Page 29 of Hate You More

“Smart.” I give a pause. “Aren’t you curious why I’m here, Clara?”

“It’s Gretchen,” she grates out, her cheeks turning an angry pink. “Long story,” she adds quite suddenly. “Don’t ask. And no, I’m not interested.”

“Liar,” I say in good humor.

“So you said yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that. I’m sorry.” While I can admit to myself I acted like a prick, I’m not really sorry. But an apology can be a bridge.

“Which part?” There’s a hardness to her tone that’s not going to give.

“For the way I behaved. For saying I didn’t want to see you again.”

“You said ever.” Her dark eyes flick angrily over me. Linger briefly on my lips. “Yet here you are.”

“Here I am.” I sit straighter and grip the back of Phil’s recently vacated stool, almost inviting her to take a better look.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “Say whatever it is you need to say. Then you can leave.”

“Maybe I’m just curious.”

“So this is a little poverty tourism?”

I give a huff of a laugh. “Been there. Done that. And have no interest in going back.”

Her expression softens. “If I could undo—”

I hold up my hand. “I’m not here to rehash the past.” What happened between us is a topic I have no interest in touching. I am uninterested in her apologies.

“So talk,” she says quietly.

“My company stock was up twelve percent today.”

“Congratulations.” She swipes up a cloth and begins to wipe down the bar top.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“I’m not looking for stock tips,” she says without looking up.

“Gretch, I’m dyin’ of thirst over here!”

At the shout, she turns away. Pours a beer, grabs a highball glass, and adds ice, rum, and Coke. There’s an economy in her motion, a grace. Something fluid and concise. Though I get no joy in watching her work, because it tells me she’s been doing this for a while. Doing it tough. And I remember what that feels like.

“You should have investments,” I say as she returns. I’m strangely relieved that she does. That she chooses to. Curiosity, see?

“I’ll let you know when I have some spare cash.”

“You should have it already.”

She wets her lips, rubs them together. “Maybe I did.” She gives a quick shrug. “So your stock. Table, right?” This she adds a little quieter, glancing around as though to make sure no one overheard.

Worried for my safety? I’m not at the level where I need to travel with security. Yet.

Folding my arms, I lean closer, and she steps in too. “Yeah. And like you said, we went public last week. Twenty-two billion,” I add, tempering my inevitable smile. It still feels like a dream, and I don’t know why, because it’s been years of obsession and hard fucking work.

“That’s amazing, Troy.” Her big blue eyes are so earnest, the rim of indigo so distinct. “I mean it, I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, but the lift in the share price followed a photo.”