Something Like Hate - Harloe Rae Page 0,49
Clea shares a look with Presley, who only shrugs in return.
She’s choosing to remain neutral while taking advantage of her rare escape from poopy diapers and deafening wails. With a long exhale, she treats herself to another stuffed olive from our appetizer platter. My other friend doesn’t share the same motivations.
I return her unflinching stare. “Sasha is harmless. How much damage could she really do in five minutes?”
Clea smiles at that. “No more than you.”
“Only when necessary evil is required.”
“This is going beyond your civic duty.” Her concern is coming from a good place, but it grates on my raw nerves, nonetheless.
The condensation rolling down my glass is suddenly very riveting. “I’ve lost sight of my original goal, but this twist should render the same results.”
Her disappointment leaks across the table with a huff. “That’s terrifying in a diabolical sense. Maybe you should back off.”
I snap my eyes up to her expectant gaze. “And let him win?”
Clea thrusts an arm toward me. “What is he winning?”
“The freedom to continue treating people like crap.” The grind in my voice carries across the bar, revealing my mounting frustration.
“That’s their fault for letting him.” Her point is valid, much to my dismay.
I swirl my cocktail, hypnotized by the deep orange liquid. “I’m sinking too deep, my friend. It’s difficult to see an exit route that doesn’t involve gouging him at least a little bit.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve already succeeded in doing that.”
“He barely felt a sting,” I assure.
Clea shakes her head. “I don’t like what this rivalry is doing to you.”
A grin tickles my mouth. “Once he kneels, I’ll be good as new.”
“You might lose yourself in the process.”
“Not possible.”
She’s quiet for a moment, but I can hear the gears grinding in her brain. “What about your job? Landon could turn on you, and Vince might believe him.”
I wrinkle my nose. “He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
The bite of gin burns my tongue as I sip at my negroni. “The guy is a certifiable asshole, but he has limits and morals buried beneath the arrogance-coated armor. Landon demands the best through powerful methods, and tattling on me would be a chicken-shit move.”
“You’re putting too much weight on that assumption.”
“And you’re being too lenient on my nemesis,” I retort.
“I’ve never met the guy. Maybe he just has a specific issue with you.”
“Ouch,” I rub my chest. “That’s harsh.”
“It was, sorry.” Clea slumps her shoulders. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, but don’t you think this is getting out of hand?”
I’m nodding along with her. “Absolutely. Is that going to stop me? Nope.”
“I wish you’d be more receptive to feedback.”
“Believe it or not, I’m listening to you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You could be more supportive.” Rather than call me out with every other comment.
“I’m trying, trust me. It’s not easy when I don’t agree with what you’re doing,” she mutters.
“Don’t you want the good guys to come out ahead?”
“That goes without saying.”
I squint at her. “Then why is your smile upside down?”
Her lips droop lower. “Probably because I’m frowning.”
Tough crowd.
I rest my palm over her hand. “What’s wrong?”
Clea fakes a lopsided grin for my benefit. “Other than the obvious?”
I roll my eyes. “Duh.”
Her gaze skitters off mine. “Nothing.”
I have a hunch that Nolan is involved, which is always a touchy subject. The brightest morning can be dimmed by her broody neighbor. “This outing is meant to be a momentous occasion.”
Presley makes an encouraging sound while munching on a crostini.
“Sorry for pooping on your party. Nice choice in venue, by the way.” Clea’s flat tone could use a proper sprucing.
As a counterbalance, I add extra chipper into mine. “Isn’t it posh?”
“I was going to say stuffy.” Her lack of interest proves that she’s totally bumming over Nolan.
“All right, fun sponge. Don’t take advantage of the eye candy.”
I study the interior of Benny Dee, pretending it’s from a fresh perspective. A soothing vibe, clean lines, and artful décor make this a hot spot for just-left-the-office work collaborations. Eight small booths frame the outer edge, which aren’t the main attraction here, but are highly sought after all the same. We managed to snag one by arriving prior to happy hour.
“Apparently”—she flicks a glance across the wide room—“what you’re doing with Landon isn’t the only subject we disagree on.”
“That’s outrageous. This is where all the sexy suits hang out.” I gesture toward the main focal point.
A wraparound bar occupies a majority of the space. The surface is made from black marble that’s polished to a gleam under the dim