Page 19 of The CEO I Hate (The Lockhart Brothers #1)

MIA

T he interior of the Scarlet Parlor—Sophie’s well-polished gem of a burlesque club—always smelled like a heady mix of jasmine and spirits. I sucked in a sharp breath of air as I let the door thump closed behind me.

“Hey, Mia!” one of the performers called from the stage.

I lifted my head in greeting, not really clocking who it was.

Dimly lit chandeliers spilled soft amber light over plush velvet booth seats.

Dark wood finishings and gold-plated vintage wall mirrors accented the deep red curtains that framed the stage.

And across the room, a long mahogany bar ran the length of the wall.

That was exactly what I needed after today’s disaster with Liam.

God!

I ran my hands down my face. The sooner I could forget about that kiss, the better. Every horrible second of it needed to be burned from my mind. But even as I had that thought, a flutter in my gut betrayed me, and I groaned .

“Mm-hmm,” a voice sang. “I know that look.” Craig, a six-foot-three former ballet dancer turned burlesque performer waltzed by, shaking his head. “That’s boy troubles. They got you bad!”

I grimaced. “Not boy troubles. Men troubles…Man troubles? Anyway, men suck!”

Craig nodded along in full understanding and agreement. “Damn right they do, honey. Why do you think I get up there and shake my ass every night to breakup ballads?” He winked at me, the black makeup painted around his eyes glittering like the night sky.

“Have you seen Sophie?” I asked. I needed a dose of best-friend moral support stat.

“She was last seen in the back dealing with a costume crisis. Do you want some company until we open?”

“Nah,” I sighed. I knew the performers were always busy right before opening, running through their set list, making sure all the props were in place.

“Okay, well, save me a drink for after my performance,” Craig said. “I want to hear all about,” he gestured in a vague circular motion, “whatever this is.”

“I’ll do my best.” The way I was feeling, I might be several drinks in by the time Craig wrapped up. I headed straight for the bar where Ollie, a woman with rainbow-dyed hair wearing a deep crimson corset, was cutting up limes.

She took one look at me and wrinkled her nose. “You look rough.”

“I feel rough,” I muttered, climbing onto a stool. If rough was what you felt like after a guy reached straight into your chest to strangle your heart a bit.

“Well, in that case, what can I get you? ”

“A vodka cran, please.”

She nodded, making the drink and sliding it across the counter.

I sipped at it, twisting on my black leather stool to take in the stage.

A group of performers was running through a high-energy can-can-type dance.

They were so good and so pretty, and if I could get my leg that high, I’d use it to kick Liam’s annoyingly perfect face to the moon.

That image entertained me for a few minutes during which I downed my drink.

I frowned at the empty glass, rattling the ice cubes around. I glanced over at Ollie, placing my glass down. “Another when you have a sec?”

“Sure.”

My phone buzzed with a text as I waited for my drink, but I didn’t even bother to look at it. Instead, I waited for the sweet, sweet liquor that would help me forget all my troubles.

At least until I woke up with a pounding headache tomorrow morning. But that was a tomorrow me problem. Tonight’s me wanted to forget Liam Lockhart even existed. Because who the hell was he to kiss me and then immediately ditch me? Again!

Images of that New Year’s Eve party two years ago came flooding back in horribly detailed flashes.

I blinked hard, trying to banish the memories, but judging by the mildly concerned way Craig was watching me from across the room, I probably just looked like I was having a stroke.

I picked up the drink Ollie put near me and took a swig.

How many times was I going to let Liam do this to me?

No more! the reasonable part of my brain shouted.

But the unreasonable part—the silly part, the one prone to wishful thinking—kept reminding the rest of me about the way his lips moved against mine this afternoon.

The heat of his breath as his tongue pressed for entrance.

The way he’d cradled my face in his hands.

I wanted that again. I wanted him in all his grumpy, obnoxious, annoying glory! I wanted a man who didn’t want me.

