“You’re here to drink in his place, right?” The young man started. “Time to do your job! Chug this!”

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” The crowd began to clamor excitedly.

Deirdre had always been alcohol-intolerant. Just the stench of beer triggered a gag reflex, and she pushed the pint away, to the young man’s displeasure. His smile stiffened. “Hey, what’s this supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me that since you’re Mr. Brighthall’s b*tch, you wag your tail only for him? Boooooo! You’re no fun!”

Brendan watched the exchange from his seat. He crossed his legs and fiddled with his ring, his frigid onyx-black eyes boring straight through Deirdre’s face. His lips were curved when he chided placidly. “Now, now. What did I tell you about your attitude when you were at my party? Have you forgotten already?”

He did not sound particularly angry, but that nonchalance was a front to the biting chill only Deirdre understood. He was warning her. “Defy me, and I’ll take it out on Sterling.”

“Um, I…” D