Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,1

exchanged insurance information, you are free to go.” He looked directly at Douchebag.

“Thank you, Officer,” Douchebag said, extending a hand for a shake.

Suck up.

“Before you go, Mr. Stryker, I just wanted to say that although you were the one to hit Ms. Kline’s car”—he looked at me for emphasis—“if she’d been paying better attention and not come to a quick stop, none of this would have happened.”

What? Did he really just say that?

Smug worked itself across Douchebag’s face.

I don’t think so.

I turned to him. “Smile all you want, because you’re the one who’s going to pay for all this damage to my car.” The last few words slipped out loudly. Like, yelling loudly.

I stormed back to my car. I was calling his insurance company first thing in the morning. That fucker wouldn’t have a moment of peace until they cut me a check to get my car fixed.

“Ms. Kline, I’m not through with you yet,” the trooper called after me.

Crap.

Douchebag stood there, nosy as the rubberneckers slowing traffic, clearly hoping to get some satisfaction about any further misfortune coming my way.

“Your car registration is expired.”

Truer words were never spoken.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, dramatically smacking my forehead. “Shoot. I forgot to send the check for the renewal before I left town. I’ll do it first thing, tomorrow,” I lied.

With all the shit going on in my life, the worst of it was that I was dead broke. There was no way in hell I paying for my registration renewal tomorrow. Or the next day. I needed all the money I had just to get to LA.

“Ms. Kline, the penalty for expired tags is pretty hefty.”

I nodded. “I know, Officer,” I said, hoping my platform sandals were elongating my legs to maximum effect.

He handed me the top piece of paper from his notebook. I was hoping it might be his number.

It was not.

In fact, it was a ticket.

Fuuuuuck.

I folded it neatly in half, planning to look at the fine later, at Marni’s, after I’d had a margarita or two.

I smiled stiffly as Douchebag enjoyed my pain. “Is that everything?” I asked.

He nodded politely. “Yes. You may go now. Please drive more carefully. Both of you.”

I trudged back to my car, the officer and douchebag continuing to chat like they were buds. And just as I got my opening in traffic, I rolled down my window.

“Hey, guys.”

They looked over at me.

“Go fuck yourselves!” I screamed, and hit the road.

2

Stell

“Marn, this apartment totally rocks,” I said, wandering around and trying not to drool.

Of course she had a gorgeous place. Marni had always had nice things, thanks to a nice jumpstart known as her dad’s massive fortune.

She looked around, nodding. “Thank you Stell. I really love it. It’s so homey… and just totally me.”

She was right. Her place was totally her, with its white overstuffed sofa and chairs, and vases of pink roses all over.

But it was all good. Marni was about the most down-to-earth person I’d ever known, and she deserved all good things that came her way.

The moment I dropped my things in the guestroom she’d shown me to—where I had my own bathroom!—I pulled on my PJs and joined her in the living room.

“You’re finally here,” she said, raising a glass after she’d poured two of her excellent margaritas. “Cheers to changing shit up.”

That was about the most tactful way I’d heard my latest fuck-up referred to.

“And how is the sad and broken hearted Vaughn Breslin?” she asked. “The erstwhile groom?”

Ugh. I hated the sound of that man’s name. But her questions were legit. She’d known him a long time, just like I had.

I pushed around a pile of Vanity Fair magazines, perfectly styled on Marni’s coffee table, with my toe.

“Not sure. He hates being alone, so I suppose he’ll run back to some old girlfriend until he gets his sea legs back and is ready to find a new woman. And then he can cheat on her, too.”

Marni looked into her margarita, shaking her head. “Crazy shit, cancelling a wedding at the last minute. But I applaud you for it. Takes a lot of balls.”

She wasn’t kidding.

“Hey, I think my mom is shipping back your wedding present,” I offered.

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh just keep it. It was a serving platter from Tiffany. I’m sure you’ll use it.”

Holy shit. I hadn’t realized that. I made a mental note to tell Mom to set that one aside.

Mom was all about etiquette. Even though she was clearly mortified by my calling off