Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Mill's Tavern
Eight o’clock came and went, and Rory’s anxiety quickly turned to annoyance. It became clear that Micah Kyle was a man of jokes–and not the kind Rory found funny.
The whole thing was too good to be true. She was a nobody, and Micah Kyle had been on the cover of Time Magazine. Why would he waste a second of his time to give her an interview, especially when she’d already missed their first one? She was foolish to ever believe he would show up.
As it turned out, Mill’s Tavern had decent live music and a pretty good late night happy hour, and with no other plans, Rory decided to have one drink. By nine-thirty, one drink had turned into three, and Rory was starting to forget Micah Kyle even existed.
To her dismay, she couldn’t hide her own existence, and her desire for solitude was quickly disrupted in the worst way possible. The nightly news was doing a story on stray cats getting killed by the wolf that had escaped in Central Park. She was vaguely paying attention, when the bartender switched the channel to Access Hollywood.
Rory sunk into her seat, completely forgetting about the interview with actress Rachel Mae airing tonight. The action star had recently broken off a high profile engagement after moving to New York to film her new movie. On nights like this, Rory tried to stay away from larger crowds.
“Holy shit.” A thirty-something guy at the barstool next to Rory nearly spit out his drink. “It’s you!”
Rory searched desperately for the bartender to cash out her tab.
The man pointed at the television. “You’re Rachel Mae!”
Rory let out a soul-crushing sigh as other bar patrons began looking their way. She spotted the bartender, but her attempt at flagging the woman down was useless. “I’m not her.”
The man stood up, inching closer. “Oh, c’mon. Hate to tell you, but your glasses aren’t much of a disguise. Don’t be shy.”
“I’m a twin, you moron. She’s my sister.”
The man’s glossy eyes blinked. “Let me get your autograph.”
This wouldn’t be the last time someone confused her for Rachel, and with how drunk this guy was, it was easier to go along with it. “Fine, you can have my autograph.” She ripped a soggy napkin and a pen off the bar and scribbled an illegible signature.
Although Rachel and her were identical, for the most part Rory had her privacy. It was one of the reasons she loved New York. She could easily blend into a crowd. Occasionally, a photo of her riding the subway would appear in People magazine with some version of the headline: ‘Like Us: Rachel Mae takes the subway!’
Bars were usually the worst, people’s lowered inhibitions encouraging a breach of her personal space. For the most part, people forgot Rachel had a nobody for a twin sister or they just didn’t give a sh*t.
“There–happy?” she said, handing the man the napkin. She caught the bartender’s attention. “Can I get my check?”
The man glanced at the napkin, and then leaned forward, bursting the bubble of her personal space. “My girlfriend’s gonna love this. She loved you in that one space movie. What was it called?”
The bartender walked over. “Your drinks have been taken care of.”
“By who?”
“Pluto’s Revenge! That was the movie!” the man shouted, throwing up his hands. The drink in his hand tipped sideways, rum splashing over Rory’s shirt. “Oh, shit. Let me help you.” He reached out and started patting her chest.
“I’m good!” Rory said, trying to swat his hand away.
The man smiled drunkenly and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Oh, I can make you feel good, baby. Why don’t we get out of here?”
Rory shoved her palm against his chest. “I’d rather choke on my vomit.”
The man’s tone changed. “I heard you were a little b*tch. Guess the rumors are true.”
Suddenly, a large, burly giant of a man shoved the drunk guy sideways. Rory immediately recognized him. He was the bodyguard who had refused her entrance into Park Place that morning.
“What the hell?” the drunk guy yelled.
“Out. Get out.” The bodyguard grabbed the drunk guy by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him towards the entrance.
The bartender spun on her heel. “Hey! You need to pay!”
“I got it.”
Rory turned toward the familiar voice. Micah Kyle stepped up to the bar and gave Rory a sideways glance. Rory blinked, unsure if she was drunk and making this up.
“Mr. Kyle,” the bartender said, blushing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Micah reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. He laid five hundred dollars on the bar. “An apology for the disruption.”
The woman’s eyes bulged out of her head. “T-thank you,” she stuttered, reaching out and touching his hand. “Would you like a drink?”
“No,” Micah said coldly, pulling his hand away and facing Rory. The bartender looked taken aback by his tone and quickly scooped up the cash.
Rory glared at him. “Did you buy my drinks?”
“Maybe.”
She hated how attractive his deep voice sounded, and how good his cologne smelled. “Hold on. How long have you been here?”
