“I came with Barron,” I say. I reach across the bar and pour myself a third shot. The guys love that.
“You’re leaving with me,” Grandad says under his breath.
This time the vodka goes down my throat like water. I step away from the bar and make myself stumble a little. I feel heady with confidence. I’m Callum Sharpe. My mouth wants to shape the words. I’m smarter than everybody else and I’ve thought of everything.
“You okay?” Anton asks, looking at me like he’s trying to figure if I’m drunk. His plans depend on me. I look as blank as possible and hope that it freaks him out. No point in my being the only miserable one.
Grandad tugs me toward the double doors, against the tide of people. “He’ll sleep it off in the car.”
“Let me just run to the bathroom,” I tell Grandad. “I’ll be right
