MIA
“It’s just a work party, Mia.” Michael placed his hand on my lower back, guiding me down the sidewalk toward Silver’s Steakhouse, a large bar where companies reserved space to host work parties.
Cars and buses raced down the street beside us, and the towers stood monstrously all the way across the city.
I nodded and pretended like I was fine.
I wasn’t nervous at all.
Nah. Nope. Definitely not me.
I am going to go in there and rock it.Not.
When Michael opened the door, I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at all the people. Oh God, there were so many damn people here. How was I going to talk to any of them? I could barely talk to the server at Dunkin’ earlier.
“You’re fine,” Michael said, pressing a kiss on my cheek. He grabbed my hand and led me directly to the bar, giving me a glass of white wine and telling me to relax again.
The bartender smiled and poured more than enough wine for me, filling it up more than he had with others. After throwing me a smile, he set the glass in front of me. “Looks like you need it.”
I took a huge gulp from it and breathed deeply. Was I fine? No. Was I going to stay for Michael? Of course.
Dressed in a black suit and tie, Michael smiled down at me. “You better?”
“Yes,” I said, patting his chest. “I’m fine.”
No, I really wasn’t.
But I didn’t have time to tell Michael that because he led me toward some people near the other side of the bar. My heart pounded against my chest. Was I overreacting? Probably, but making friends wasn’t my strong suit. I had been friends with the same five people: Melissa, Serena, Damien, Mason, and Victor since high school, and now, I was out in the real world, about to chat with people I hadn’t met before, wondering if they were looking at me strangely because I was so young or because I looked like I was about to have a stroke.
When we approached them, they all seemed to quiet down.
One of the men held out his hand for Michael to shake. “Michael, glad you could make it.” He glanced over at me. “Is this Mia?”
Michael flashed him that devilishly handsome smile. “Yes, this is Mia.”
I gave them my best smile, trying to hide the fact that my stomach was in knots. The women glanced over at me, giving me tight smiles, and the guys’ eyes lingered for a moment more than I was comfortable with.
Almost immediately, Michael fell into an easy conversation with them, chatting about the towers, new projects they’d be working on soon, the interns from the bar. I squeezed Michael’s hand tightly and took another sip of my wine.
I’d prepared all day for this dinner party, yet here I was, standing with Michael, watching him talk so effortlessly with everyone. And I was a mess. There was a thin layer of sweat coating my lower back, my heart was racing every time someone looked at me for more than a few moments, and I felt like I was about to have a panic attack.
A strand of Michael’s dark hair curled over his forehead, his sparkling gray eyes lighting up the damn room. He was such a smooth talker; he knew exactly what to say and when to say it. How to get a rise out of someone. How to make someone—me—blush. How to get people excited to start on another project.
I took one more sip of my wine, the taste more bitter than usual, and put it down on the table. I needed to get some air, away from these people.
Michael glanced over at me, brow raised. “You don’t like it? I can get you something else.”
“I’m going to get some water,” I said, patting his shoulder. “I’ll be back.” I walked over to the bar, trying to ignore the stares from some of the older women, and smiled at the bartender.
He finished making a white sangria for someone by plopping an orange slice into the wineglass. My stomach growled at the mere sight of it, and I licked my dry lips. He slid the glass to one of Michael’s colleagues and walked over to me.
“Back for another?” he asked, smiling.
“Water.”
“Water.” He placed a glass on the counter and filled it nearly to the brim with water.
He pushed the glass toward me, but I lingered near the bar, eyeing the pre-sliced oranges in a small container.
