_Zarelle’s POV_
Jameson planted his considerable bulk on the stool next to me, looking pissed. “Why did you call me?”
I nodded at the bartender. “I’m getting a Cherry Bomb. What’s your poison?”
Jameson frowned, impatient. “Miss Stormy, what do you want?”
“To buy you a drink.” I swirled around on my stool. “And to talk about the company.”
“We are not exactly friends.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
I watched the glass cabinet behind the bar until I saw what I had been waiting for. Perfect timing.
“Miss Stormy?” Jameson rapped his knuckles on the countertop. “If you are done wasting my time, I’m late for a party.”
He stood up, turned around, and froze.
I leaned back with my drink, satisfaction washing over me. All the way across the packed room, Constance Sterl
