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Because I’ve become comfortable with Brienne and I know she’s teasing, I throw a little sass back. “I work hard because I want your job one day.”
Laughing, Brienne motions me to follow her. I nab my cell phone and head out of my office, surprised when she walks straight for hers. I assumed when she said a drink, we’d go somewhere.
In the large corner office still bearing her brother’s name, Brienne heads for a wet bar that’s set up with a handful of liquor bottles and a selection of crystal glasses. “Close the door and tell me your poison,” she instructs.
I’m not a hard liquor drinker, wine being pretty much my go-to. But she’s the boss, and I want to have this time with her because frankly, it’s special having a good relationship with my boss. “Whatever you’re having,” I reply.
Brienne holds up a bottle. “Balvenie, fifty year old. Sells for $39,000 a bottle.”
I almost choke on that of information.
Wrinkling her nose, she sets the bottle down. “That was my brother’s. He was a scotch man and liked the expensive stuff.” She grabs another bottle and aims it my way. “I’m a simpler person. I prefer good old Jack Daniels.”
That, I’ve heard of. It’s something I could even afford.
Brienne pours about two inches of the amber liquid into a glass and offers it to me. I wait for her to have a glass in hand, and she holds it up slightly. “Here’s to gorgeous hockey players and bouquets of flowers.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I murmur and take the barest of sips of the whiskey. It burns and tingles, but it’s not unpleasant. Brienne takes a heftier sip and nods toward a set of plush guest chairs in the corner styled with a beautiful Tiffany floor lamp in between them.
Once settled, Brienne props an elbow on the arm of the chair and rests her chin in her palm while holding her drink in the other hand. She stares at me pointedly. “Okay… tell me everything about Gage. I’m impressed by those flowers. Guys don’t do those grand gestures anymore. At least not in my limited experience.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “It’s been way too long since I’ve been on a date. It happened so fast, and it’s a little overwhelming.”
“And just how did this all come about?” she asks, completely invested by the look on her face. Pure joy at disconnecting from work for a bit to chat about nothing all that important. “Tell me everything.”
I share how we met, even admitting I’d been oversensitive about him looking at my scars and how he set me straight on that. About how we talked at the film meeting and the party. How I pushed him to go on a date, and he didn’t, instead showing up on my doorstep. I don’t mention our talk about Coen as I don’t think his outburst is something that’s my place to tell Brienne, but I spend way too much time talking about our date last night.
“Did he kiss you good night?” she asks on a quiet sigh.
I sigh as well. “It was unexpected and amazing, and there may have been more than one. And then he basically told me we were going on a second date.”
“Ooh… I like a strong, take-charge guy. So important for strong women like us.”
That catches me off guard. “But… I’m not strong like you.”
Brienne straightens in her chair and glares at me. The look isn’t hostile, but she’s clearly displeased. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. How can you even say that about yourself?”
“How am I strong?” I ask, completely befuddled.
Blinking like an owl, Brienne gives a slight shake of her head. “Um… only because you survived a near-death experience and battled through a horrifically painful injury. You have to live every day with your trauma and yet you still work hard, have a great outlook on life, and you’re striving to overcome your fears. Tell me how that isn’t the epitome of strength.”
Now I’m the one blinking at her.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she dares, settling back in her chair and taking a languid sip of her whiskey.
“You’re saying the same things my sister tells me all the time,” I admit a bit shamefully to her. “But I just figured she’s my sister. She’s supposed to say those things.”
“Okay, we have to work on improving the health of your ego,” Brienne says with a finger wag. “Your sister has it right. I can see why Gage is quite taken with you.”
“I could definitely work on my confidence around him, that’s for sure,” I mutter.
“Just out of practice? Jitters?” she inquires.
Putting the glass to my lips, I let the rich liquid pour over my tongue. It burns going down and my eyes water, but it fortifies me. “Gage is amazing. Gorgeous, kind, genuine, funny, smart. And I’m…”
