“Remember when I was telling you about the woman that I met on my first day? She’s at the bar. The one with the dark hair and leather jacket.”

All three turned toward the bar. Reagan caught a glimpse of Jillian leaning against the bar with one foot on the rail. God, she looked good in leather. The way she stood allowed her skinny jeans to stretch rather nicely across her ass. Reagan raised the back of her hand to her forehead, checking to see if her face was as warm as she thought. Yep, definitely was. Can I blame it on the one beer? Reagan stopped her gawking when Gwen groaned.

“Shit. That’s our client,” Gwen said.

“Wait. What?” Carly asked.

“She’s the catering gig. It’s a party for her stepfather.”

“No way,” Carly replied as she stared at Jillian. “Well, I feel sorry for you two. She’s awful.”

“She could definitely be better,” Gwen muttered. “Fuck. Should we say hi?”

Reagan wanted to say yes for selfish reasons, but she didn’t think that was appropriate. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Might not be necessary. Plus, I think she’s still pissed about the last meeting. I sent an email to check in with her a few days ago, and her response was a little terse. Maybe we can avoid it.” Not that I want to avoid it.

But just as she said that, Jillian turned away from the bar and locked eyes with Reagan, who waved awkwardly. Jillian offered a surprised smile, and Reagan’s chest clenched. Though the pleasantness disappeared as Jillian’s smile was replaced with a slight scowl as she turned back toward the bar.

“Well, shit,” Reagan murmured. “Looks like she is still pissed. I’ll go. I should probably apologize again.”

“Are you sure? I can come too,” Gwen said.

“No, I’ve got it. Looks like we’re ready for another round anyway. Same thing for you guys?”

Both nodded in reply.

Reagan made her way next to Jillian. She gave her order to the male bartender, and once he stepped away to make the drinks, she turned and leaned an elbow on the bar. “Hello, Jillian.”

Her scowl was still firmly in place. “I’m surprised to see you, Ms. Murphy. Shouldn’t you be at home with your father? You can miss an important meeting but you can leave him to get drunk at a bar?”

Reagan straightened, the comment hitting her as if she’d been slapped, and tears pooled in her eyes. Steeling her voice, she replied, “Look, I’m sorry for missing our meeting. But I don’t have to explain myself to you, and I won’t. Have a good night, Ms. Jacobs.” She turned away, forgetting about the drinks, until Jillian gently gripped her wrist.