25
Sawyer upended the tumbler of whiskey, draining the last drops and crunching the ice cubes. He was a little drunk, a little jet-lagged, and extremely f*****g confused about the argument he’d had with Remy.
He sat up at the sleek black marble bar, an amenity of his hotel that he’d only just discovered. After he checked Remy’s room and found her gone, he’d come down here for a drink.
Which turned into three.
“There you are.”
He looked up to find Merissa sliding onto the bar stool beside him, wearing a skimpy little lace number. She leaned close, making sure he got an eyeful of her cleavage, then put her hand on his thigh.
“Merissa,” he said, removing her hand. “Speak of the Devil.”
“Oh, you flatter me,” she said, laughing. She was very proud of her dazzling white smile and her big
