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Expensive alcohol is not something I’d ever buy myself, but as long as this guy is willing to pay… why not take advantage of the situation?
It’s not like men don’t take advantage of women every day.
My mood sours again as I look away, back into the caramel depths of my drink.
“Rough day?”
“Obviously.” It comes out as a scoff.
“You’re part of that group?” He nods toward the banquet hall, which has a sign out front with the firm’s name on it.
I nod and roll my eyes and he only chuckles again. Takes a sip with those luscious lips… my gaze lingers on them as the whisky burns through my limbs.
“I’m Nick,” the man offers, reaching out a hand. I take it and his hand envelopes mine completely.
“Blair,” I murmur.
“So, Blair. Why so blue?”
The anger is melting away as he speaks, his voice calm and even. But there’s also something demanding about it… as if he expects an answer. And I feel compelled to give him one, a little helpless under his direct gaze.
“I made a fool of myself in there,” I admit, quickly taking another gulp of whiskey. “And I’d rather not have to re-live it, if you don’t mind.”
Nick’s eyes narrow. They’re a steel grey, slightly crinkled around the edges. My mind, already a little hazy thanks to the Ardbeg, catches up with the rest of my senses.
Nick must be in his late thirties, maybe even older. He has at least a decade on me, evident thanks to the light streaks of gray at his temples. But his hair is otherwise dark and thick. He has broad shoulders and wears a simple white button-down and wears it quite well, I might add. His legs, still spread, still brushing mine, strain against his dark grey trousers.
My eyes flick up those thighs, lingering briefly on his hips and torso…
Nick is smirking when I look back at him, but otherwise chooses to ignore my indiscretion. “Sometimes it helps to get it out there. Just say it–whatever it is. It’s almost never as bad as you think it is.”
“I know we just met,” he says casually, “but you don’t strike me as a fool, Blair. How about if you tell me what happened tonight and I’ll tell you something really stupid I did today.”
I snort, the whisky burning my nostrils, and gasp. Nick reaches out with an apologetic grimace and smooths a hand over my back. The heat from his touch combines with that of the whisky, and I don’t know which to focus on, feeling a bit lightheaded.
“Alright,” I answer. “What do I have to lose? Except for every shred of self-respect I still have left.” And I proceed to tell him the whole story, holding nothing back.
Something hard flickers through Nick’s gaze as I finish my story. “Isn’t Quinn, Jacobs & Cowdery known as a top-notch firm?” he asks.
“Yes. But that doesn’t stop the office politics. Trust me.”
I think of all those assholes, my lips twisting into a bitter grimace.
“Oh, come on now,” Nick murmurs. His ankle catches the bottom of my stool and turns it toward him so we’re facing one another. At the same time, he reaches out and touches my lower lip, making my mouth go slack from shock.
“You’re too pretty to walk around looking so sour.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as he looks on, amused. The situation is so absurd that I can’t help but laugh. After all, I’ve just been humiliated in front of my entire company, and now I’m in a bar flirting – am I flirting? – with a much older man who seems to be very attentive to me.
“Okay, your turn. Tell me the stupid thing you did today,” I request with a sly smile, hopeful that hearing his embarrassing moment will make me feel better.
“Right… well, I was at an important business lunch earlier today and I was a bit nervous because these guys are big shots at this partnering firm we work with a lot. We recently totally screwed up a deal and these guys have been livid about it, but they finally agreed to let me take them to lunch. So, we’re all sitting there about to order some food and, for some unknown reason, I address ourmalewaiter as ma’am. The guy doesn’t take it well and I feel like a total jackass.”
I look at him, my eyebrows raised. “And then what happens? That’s not all, right? Did you dump a glass of water in someone’s lap or shoot food across the table when you were cutting your steak or something?”
“No, just called the waiter ma’am. But, I feltreallystupid.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better. You made it sound like you really screwed something up.”
