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Her pretty mouth spreads into an excited grin. "Yes! I can't wait. Did the new paint on the light fixtures work out?"
Her enthusiasm temporarily sweeps me along in excitement. "It looks absolutely stunning. We tried out some colored light themes this afternoon, and it makes everything look so beautiful."
Beaming, she elbows Matthias in the chest and twitters, "You're going to absolutely love it inside. Clarissa has done a phenomenal job with this place. Would you believe, three months ago, this was basically just a hollowed out old Subway."
"I believe you," he says, his eyes warm when he speaks to her. Then he turns to me and they harden, grow cold. "Clarissa has always been very accomplished.Ambitious."
Cold eyes meet even colder eyes. "Some of us have to be. Not everyone is handed everything on a silver platter," I spit, and instantly regret it. I don't know how much the Baxters knew about the way my father had basically disowned me, and I'd rather not give them that satisfaction.
"Not everyone, true. But none of those people are here, are they?" he says. It tells me that he has no idea about my current financial predicament. Good. I'm going to keep it that way. The last thing I need or want is Matthias's pity.
Before I can throw another insult his way, someone comes running up behind me.
"Ms. Masters!" Clementine, one of the cigar girls, loudly whispers, her face blazing red.
I touch her shoulder. "Clementine. No running, okay? Not in front of the guests."
She turns even more red but nods, acknowledging my instruction. "Ms. Masters, there's a guest who is asking if we can get the Brick House Churchills. But we don't have any! I don't think we've ever had any!" Her voice rises in volume and pitch with each word, panicked.
Out of the corner of my eye, Leanne and Matthias step aside, giving us some room. "Clementine, that's okay. Customers can ask. In fact, it's good that they ask. It'll give us a chance to make sure we have it in stock." I give her a nod of reassurance and grab a gift voucher and scribble the name of the cigar he'd requested on it, tuck it into an envelope, and hand it back to Clementine. "Tell the customer that we're getting a shipment next Wednesday. Give him this envelope, and ask him to bring it in with him next time he comes and his first one will be on the house, okay?" She looks down at the envelope and back up at me with a nod. "Thank you. And while you're there, can you please lead Ms. Marshall and Mr. Baxter to my table? And send someone to take their order, please."
"Of course, Ms. Masters," she answers, calmed down.
I look up just in time to see Matthias giving me a strange look. Indecipherable. And then it's gone before I can figure out what it means.
"Have a good night," I say as they follow Clementine into the salon.
"Thank you, Clarissa," he says, voice soft.
The rare moment of respite from his insults emboldens me. "Actually, I was talking to Leanne. I hopeyouchoke on your cognac," I say with the widest smile I can muster.
The response I get from him is a laugh that, inexplicably, warms right through me.
I ignore it and make a note to check the thermostat.
***
An hour later, the lights dim while the stage lights come to life. There's a smattering of applause as the band makes it onto the stage and performs a quick sound check. I wait until they give me a quick nod, signaling me to walk onto the stage.
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Malt!" I greet my customers, trying not to squint under the stage light. "Tonight, once again, we have the absolute pleasure of welcoming one of Manhattan's best talents, Georgana Best! We hope you enjoy the show." This time the applause is thumping, deliberate, anticipatory. I can't help feeling a thrill. I had taken a chance with Georgana, spending almost twice as much as I had intended for the opening night. But tonight is the third night she'll perform since then, and each time she's had to do two encores before the customers let her leave the stage.
Georgana steps onto the stage, bowing low to the audience before the band launches into their six song set.
I listen until the first chorus, just to make sure everything is running smoothly before turning toward my table. I should take a minute to make sure that Leanne and herplus onehave everything they need. I refuse to think of him as anything but that.
When my eyes land on my table in the far left corner, I notice someone watching me.
And even though the room is dark, lit only by a soft orange glow, I know the eyes are an unnerving hue of blue.Baxter Blue, I used to call it. The Baxter brothers might have gotten their business and tenacity from their grandfather, but their piercing, crystal blue eyes and almost bleached blond hair are their mother through and through. Even with Matthias, who might be the one who looks least like her, there is no doubt where his looks came from. Damien used to say that was the very reason Matthias was even more neglected by their mother than the others. Whereas Damien, who most resembled her, was the "favorite" and the focus of his mother's attention, both good and very, very bad, Matthias was the forgotten child when it came to her, and thus, probably the reason he's more immune to her games than the others.
I meet his eyes, just for a second, then I look away. Or maybe he does first. I don't know. I just know that someone has turned the heat up again, and I'm flushed.
It's a rare moment shared between the two of us, where one of us isn't insulting the other.
But it doesn't last.
The next time I look over, he's leaning into Leanne, his hand on her back, whispering something that makes her eyes twinkle, and she leans back, pressing her hand against his cheek.
Ugh.
