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“Oh. Would you?” she answered with mock excitement. Immediately the overly excited smile dropped from her face. Her tone more serious, she said, “You're happier lately. I like it. But you're starting to scare the crew. They don't know how to handle you when you're fallible.”
“Is the food suffering?” he asked, alarmed.
“Nothing is suffering. I'm kind of enjoying it to be honest. I get to take a little more of a leadership role when you disappear into the walk-in,” she teased.
Magnus opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. Clearing his throat, he asked, “I hadn't realized. Are you unhappy here?”
“Not unhappy. I'm just enjoying the additional responsibility. I don't think you've dated anyone in the entire time I've known you, Magnus. It's about time.”
He looked around and realized that the kitchen had all but cleared out. “Tried to date you,” he reminded her, smirking.
“Twenty minutes eight years ago doesn't constitute a date. I'm talking about really dating someone. It's been the better part of a decade at least.”
“You're a bloody nag. Have I mentioned that lately?” he asked, sliding the veal stock into the refrigerator.
“I know. I am. But I'll finish up in here tonight. Go find your girl, before I change my mind.”
He hesitated for only another moment before he grinned. “Thank you.”
Tossing the apron in the wash bin on the way out of the kitchen, Magnus checked in the bar first and found everything had been wiped down and tidied. No Caroline, though. He checked the small storeroom off the bar but finally found her frowning at the computer screen in her office. “Caroline,” he called out cautiously.
Her head snapped up. She gave him a half smile that didn't reach her eyes and said, “Hey you. How was dinner service?”
“Apparently not as good as your night,” he commented, frowning. “What's the matter?”
“A bottle of Balvenie Fifty Year is missing. It was here last Tuesday when I took inventory. Now it's gone.”
Magnus held up his hands and said, “I don't know anything about Scotch, but I'm assuming fifty year means it's really expensive?”
“$34,000 a bottle. Lilly is going to flip the fuck out when I tell her,” she groaned.
His eyebrows raised incredulously. That was some serious cash for liquor. “Do you leave it out at the bar or does that stay under lock and key?”
“Under lock and key for sure. I'm going to go check one more time before I tell her. Wanna see the secret booze closet?” she asked, sliding out from behind her desk and giving him a hopeful smile.
“Have I just been officially drafted into helping you look for a bottle of Scotch? Is that what just happened here?” he asked, grinning.
She traced a finger slowly around the neckline of her blouse and carefully said, “I'd be extremely appreciative if you'd help me but I'm not going to beg.”
An offer he couldn't refuse. “Lead the way,” he invited, stepping back to let her slide past him.
Rather than scooting past him, she let her body graze across his very slowly as she edged past him. The feel of her body pressed up however incidentally against his had him going hard as a rock. When she reached the door and he hadn't moved, she asked, “Coming?”
“Just about,” he murmured, shooting for honesty.
“It's been nearly twenty four hours since I've been inside you. You do realize that I'm going to try my hardest to rectify that situation immediately, right?”
She flushed and said, “I really do have to look for this bottle of Scotch, Magnus, but we can absolutely work on that.”
He trailed down the hallway to a door with an access card reader. He watched as she pulled it from her pocket and swiped it. After the door beeped, he followed her in and looked around. There were boxes and bottles neatly organized on the shelves.
“I know it looks unimpressive, but you're currently standing next to about three quarters of a million dollars’ worth of Scotch right now. That's a conservative estimate, too.”
“Christ. Now I see why they have the access card. So what is this box or bottle we're looking for?”
“It should be in a wooden cylinder, different colors of grain wrapped around the outside with a small gold band toward the bottom of it. I should've shown you a picture. Sorry.”
He eyed the top shelf and said, “Do you have a step stool in here? I'll start up top.”
