Page 64

Tess
I still can’t findRyan.
Instead of looking for him, I head to the bar tucked into the corner of the gallery because after the near-miss I just had, champagne isn’t going to cut it.
“Two fingers of Jameson,” I tell the bartender when I get there. “One—”
“Ice cube,” he says finishing for me with a grin while reaching for a glass. When he looks up, he must see the question on my face because the grin turns sheepish. “Mr. Officer and a Gentleman ordered one for you a while ago.” He drops a single ice cube into the glass and pours my drink as instructed. “At least he tried to—the well-dressed Yeti beat him to it.
Officer and a Gentleman.
Yeti.
He’s talking about Ryan and Declan.
They were never really friends. More partners than anything. I can’t imagine things have changed much since Ryan’s been home but above everything else, he’s family. Declan understands the concept of family even if he doesn’t have much use for it. It’s one of the reasons I asked Ryan to be my date instead of Went.
Went isn’t family.
To Declan, that makes him fair game.
Either this bartender is bored or he’s bucking for a big tip because he keeps talking. “Are you Jess or Tess?”
“Tess.” What the hell did he overhear?
“Figured.” He slides my drink across the bar. “You don’t look like the cheating type.”
His off-handed remark clenches my gut like a fist. “What does that mean?”
“Well…” For the first time the bartender’s affable grin falters. “Officer and a Gentleman asked the Yeti were Jess was and Yeti told him he wasn’t sure, that the last time he saw her, she was in an elevator, getting groped by some ballplayer. Officer and a Gentleman said something like, that sucks and Yeti said not really—but something must’ve pissed him off because he was looking at Officer and a Gentleman like he wanted to drop him on his head.”
Oh, shit.
Declan knows about Jess and Viaga.
I’m not even sure why that bothers me. Why I even care. Why it matters.
But I do and it does.
“Thanks,” I mumble, opening my clutch to fumble out the twenty I stuck in there for emergencies. Instead of the bill, I find a neatly folded piece of paper, tucked into the little side pocket of the purse, designed to hold a credit card or your ID.
It’s a receipt.
I almost don’t look at it.
Like I want to know how much Henley paid for what I’m wearing.
I have it pulled out and opened before I can stop myself.
$5,273.68 was charged to an Amex black card yesterday at 3:23PM.
Something about the timestamp sends my heart thundering into my throat.
Scanning the receipt, I find the reason why scrawled across the bottom.
Declan’s signature.
I’d know it anywhere.