I grab two skinny flutes of champagne from a server in a black uniform with a red bow tie. Ryder starts, “I don’t want one—” “It’s not for you,” I grumble. I chug the first glass in front of the amused waiter and place the empty on his tray. Once he’s gone, I sip the second flute. “Easy, partner,” Ryder warns. “Partner? Is that what this is? A partnership? Because from where I’m standing, I’m the one who’s been doing all the Briar hyping. PS you’re driving home because I plan to have at least, oh, ten more of these.” “I told Jensen I wasn’t good at this shit.”
