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She looks at the picture more closely. “Now my dad might argue with you there.” She hands back the phone.
“Oh, you have children?” Mr. Peterson asks.
“No. My sister had a baby a few weeks ago.” She pulls out her phone, displaying a picture of her and her niece, and shows it to the Petersons.
“Oh, what a cutie. What’s her name?” Blair asks.
“Cecilia. You want to hear a funny story?” Annie eyes me, obviously pretty comfortable now that half of her glass of wine has been consumed.
“Always.” Blair sits up straighter and props her chin in her hand.
“To prepare for the pitch, Enzo attended the birth. It wasn’t pretty. My sister was screaming at my poor brother-in-law the entire time, but”—she puts her hand on my shoulder—“he didn’t pass out or throw up, so I say that’s a win.”
Blair laughs. “You did all that for our ad campaign?”
I nod, my words lodged in my throat. I’m a little surprised that she threw me under the bus, but the client loves it, so her judgment was on point.
“He did, and my family is not easy, believe me.” She pats my shoulder again then removes her hand.
Even after her hand is back on the stem of her wine glass, I feel as though she’s still touching me. Which is weird, right?
“Way to go above and beyond.” Mr. Jacobson beams at me, and I nod in appreciation.
We continue talking about life and kids. Annie and I the only ones without much to add, but we contribute to the conversation where we can. When dinner has drawn to a close, the waitress hands me the bill and I discreetly hand her my company credit card.
“We better go. We have an early flight.” Mr. Peterson stands.
We all head to the coat check to say our goodbyes. Hands are shaken, and Mr. Jacobson pulls me aside for a moment.
“I assume you took care of dinner?” he asks.
“Of course. Have a great night.”
He nods then pushes his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “Thank you, and make sure Miss Stewart gets home safe.”
I glance at her as her hands stop mid button on her coat. I push my hands into my pockets and smile. “Of course.”
They say their goodbyes, and the waitress returns with my credit card slip. I leave the tip, sign my name, and pass it back to her, folding the receipt into my billfold to expense.
“Want to share a cab?” I ask Annie.
“Oh, you’re not going my way.”
My forehead creases. “How do you know?”
“Trust me on this one.” She takes a few steps toward the revolving doors.
“You heard Mr. Jacobson. I need to see you home.”
We say goodbye to the hostess, who either has a resting bitch face or thinks I’ve scorned her in some way because it appears that Annie is my date.
“You don’t,” Annie says when we get outside.
The cool spring air hits us in the face, and I inhale a deep breath. The sky is dark now, but the sidewalk is still bustling with people.
“What if something happens to you? I can’t afford to be fired right before I make partner.” I wink.
The valet flags down a cab for us, and I tip him before opening the door for Annie.
