As he got closer, I slid my purse off the stool next to me. Now that the bar was full, it was the only empty gap left to order. Carrigan idled up next to me. From the side, he looked like any regular businessman: clean gray suit draped over square-cut shoulders; a head like a block of cement. He cut his eyes toward me, smiled. Friendly, but not pushy about it.

I turned on my stool so I faced him, crossing my legs. I hung a little smile on my face and watched him for a moment.

Carrigan was ordering a round of drinks for the table, and he was ignoring me but not well. He maintained a steady way of glancing around the rim of the bar, like he was taking it all in, but his eyes kept finding my cleavage. After they did, he’d look away and smile a little, sheepish, like he knew he’d been caught.

It took about a decade, but he completed the order for the table, a boss buying shots for his crew, not even asking someone else to do it, that’s the kind of guy he was. A man you could have a drink with. A man who would be good for political office. A man who was three points up, with a lot to lose by a very small margin.

The bartender started making the drinks, a trough of alcohol, and Carrigan turned to face me, finally. I grinned at him, full force.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello yourself.”

Chapter 21

I put a stilettoed foot on the rim of the bar stool and pushed it toward him. Carrigan looked down at my legs and then back up at my face. I hid a smile.

“Have a seat,” I told him. “You’re going to be a while.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your drinks,” I said, letting my lips spread in a slow smile. “Might be another hour or so before they’re ready.”

Carrigan was half on the bar stool, the posture of a man reluctant to completely commit himself. One eye shifting back to the party he’d left.

“What’s the occasion, big shot?”

He didn’t answer that question. Playing hard to get. “What are you drinking?” he asked, nodding at my glass. Deflecting.

“This is water,” I said. “But it seems to be making me tipsy.”

He looked at my glass and then at me. No smile. “So it does.”

Maybe not playing. I finished the drink and made a small show of setting it down next to him. Carrigan looked at the empty glass and then away. He wasn’t going to offer.

“What are you drinking?” I asked. Carrigan slapped a palm down on the bar and half-turned. From sweet cross-wearing wifey to Tana the ballbuster, and now here he was, not chatting with me. What did I need to do, stick a hand down his pants? Or maybe he was too scared of Tana.