Crash

Cache

—a collection of items of the same type stored in a hidden or inaccessible place

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[Blake]

"You made him ask you to leave?" Xander raised a brow. "Great, you blew the deal and now I have clean up after your shit, is that right?"

I snorted. "I didn't blow a thing. His assistant was being—"

"A bitch, yes but we don't lose our temper over small shit like this," Xander downed the rest of his whiskey. "Blake you've been through this many times and you handled it well; fuck even my dad likes you more than he likes his son," he laughed, sarcastic. "It's just another one of those times. Why the hell did you have to go and say that? Turner hates it when people go against him."

I clicked my tongue in frustration. "It's not my fault, don't be such an ass okay? Look," I turned to him with an analogy. "If you were in my position, and say your secretary was Chip or something and someone pulled some shit like this on him—"

"They're good as dead," he finished, calling for another glass. "I'm not saying it's your fault, you little shit. I'm just saying you're not like your usual self. The ass I know wouldn't have blown up like that." Xander frowned all of a sudden. "And did you just compare you and your secretary to me and Angel? You're kidding right."

I cursed inwardly.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Who's he again?"

"What?"

"The guy. Your secretary."

Wow, apart from Chip and Giselle, everyone else probably doesn't exist to him. "Ace Salander. Gay. Finds you hot." I snorted.

He only laughed indifferently, as though it didn't affect him in any manner. "You don't have to be so salty about it."

"I wasn't being salty," I frowned, taking his new bottle of whisky and pouring some into my empty glass. "This tastes terrible by the way."

"You fucking were."

The live jazz was starting on another song; one of my favourites when someone happened to crash into my Mercedes while it was playing over the speakers. It seemed really long ago, that accident. I barely recalled it now, and the frustration I felt then had simmered into a nothing. The block in my mind eased its way apart thanks to the alcohol, and I was beginning to let the day's events weigh on my shoulders.

"I kissed him."

Someone placed a bucket of rock ice beside our bottles, and Xander thanked him with a nod. He didn't say anything else.

I sighed.

"Some spur of the moment shit."

"I know," he admitted with a shrug. "Think I was six years earlier than you then."

"What?" I frowned.

"Spur of the moment shit, like you said," my best friend laughed, downing the contents of his glass. "Didn't think." He waited for my response, but I came up with nothing. The realization—that had come a little too late, yes—of my guilt sank the heart. I had messed up my work, confused myself, and confused Ace as well. Fuck everything.