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Her eyes bounced between me and my drink. “Sure.”
I slid it her way and she lifted it to her pink lips.
“Well?” I asked.
She set it back down. “That’s good whiskey.”
“You know your whiskeys?”
“Wouldn’t say that,” she said. “Only enough to tell if it’s a bad one.”
“I see. Well, when in doubt, go Irish.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know that much.”
“So what are you in the mood for?”
“Gin?” she asked, looking to me for advice.
“Go with the Fitzgerald, then. It’s delicious.”
“Done.” She lifted a hand to get the bartender’s attention and ordered before turning back to me. “So, what did you get up to today?”
I glanced at the beamed ceiling. “Worked out. Went for a long walk with Otis along the lake. Let him watch another dog play with a dead pigeon. Pretended to write a song.”
“Pretended?”
“Well, I showed up and put in the time, but my muse was MIA today.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“It happens. He’s been kind of elusive lately.”
“Your muse is a guy?”
“I think he identifies as non-binary, but sometimes I like to say mean things about him, and talking smack about a woman feels uncomfortable.”
She squinted at me.
“Tell me about your job.”
“I’m a senior consultant at JP Tippen.”
“Interesting,” I said, angling towards her as the bartender set her drink—complete with a fancy lemon twist—down in front of her. “Does that mean you’re qualified to consult with my muse and see if he’s ready to establish some regular working hours? Because I’ve been questioning his commitment lately.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “But if your muse was a company looking to improve their processes, I’d be able to help.”
“Gotcha. How long have you been doing that?”
“Ten years.”
“Wow. So you like it?”
She shrugged. “Can’t think of something I’d rather do. It’s stressful, but I’m fairly compensated, and I enjoy the challenge of working with different clients.”
“Every child’s dream,” I said. “To grow up and be fairly compensated.”
She laughed. “Actually, when I was little, I wanted to be a ballerina.”
