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"Right. Nice to meet you, Ben. I swear I’m not usually that ditsy. The pickle fumes are getting to me and-" I don’t get to hear the rest of her theory on pickle fumes though, because we're interrupted by another employee.
"How did you drop all those pickles?" He asks Lilah, stepping into her space while ignoring me completely. She visibly cringes as he gets close and it sets me on edge. Somebody doesn’t understand boundaries. I eye the interloper; he’s wearing suspenders over a striped shirt, and a fedora. Bold move, Cotton.
"Sorry, Terry," she says as she takes a step away from him. "The edge of the mat was rolled over again. I tripped. Maybe you can finally get that mat replaced now that it smells like a pickle." She smiles with false sweetness and I stifle a grin.
He eyes me like this is all my fault. "You can have a seat, sir," dismissing me and stepping between me and Lilah in one swift movement. He puts a hand on her back. "Let's get you bandaged up."
I immediately hate this guy. I have the insane urge to rip his hands off her, but Lilah brushes his arm away. "I can take care of this myself," she tells him with a stony expression. Jesus, she's awesome. I'm liking her more and more by the second.
The guy holds up his hands and walks away muttering, "Just trying to be nice."
Lilah holds her hand up to keep the bleeding under control. "Sorry about the manager. He is the actual worst. Thanks again for the help. I'm going to go... take care of this."
"Be careful," I tell her with a grin before watching her walk away, hips swinging as she leaves pickle juice footprints in her wake. I make my way back to the table and groan inwardly when I see Jack's expression. He's got an eyebrow raised, and he's smirking.
"Friend of yours?" he asks.
"Nah." I don't make eye contact with him as I down the rest of my whiskey and flag our waiter for another.
One of Jack's investor friends, Rod (I think?) brays in an obnoxious New Jersey accent. "You got dibs, man?" I give him the most disdainful look I can muster.
"Are you five? Did you seriously just ask if I have dibs on a human being? What the fuck, Ron?"
"It's Rod, jackass," he snaps back at me. "Lighten up, bro." He runs his hands through the front of his hair, making sure it’s still sticking up in front. He looks like he’s got a hair horn and I hate it. God, he has a punchable face. I give Jack my best you-fucking-owe-me face. Rod is just lucky I'm not a physically violent person.
