Bar. God. I wish I was going to the bar.

“I’m actually meeting someone, but thank you.” I feel myself cringe, but if she noticed, she doesn’t let on, which makes me like her even more. Maybe if I get fired, I could try to get a job here and she can be my friend. Plus, I’m really good at drinking . . . maybe that could translate to my skills behind the bar too.

“Great.” She smiles and her teeth gleam against her brown skin that, even inside, sparkles. “Please let me know if I can help you find them.”

Unfortunately for me, Quinton Howard Junior is the only thing more noticeable than the meticulously decorated bar I’m standing in. I was hoping he would be in some spot that made him hard to find, or even better, would be late. But luck just hasn’t been on my side these days.

For the second time today, I thank Liv for convincing me to splurge on my shoes. It’s impossible to have a timid stride when you’re wearing four-inch, five-hundred-dollar shoes . . . and that’s science. Even if on the inside I’m a nervous wreck, at least I look confident in my approach.

Not that it matters much, because even though Quinton looks directly at me as I’m walking toward him, he dismisses me just as quickly.

Rude.

“Hello, Mr. Howard,” I use the voice that Marie mocks me endlessly for. “Nice to meet—”

I don’t finish, not because I don’t want to, but because he doesn’t give me the chance to.

“I’m sorry, I’m waiting for someone.” I assume that he’s talking to me since I’m the only person standing at his table, but I’m not positive because he hasn’t looked up from his phone.

Super fucking rude.

“Actually, I—”

“What do you want me to sign?” He holds out his hand expectantly.

“Nothing, I—”

“Listen,” he cuts me off again and actually takes his eyes off his phone this time to look at me. “I appreciate a forward woman as much as any man, but you’re not my type.”