Well, some part of him certainly wanted me. That much was clear after today. He just wouldn’t let himself want me. And that was even more frustrating than a flat-out rejection!

The stool beside me scuffed against the floor as Sophie appeared. She was wearing a costume I’d never seen before. I reached out and touched the silky, emerald-green shorts that hugged her thighs.

“Craig said you were looking quite murderous when you walked in.”

“I’ve simmered now. I’m only slightly murderous,” I quipped.

“‘Boy troubles,’ he said.” Sophie arched her brow. “And unless one of your exes popped out of the woodwork, there’s only one boy I know who gives you troubles.”

I ran my thumb across the condensation on my glass, huffed, then turned to her. “Liam kissed me. Again! At work, of all places.”

“What?” she said, half shocked, half amused. “When? How?”

“Today?”

“How?”

“What do you mean how ?” I reached out and took her by the face, reenacting the whole situation. “Like this. He just grabbed my face in his hands and puckered up.”

“Yas, girl!” Craig called from across the room. “Rebound! You don’t need him.”

I snorted, releasing Sophie’s face.

“Was there a lot of tongue action?” she asked.

I grumbled. “Don’t start. ”

“What?” Sophie started laughing. “I don’t want to say I told you so, but I absolutely, totally, completely told you so!”

“It’s not funny.”

“I said I could clock desire in a man, and Liam wants you. Bad .”

“Obviously not bad enough since he keeps doing the make out equivalent of dining and dashing. Actually, we don’t even get to the dining part,” I complained. “He’s like…trying an appetizer and then dashing.”

Sophie reached out and tucked a stray curl back into the bun on the top of my head. “Because he’s trying to do the right thing.”

“And the right thing is rejecting me? Repeatedly?”

“The right thing is not sexing up his best friend’s little sister.” She picked up my drink and took a dainty little sip. “But you’re obviously wearing his resistance down.”

“I wasn’t trying to wear him down,” I said, even as my heart raced at that thought.

“Here’s an idea. You invite him down here. I’ll get you up on stage. Let you shimmy all that eye candy around. Trust me, even Liam Lockhart won’t be able to resist.”

I snorted. “You know I’d shimmy myself right off the stage.” My phone buzzed again. Our eyes fell to it.

“Is that him?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably. He was texting a lot when I was driving over here, so I just started ignoring my phone.”

“Is ignoring Liam really what you want to do?”

“Yes,” I said, grinding my teeth as I replayed the moment he stormed out of the room at the studio, leaving me standing there, still heaving from our kiss. “Screw him, you know? Like why does he get to keep stomping on my feelings?”

Sophie patted my knee. “Well, have a couple more drinks. And if you still feel like that at the end of the night, I’ll help you throw bologna and toilet paper all over his fancy Porsche.”

“This is why we’re friends,” I said, grabbing her hand.

“I know.” She gave me a wink before dancing away to open the doors and welcome in the night’s guests.

My phone buzzed again, and I finally flipped it over. It was from Liam. So were the last five texts.

Mia, I know you’re ignoring me!

We need to talk.

I didn’t mean to walk out like that.

We’ve got to iron this out.

So that we can work together and keep things professional.

Anger surged through me. I snatched up my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. Oh, professional…like this afternoon? You mean the part where you kissed me and then bolted, right? Because that was very professional of you.

He was the one who dragged me out of the rehearsal room, accusing me of making moves on the actors! He was the one who kissed me first! And now that I’d had a little liquid courage, I was finally ready to let Liam know how I felt about it.

Have you finally stopped sulking long enough for us to have a conversation? came his snarky reply.

My brows knitted together so tightly, I got a little pain in the center of my forehead. I’m at the Scarlet Parlor. You want to talk, I’ll do it here or nowhere .

After another vodka cran, I’d be in no state to have a proper conversation through text. Plus, I wanted to look him in the eye when I told him how much of an asshole he was. But he probably wouldn’t even show up.

I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

I stared down at his reply, giving a derisive huff. Sure, Smiles , I texted. Whatever you say.