“Did they at least pay you until the end of your internship?” he asked.
“It wasn’t a paid thing. I saved—” I didn’t want him to think I was bummed about the money. The money was an issue, but it was the lack of experience and opportunity that was the worst of it. My future felt bleak—an endless parade of trailer park living, factory work, and dreaming dreams that would never come true.
Dexter’s jaw tightened. He wove through traffic before pulling up sharply by the side of the road. “Come on,” he said, opening the door. “Let’s get drunk.”
Eleven
Dexter
“Do we have the same drink?” Hollie asked, holding up her glass and squinting as if she were trying to spot a koi carp swimming in her glass.
“You have vodka,” I replied.
She slammed her glass down. “Well that was a bad idea. I’m seeing lots of things . . . everything—there’s two of everything.”
“Vodka was what you asked for.”
“You should never listen to me. Ever,” she said, dramatically shaking her head. She was a cute drunk. And cheap. She was only on her third drink, albeit each one had been different. She’d started with whiskey. “I have terrible brain ideas.”
“Brain ideas?”
“Like coming to London.” More head shaking. “Should have saved my money.”
Charles Ledwin was a shit. I hated him for making Hollie wish she’d never come to London. Sparkle hadn’t even offered to pay her air fare home. And then it hit me—if she was out of a job, there would be no reason for her to stay. She’d be heading back to the US before we’d even got to know each other properly.
“I thought it was the start of something, you know?” She pinched her brows together, earnest in her drunkenness.
I knew exactly what she meant. If she’d stayed the extra few months, I’d have liked to have hung out with her more. She was sexy and fun and sagely naïve. And I hated that she felt bad.
“You’ve still had the experience though, right? You’ll still get something out of it.” I was grasping at straws, trying to say something that would help.
“We shouldn’t talk about it.” She craned her neck toward the bar. “We should drink more. What’s this?” She held up her glass.
“Vodka.”
“Right. I think maybe wine would be better.”
No amount of wine was going to make this better. But I knew I could help.
“I have an idea,” I announced. I was pretty sure Beck would tell me it was a terrible idea if he was here. And probably so would Gabriel. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t stand by and let Sparkle kill Hollie’s dreams. I just couldn’t. “You should finish your internship at Daniels & Co.”
“Definitely wine,” Hollie said, wincing as she swallowed the last gulp of vodka.
I’d expected her to throw her arms around me and tell me I was her hero. But she seemed more focused on her drink. “Did you hear me?” I asked.
She clasped my shoulder. “God, I’m being awful company. I’m sorry. You said you have an idea.” She pointed at my head and I couldn’t help but grin. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone quite so adorable when they were drunk.
“I have several.” I called the waiter over and ordered some soft drinks while Hollie held a conversation with the candle.
I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward me.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she asked. “I thought we were going to drink wine?” Dropping her voice to a stage whisper, she asked, “Are we going to have sex?”
“Absolutely not.”
She turned to me, the expression on her face as if I’d just insulted her.
“Hollie, you’ve had far too much to drink . . .” I paused. That wasn’t quite true. She hadn’t had much to drink at all. She was just drunk. “You’re too tipsy to be—I’m just moving you closer so you can hear what I’m saying.”
Sex wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight. Not when she was in a position to be able to regret it.
“I want to talk business with you,” I said.
“You don’t want to sleep with you?” Her stage whisper had transformed into a semi-shout. “With me, I mean. You don’t want to have sex with me?”
I chuckled. “I think you just proved my point.” Our tray of nonalcoholic cocktails arrived.
“Pretty!” Hollie said, bouncing in her chair as the waiter transferred each of them from tray to table. “I like this better than wine.”
I should probably wait until tomorrow to talk to her about working for Daniels & Co, but I wanted to cheer her up. And it would stop her booking a flight home.
“So, what do you think about being an intern for me?” I asked.
She turned to me, looking at me over her shoulder. “You want me to dress up? Like role play? That’s your thing?”