He crosses his arms and looks me up and down. For a moment, I think he's going to fight me on this. I feel the tension prickle on my skin.
Not throwing down with coworkers isn't usually on my list for how to behave at functions, but I may have to add it. After this one, at least.
I pick up the drink I was ready to let sit on the bar forever and knock back more than I should. Liquid courage.
“First of all,” I punctuate with the glass clacking against the bar, “it's part of an unsustainable and expensive business culture. Burnout is real, and not taking care of people's needs means more turnover. Making things more fair with flexible scheduling and need-based accommodations helps you keep your best people.”
He holds my stare through every word I throw at him. Is it getting hot in this room, or just my clothes?
“Second of all, it's more expensive to hire and train new people to standard than it is to keep your best people.”
I wouldn't say those are actually two distinct points and not just a single thought I've split into two so I can sound like I've got more, but it's not like I had time to prepare. I think I might be melting under the intensity of his stare.
I think I'm killing it though. I've got him fooled. He's looking at me with a sort of fascination that I didn't expect. The room feels smaller and not so crowded, like I'm being drawn into him.
Because I'm winning.
“Third of all—” I cut myself off to roll the ever-dwindling ice cube around in my mouth, buying myself time as I try to think of a third good reason.
“You don't actually have to convince me, I was just projecting a little,” he murmurs, as he sits back and runs a hand through his hair, loosening the top button on his shirt.
The way those small motions transform him from every other suit in the Peaks to someone a little more normal, it strikes me that you don’t really find pockets of gargoyle populations here and there like you do with other cultures; every city seems to have a goblin market, an undead quarter, and an orcish grocery store; most cultures thrive from its community. After working in the Peak District, I never met a gargoyle that wasn’t fiercely territorial and an overachiever to boot.
All of it combined with his little confession makes my brain short circuit. I almost don't believe that he just admitted as much.
“What?”
He shrugs, hiding just a hint of sheepishness behind his glass as he takes a sip. “I was convincing myself to talk to everyone in the room at least once, and then leave when no one was looking.”
I'm so stunned by his comment, I can barely blink for a good, few moments. My posture shrinks a little. Maybe I was a little overzealous in sizing him up. I steal a glance at him again, and, somehow, now the bar feels a little less overwhelming in this corner.
“How come I haven't seen you at these before?” I ask, and realize I've reached the end of my third drink. I stir the ice around noisily until the cherry at the bottom is pushed to the top of the pile, and I can pluck it out and pop it in my mouth. When did I order something with a cherry in it?
I smile and feel the alcohol hitting my brain as my lips close around the cherry stem and my teeth separate it from the fruit. “I would have noticed you.”
Oh, fuck.That comes off as too flirty, especially with the way I can’t stop eyeing him. I clear my throat and try to regain some air of seriousness. “I mean. I've never met a gargoyle outside the Peak District before.”
Foot, mouth, someone please help me. This is why I shouldn’t drink with my coworkers.
He nods understandingly. He probably knows his presence is a little unusual. “The Peaks can be pretty cutthroat. I only worked there a century or so before I had to get out.”
I believe him. Hostile takeover is an understatement for some of the acquisitions I’ve seen. I nod empathetically. “It’s also just generally inaccessible. Especially for non-flyers.”
“Exactly. If you don’t fit into the very rigid work culture, you are ground into dust. It wasn’t the way I wanted to live,” he says, and it’s a refreshing opinion to hear. I thought I’d never hear the end of how I wasn’t climbing the corporate descent into hell from all my ex-coworkers.
I nearly tell him that, except my attention snags on the way he undoes the buttons on his cuffs, and, of course, Mr. Immaculate wears little gold and amber cufflinks to a casual hotel bar, paired with a thick-chained watch and class ring. I chew on my lower lip in an attempt to not be charmed by that. It fails, because he begins rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. When he sits back comfortably, the shirt strains across his chest, recapturing my undivided attention.
I’m weak. Oh, this is torture.
“This is my first one. I'm part of the company's new growth hires,” he tells me, picking up his drink, about two fingers worth of a dark gold liquor. “But I've been at companies that partnered with Evil Inc. previously, before I decided to look for a broader managing position.”
“No, don’t tell me about it like you’re about to hand me your business card,” I moan before I can stop myself. It might be better if he did pass me his business card, so that I can remember I’m supposed to be networking or whatever, and not crawling into his lap so I can get two fingers of something else in me.
He doesn’t crack a full smile, but I’m starting to recognize the hint of amusement the shadows carve into his face.
“I’m here to get to know people. Right now, my priority is to make sure everyone on my team feels recognized for the effort they make. I'm trying to come up with something better than these,” he says with a chuckle, and shifting in his seat, he reaches into his vest pocket, and shows me a sticker sheet full of little gold stars.
“Oh, that's adorable,” I laugh. “Forget whatever I was saying about retaining and appreciating long-term employees, gold stickers are where it’s at.”
