“And what would you prefer I call you, Professor? Daddy? Doctor Buchanan?” My sultry voice hangs in the air as my mouth pulls into a shameless grin. But I can’t help it. The guy’s grumpier and more guarded than a rhinoceros. He’s always had his guard up high around me. Which is fine. My guard’s high around everyone. But it does make me want to poke at him for it.
“Henry’s fine,” he grunts, refusing to give in to my teasing.
“Okay, Henry,” I purr. “What can I get ya?”
The guy scans the bar again, still not bothering to look at me. “Whiskey. Top shelf.”
I turn around, stand on my tiptoes, and reach for the most expensive bottle SeaBird owns, pouring two fingers of the caramel-colored liquid into a glass tumbler.
“So, what brings you in this time? Looking to have another chat with Theo and Colt?” I ask, setting the drink in front of him.
He doesn’t answer me as he shoots the liquid back and sets the glass on the counter again. With a dark look, he waits for me to refill it, so I do.
“Or maybe you’re looking for your girlfriend?” I add.
His gaze narrows. “Has she been in here?”
“Yup.”
“Was she with a guy?” he grits out.
And damn. I can see why he’s such a shark in the business world. The hair along the back of my neck raises as if he’s daring me to lie. To withhold what he wants. To push him when he’s clearly not in the mood to be pushed.
I know this look, though. This look tells me he already knows the truth without needing to witness it firsthand. This look shows me he’s already seen the red flags but wants proof. More proof.
He won’t get it here. Not when I have less faith in the opposite sex than I do in aliens or God.
“She was out with her friends,” I lie. I shouldn’t. He deserves the truth. But it isn’t my place, and I don’t know the full story. Hell, maybe Buchanan’s had someone on the side for months now, and his girlfriend recently found out and is looking for revenge. Maybe they already broke up, and he’s stalking her. I don’t think he would, but… I cock my head, examining his tight jaw and the vein throbbing in his neck. Actually, scratch that. Professor Buchanan definitely looks like someone who isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty if it gets him what he wants.
“So she left?” he demands.
“Yup.”
His ever-perfect posture slumps slightly, and he turns to me fully, giving up on his search as he takes another sip of whiskey from his glass. “How’s your mother?”
My expression sours. Not because I hate my mother, but because Buchanan’s the one asking about her.
“She’s fine.”
“And your uncle?”
“Fine,” I repeat.
Henry Buchanan knows me too. Mia Rutherford. The girl with the murdered daddy. To be fair, most of Lockwood Heights knows me. My face was splashed all over the news for weeks after my dad’s body was found, the same way the Buchanan name was. I should’ve moved away, but I didn’t want to give the assholes who took my father from me the pleasure.
“You find a job yet?” he questions.
I straighten my spine.
Sometimes I hate the way he keeps tabs on me. Hell, he’s worse than Uncle Fender. Part of me wonders if it’s because he feels guilty. For knowing Troy McAdams. For being friends with him. For not spotting the red flags or how dangerous his friend really was. I don’t blame him. I’ve fallen for a wolf in sheep’s clothing on more than one occasion.
“No,” I answer.
“Why not?”
Resting my elbows on the counter separating us, I steeple my fingers in front of me and hold his dark gaze. “Because I started selling pictures of my body on the internet to make ends meet, and now every doctor’s office and hospital within a hundred-mile radius knows about it and wants nothing to do with me.”
I don’t know why I say it. I shouldn’t. It’s none of his business, anyway. Shining a light on the mess of my life probably isn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t help it. Wanting to shock the impenetrable bastard in front of me. To see him flinch. To see him feel. Something. Anything. Even if it’s only disgust.
His dark, flinty eyes dip to my low-cut black tank top, traveling south along my waist and hips, leaving me squirming.
I’m used to being checked out.
Call it a blessing or a curse, but it is what it is. I’m pretty in an emo, untouchable, this-girl's-got-daddy-issues kind of way. Add it to the fact I’m a bartender who looks like she enjoys getting freaky in the sheets, and I’ve been hit on more times than I can count.
But being checked out by Henry Buchanan? This is new. The man’s a stone-cold statue, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Eyes up here, Professor,” I warn.
His nostrils flare as his eyes meet mine again, and he tips the rest of his drink back. The glass clinks against the bartop once he’s finished while his gaze continues holding mine hostage. “Selling pictures of your body on the internet was a poor decision.”
“One of many,” I point out.
Without a word, he pulls a small stack of bills from his wallet and sets them on the counter. “Keep the change.”
He walks out of the bar without a backward glance. When the door closes behind him, I pick up the bills, my jaw dropping.
Five hundred bucks.
His tab was maybe a hundred.
Sometimes, I hate his pity.
Always, I hate his charity.
And lately? I’ve hated how he gets under my skin whenever he’s around.
2
HENRY
My jaw is tight as I press my phone to my ear outside SeaBird. Even though it’s past midnight, the air is still warm from the summer sun, leaving me hot in my suit. Irritated, I tug at the top button as if it’s strangling me and wait for the head of my IT department to answer the phone. The call rings twice before Gordy’s voice cuts off the rhythmic ringing.
“H-hello?” His voice is rusty from sleep, but I don’t apologize for waking him. I pay him enough to be on call at all times. He knows it as well as I do. Tonight isn’t any different.
“There’s a girl named Mia Rutherford,” I tell him. “She has indecent photos online. I need them wiped from the internet.”
“Mia…what was the last name?” His yawn echoes into my ear, followed by the familiar ding of Gordy’s computer turning on.
“Rutherford,” I grit out. A headache slowly builds behind my eyes as I shift my phone to my other ear. I attempt to rein in my annoyance after my conversation with Mia, but it’s proving to be difficult. The girl is so damn frustrating, part of me wants to strangle her, and the other part wants to wash my hands of her altogether.
“Rutherford,” Gordy repeats. The click-click-click from his fingers tapping against the keyboard picks up speed. “Uh, yeah. I’ll take care of it right now.”
“Good.”
I hang up the phone and head back to my apartment. It’s on the south side of town in the tallest building outside of LAU’s college campus. I purchased the building as an investment and moved into the penthouse when I began teaching. After taking a hiatus from the classroom to focus on the Lions organization, I debated whether or not I should move out so I could stay closer to my office at B-Tech Enterprises but decided against it. After all, it’s my home, and my girlfriend would pitch a fit if she found out I wanted us to move.