won’t remember what I tell him. But the words are stuck in my throat. My parents don’t love me. They want to control me. I have nothing. No money, no place to call home, not even my reputation. I’m rootless. I could drift away and no one would notice .
“Still not going to tell me? All right, then.” He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to do this. “Let me tell you what I thought about that night you did your first shot of whiskey.”
“No thanks.”
He laughs, tipping his head back in pleasure. “All right, then. The truth it is.”
“I need the money,” I say simply.
His gaze sharpens. “Why?”
“I was disinherited.” It’s maybe 5 percent of the truth, but that’s all he’s getting.
“Temporarily?” He frowns, like this can’t be possible.
“Not temporarily.” I slide another shot toward him. “Shouldn’t you know this? Everyone else does.”
“I was traveling,” he says absently. He drains the shot, and I mock cough while I finish mine. “What happened?”
I shake my head.
“So secretive. Do you need me to say please?” His voice is taunting. My head jerks up. I’m trapped under his scrutiny, like a bug under glass.
“Since when do you say please ?” I slide him another shot. One more of these, and he won’t be able to stand, much less keep prying.
“I say please all the time. Please, don’t stop.” He grins. “ Please , rough like that.” His voice is husky, tugging at my insides. “ Please , I’m gonna—”
“Finish and leave you unsatisfied?” I say, raising my brows expectantly.
“Not likely.” He winks.
“Please, don’t leave,” I continue, affecting a deep, desperate voice that sounds nothing like his. “I know I said seven inches, but I promise I can please you with two.”
I’m rewarded with a laugh, his head tipped back, the column of his throat bared. His amusement is beautiful. Theo has always been like this—the first one to make a joke, the first one to laugh, incandescent in his joy, so much so that you want to burn right along with him .
I shake myself. I’d do well to remember that he’s all flash, no substance. Theo might be irreverent and fun, but he’s not loyal.
He might have been the one to walk away, but it was for the best.
“I have to head out,” I say, pulling the shot glass toward me.
“Fine. Keep your secrets, Catherine. At least for tonight.” He stands, digs in his wallet, and slaps a hundred-dollar bill down on the bar. “For the shots.”
“I’ll get you change.” My insides pinch at the thought of this being our last interaction for the next ten years.
It’s a good thing. I need a clean break with the past.
“No change needed.” His green eyes glint. “I’ll be back. You’re hiding something, and I intend to find out what it is.”
So much for a clean break.
Shit.