It was the f*****g eleventh call from Saxon’s bar, and I had had enough already. It was one of the rare moments when I regretted being Harlan’s emergency contact. I didn’t need to be told; if they were calling this much, it was one of two things: he was either s**t drunk out of his mind, or he wouldn’t stop asking for me.
The first eleven times, I had planned to ignore it. He owned the f*****g bar; they could lock him in one of the staff rooms. I don't care. I promised myself Harlan was no longer going to be my problem.
Okay, I did care, which was why I grabbed my coat and drove like a maniac to get here. I parked and grabbed my bag, storming into the parking lot to give Harlan an earful.
And just as expected, he was downing tequila shots like it was hump day. I grabbed the shot he was
