Page 52 of The Merger

I nod, setting my glass down and fighting to keep my eyes open.Holy shit. My phone buzzing startles me, and I reach for it.

Tate: What’s up, buttercup?

My fingers fumble over the keys.

Me: At Court’s.

Tate: How’s that going?

Me: Good. Talked to Margot. Think I scored a job with her. Woot.

Tate: Woot, huh?

Me: Woot! Woot!

Tate: How many glasses of wine have you had?

“I lost count,” I mumble, typing away.

Me: Enough, but not enough, if you catch my drift.

Tate: You’re using your tipsy words but still make sense.

Me: I’m not drunk-drunk. Just feeling good. Probably on my way to drunk-drunk, though.

Tate: Here’s the drift I’m catching—how are you getting home?

I turn to sit on a stool, but my phone slides out of my hands. “Fuck!” I crouch to get it, then almost topple over as I stand again. The wine sloshes in my stomach, and I can taste the alcohol threatening to come back up.

My phone buzzes again.

“Dammit, Tate. Give me a second.”

I open the text app and type quickly.

Me: I’ll probably call a rideshare. Can’t drive.

Gannon: Why the hell not?

I blink once. I blink again. I squint as if that’ll help me see clearer.

“Gannon?”

I pull the phone away from my face and take in the screen again. My stomach sinks to the floor.

Gannon: We need to discuss today’s events, preferably in a public place.

Me: I’ll probably call a rideshare. Can’t drive.

Gannon: Why the hell not?

“Oh no,” I moan, suddenly more alert.

Me: That wasn’t for you.

Gannon: I don’t give a fuck. Why can’t you drive?

My phone vibrates, and a text alert from Tate appears at the top.