“I’m never late to my appointments,” he said. “Unlike some people.”
“You–so you’ve been here this whole time? Just what? Watching me? That is borderline stalkerish, you know that?”
A hint of a smile danced across Micah’s perfect skin. “I’m fairly certain stalkerish isn’t a word.”
“It most definitely is. I’m the writer here.”
“Well, according to your editor, not anymore.”
Rory scoffed. “Were you even going to give me an interview?”
He leaned against the bar and clasped his hands together. “Now, why would you want to interview a spoiled brat like me? I think those were the words you used.”
Rory grabbed her purse off the bar. “Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?”
She was vaguely aware that her voice was getting louder and that people were staring. She noticed the flash of an IPhone camera out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t care. Not anymore.
“I meant everything I said,” Rory snapped. “You’re demolishing a piece of history. And for what? To kiss your dad’s ass? You know how many developers turned your dad’s proposal down?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me.”
She could tell this was amusing him and that pissed her off even more.
“Twelve,” she said, throwing her purse over her shoulder and holding up ten fingers. “Twelve. But the minute you're promoted to CEO, you hop right on it, f*ck history! Just so your dad can get reelected.” The room started to spin and she was fairly certain she was closing one eye to stay focused on Micah. “Nepotism. Is a word. And I can spell it if you want me to.”
She grabbed her full drink and took a sip.
Micah’s smile faded. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
She nearly coughed on her vodka. “You’re right,” she said. “Enough of you!” She tossed the remainder of her drink directly into Micah’s face. “Good day, sir!”
With that, she flipped her hair, and stomped toward the exit. Although, it was definitely more of a waver, because she hit two tables on the way out and tripped in her heels, nearly breaking her ankle. She was most certainly filmed by no less than four people, but if that’s what was necessary to show New York who Micah Kyle truly was, so be it.
She threw open the door of the tavern and bumped right into his bodyguard. The large man lifted an eyebrow. “Need a taxi?”
“I take the subway,” she said. “Like a normal New Yorker.”
“Stations closed,” the bodyguard said.
“Sh*t.” She’d completely forgotten. After the mess of her morning, she’d stayed in uptown browsing clothing in shops she could never afford and having coffee in Central Park. All for the waste of an interview that never happened.
She opened her Uber app and gawked at the surge charge. She glanced up at Central Park across the street. If she walked around, it would take her over an hour to get past the construction to the next subway stop. But if she cut through the park, it would only take ten minutes to get to the next station. “I have two legs, I can walk.”
“Are you sure about that miss?” The bodyguard asked. “You’re swaying.”
“I guess ‘miss’ is better than ‘kid.’” She sighed. “Mr. Bodyguard, please give Mr. Kyle a message from me.”
“What’s that?”
***
When Micah exited Mill’s Tavern reeking of Rory’s cheap vodka, Stony was waiting for him. He took one look at the wet spot across Micah’s suit and snorted.
“That girl doesn't like you.”
“Did you see her leave?” Micah asked.
“I did,” Stony said. “She said to tell you, and I quote, ‘Stop being such a d*ck.’”
“Fine choice of words.”
“Sir, you have plenty of women throwing themselves at you,” Stony said. “Why chase the one who isn’t?”
“I like her honesty.”
“Oh, so you’re a masochist,” Stony laughed. “I mean no offense, but what are you trying to gain from this?”
Micah trusted Stony with his life. The man knew more family secrets than even Micah’s own sister did, and Micah was always honest with him. But he didn’t know how to answer that question. There was just something about Rory Jenkins he couldn’t put his finger on.
“I’ll get back to you on that. Which way did she go?”
“She walked that way.” Stony nodded toward Central Park.
“You let her go into the park?” Micah gasped.
“My job is to stay with you, not chase after every drunk girl you piss off.”
Micah pressed his fingers against his temple. “Just get the car, and I’ll text you when I need you.”
“Micah,” Stony whispered. “Your mother worked hard to keep the zoo cover story under the radar. She doesn’t want the other packs suspecting anything until we know for sure what pack the Shifter is from. If someone sees two wolves, it will ruin our cover. Not to mention…if the Shifter went Rogue, they’re dangerous.”
“Exactly why I need to go. I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt.” He waited for traffic to pass and jogged across the street. “I’ll text you.”
Stony groaned. “You’re killing me, kid.”
A sudden urgency made Micah pick up his pace. “No one is killing anyone tonight,” he whispered and sprinted into the park.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone