Douglas planted his considerable bulk on the stool next to Darya, looking pissed. ‘Why did you call me?’
Darya nodded at the bartender. ‘I’m getting a Cherry Bomb. What’s your poison?’
Douglas frowned, impatient. ‘Miss Miller, what do you want?’
‘To buy you a drink.’ Darya swirled around on her stool.
‘We are not exactly friends.’
‘And to talk about the company.’
‘What’s there to talk about?’
Darya watched the glass cabinet behind the bar until she saw what she had been waiting for.
‘Miss Miller?’ Douglas rapped his knuckles on the countertop. ‘If you are done wasting my time, I’m late for a party.’
He stood up, turned around, and froze.
Darya leaned back with her drink.
All the way across the packed room, Sharon Hoyles was staggering towards a concealed
