He pictured heading back to the clinic, this time being the one requiring treatment and giving Sheri blackmail material for the next month. Not a pretty option.
He’d deal with Michael. First thing though, he needed alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. Nick grabbed the wine. “You know my job—,”
“No, Nick,” Michael interrupted with an imperious gesture. “You don’t get to talk here.”
“Excuse me?” The bottle slipped from Nick’s hand, only his quick reflexes keeping the contents from spilling onto his plate instead of into his glass.
“I have excused you.”
Michael took another drink of wine, and honestly? That whole swirling of the blood-red liquid was more than a little disturbing.
“Over and over again.”