hugged right now, she'd lose it. She held up a hand in apology. "I ... I have to go. I'm sorry, Marie."
She grabbed her purse and jacket from the coat check, threw a tip at the counter and fled the hotel, knowing that the exact kind of place she needed right now was just down the block.
* * *
Tate couldn't remember the last time he'd had to pay a cover to get into a bar, but he figured if there was ever a time that it was warranted, it was now. The stone-faced bouncer made a cursory glance at his ID, even though he was thirteen years over the legal drinking age. His mom had told him under no uncertain terms that he would be disinherited if he didn't follow Rachel and make sure she was okay. The Cliff's Notes version was that she had been fired, but he didn't get a whole lot more information than that.
The valet outside the hotel had seen her turn a corner into a bar/nightclub that was attached to the hotel and the heavy bass throbbing through the walls gave him an uneasy feeling. The club scene was so far removed from his personality it wasn't even close to funny. And what made the whole situation even more humorous, was that he was coming to check up on a woman that would probably be more likely to knee him in the balls than talk to him about what had happened. He strode down a dimly lit hallway, not seeing a single person until he turned the corner to the main bar area.
The place must have just opened, staff was prepping for what would probably be a busy Friday night, and only a few tables and booths that lined the open dance floor were occupied. Everything had an industrial look to it; concrete floors and bar top, black metal tables, and booths with clean lines and dark colors, the same as all of the staff. Steel beams hovered across the large space, bracketing the open brick walls on either side. The waitresses all wore tight black halters with dark pants. Besides the bouncer, there was only one other male working, and he was behind the bar pouring out two shots for the beautiful, incredibly pissed-off looking woman in front of him. The grin that the bartender aimed at Rachel told Tate that he probably had women eating out of his hands at the end of every night.
Tate's hands curled into fists at his side, and the action was so unconscious that he actually looked down in confusion. He relaxed his hands and couldn't help but smile. If there was ever a woman in the history of the world that did not need a man getting overly-protective, it was undoubtedly Rachel. She had an incredible, and somewhat terrifying, ability to hold her own. In fact, if a man ever tried to rescue her, she'd probably take out the white horse he rode in on.
Right as she was about to tip back the first of two shots that the bartender had poured for her, Tate slid into the stool next to her and motioned to Rachel.
"I'll have the same, please."
Her shoulders stiffened as soon as he spoke, and the bartender simply nodded and walked away to mix a couple more of whatever Rachel had just smoothly tossed back. She tipped her head back until her chin pointed at the ceiling and the long line of her throat stretched more gracefully than it should have considering she had just pounded straight liquor. They sat in silence while the bartender finished up the two shots. He set a receipt down in front of Tate, along with glasses filled with a medium dark liquid. Tate brought one closer to his face and sniffed it.
"Oh, for shit's sake, my grandma can take shots better than you."
Tate sent her a long look, not willing to concede his relief at the fact that she finally cracked first and spoke. With Rachel, that was a major tactical victory. Without responding, he tipped back one shot, then the next, somehow managing not to cough when the hot liquor slid down his throat. Everything warmed inside of him, starting in his stomach and weaving outward until he felt it on the surface of his skin. He slid the empty glasses towards her.
"Best get caught up, little girl. That shot isn't going to drink itself."
She turned towards him and arched one brow. "Little girl?"
"You're what? Six years