Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 146

Passing the Buck.

That was the only thing running through Henson’s mind.

Justin was the absolute master at passing the buck.

Even if Lauren was blameless in this mess, Henson figured the real fault belonged to that cop–Officer Sheffield–who just wouldn’t let him off the hook. No matter how many favors Henson tried to call in, Sheffield

always found some new excuse to turn him down.

Otherwise, for something this trivial, Henson would never have dragged Justin into it.

The moment they stepped out of the station, Henson darted for Justin’s car as soon as he heard the doors unlock.

Justin didn’t hurry himself. He shot a sideways look at Henson, who was already in the passenger seat. “Call yourself a cab. I don’t have time to play chauffeur.”

By the time Justin finished talking, Henson had already buckled his seat belt and made himself comfortable, looking stubbornly immovable.

Justin’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing just a touch. When it was clear Henson had no intention of leaving, he sighed and checked his watch.

His voice dropped a notch, icy with warning. “Henson, I don’t like repeating myself.”

Justin was in a foul mood to begin with.

The so–called femme fatale hadn’t even bothered to serve him a single dish at dinner–absolutely infuriating.

The fact that he’d dragged himself out here to clean up Henson’s mess was already above and beyond the call of duty.

Now, Henson was really testing his patience.

Chapter 146

But the kid just rolled down the window with a grin. “Justin, it’s not far and it’s on your way. I’m not heading home yet–drop me at The Nightingale Club.”

It was true, The Nightingale Club was just a short detour.

But Justin was in no mood for detours. Every extra minute Henson kept him was another minute he’d be late getting home.

Then Henson waggled his eyebrows and added, “Connor’s throwing a party at the Nightingale tonight.”

Justin shrugged. “And?”

Anywhere Connor went, Justin usually avoided.

Henson knew that, too.

Henson kept on with the waggling eyebrows. “Come on, you just got married. Attorney Grant really went to bat for you. Don’t you think you ought to thank him in person?”

That seemed to jog Justin’s memory.

Standing by the car, he slid behind the wheel without another word and pulled out toward the Nightingale. “You’re right. My father–in–law wouldn’t have made it to the wedding if not for Attorney Grant. Guess I owe him a

thanks.”

Tonight’s party was to celebrate Connor winning another big case at his LA firm.

Henson and Justin entered the exclusive VVIP lounge at The Nightingale,

one after the other.

The room was thick with the scent of champagne. A handful of sharply dressed men lounged on plush sofas, surrounded by a flock of bubbly party girls in barely there dresses.

Justin instinctively frowned. The music was blasting–way too loud for his

taste.

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While Henson made a beeline for the bar to down his penalty shots,

Justin headed straight for the soundboard and turned the music down to a whisper.

The party girls immediately voiced their annoyance, shooting Justin dirty looks. “Hey! Who’s the killjoy?”

Justin stood beside the soundboard, surveying the room with an indifferent stare. He didn’t seem to register anyone else’s existence.

The girls didn’t recognize him, but just from his demeanor and presence, it was obvious he wasn’t someone to mess with.

Their complaints died off in a hurry. Heads ducked. They went back to whatever they were doing.

A few seconds later, someone snapped, “Do you girls even know who you’re talking to? Show some respect to Mr. Hawksley! Apologize, now!”

The girls froze, not knowing what to do.

Justin raised a hand, dismissive. “Don’t bother.”

It wasn’t that he was particularly forgiving–he just couldn’t be bothered to

waste time on them.

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