“Connor McNamara, don’t be a stereotype,” Victoria nudged his shoulder. “Come on, order a cocktail. You have no idea how good she is.”
His brow furrowed, and I realized he didn’t know what he liked. The man knew his boss’ perfect drink down to the cherry brand… but couldn’t name his own favorite.
“Can I guess?” I asked.
Victoria perked up. “Yes, please. Take my mind off…” She gestured loosely at the stage, where the technician seemed to be wrapping up. “Talk me through it.”
I inspected the guy who seemed to always be doing the inspections. “I might have gone Old Fashioned, but bourbon’s out,” I told Victoria. “But he’s more complex than a vodka soda. Imight do a martini, classic with a lemon twist so he can disinfect the counter in a pinch—”
Victoria barked out a laugh.
Connor’s mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Well, cleanliness is next to godliness.”
“—but I don’t want to lump him in with all the James Bond bros.”
“Agreed,” Victoria said. “What kind of heathen shakes a martini?”
I laughed in agreement. “It has to be gin. You know where you stand with gin.”
It’s a control freak’s liquor of choice,I thought as I reached for three bottles—Hendricks, Martini & Rossi, Campari—and Victoria’s lip rose in silent approval. Connor’s brow lifted as I stirred and strained it into a lowball with a single square of clear ice. Orange twist, not wedge.
He sipped, his tongue sliding out to catch a drop along the rim. “Bitter, but…” Another sip, this one came faster. “Floral?” Then: a small exhale. “That’s… wow. What is it?”
“Negroni,” I said proudly.
He sipped it again, his lip tilting in a grin. “Not too bitter, not too weak. Just right, Goldilocks."
The light filtered in from the front door with the early happy hour patrons. Victoria lifted her perfect Manhattan and slid off her stool, heading towards the kitchen to hide out for her big reveal.
Connor picked up his glass and followed. But before he disappeared into the kitchen, he looked over his shoulder at me, and my heart did a weird dip-and-catch thing.
Then he was out of sight, and I blew out a breath.
No one had looked at me like that since…
Well. Since before everything fell apart.
Connor
IfollowedVictoriaintothe narrow hallway behind the bar, still sipping the Negroni as Victoria paced, shaking out her hands like she was trying to fling off her nerves.
I’d seen her negotiate billion-dollar deals without flinching. I’d watched her eviscerate junior associates' report memos with surgical precision. Hell, earlier this week, I’d seen her fire her ex-husband while covered in his blood, then face journalists who accused her of wrongful termination.
Through all of it, she'd held it together with calm precision.
But right now, she looked about three seconds away from shattering.manag
I leaned against the wall, checking my watch out of habit more than necessity. One hour, forty-three minutes.
“Stop timing me,” she said without looking up.
“I’m not.” I paused. “Okay, I am. But only because—”
“Because you manage every detail of my life, I know.” She ran a hand over her puckered mouth—Oh shit, I knew that look. I cleared the path so she could bolt for the bathroom.
I could follow, hold her hair back if needed, but I knew when she wanted privacy more than assistance.
So I lingered in the hallway, close enough to respond if she called but not hovering. Through the doorway, I watched Hannah pour drinks, take orders, wipe down the bar with that same easy competence she’d shown earlier. In her element, with that same economy of motion my mother used to have in her restaurant kitchen.
