Dylan pulled back slightly, then held out his hand to take Laura's. She accepted it without hesitation, and together they walked out of the room, descending into the quiet of his private bar.
"What would you care for?" Dylan asked, his tone oddly light, almost friendly, as though trying to play civil.
Laura narrowed her eyes. "Are you mocking me... or taunting me?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he raised his filled glass to his lips and smiled bitterly before downing it in one go. His face contorted briefly as the alcohol scorched down his throat, burning like everything else inside him.
He poured another. Then another. Again and again, until his vision blurred and the room felt like it was slowly tilting. "Goodnight, Laura. We'll talk tomorrow," he muttered and attempted to walk off, but his legs betrayed him, and he stumbled, gripping her arm for support.
