“How about that drink? How have we never gone out to unwind?” He gave me a small smile that was a touch warmer than anything he’d ever shared in the office.
“Uh, that’s probably my fault. I don’t like to go out much. I think you’ve asked in the past.”
“Why is that?” He cocked his head and didn’t look away from my face.
Oh God.My cheeks superheated. Sometimes I noticed people watching me when I was out in a restaurant—or any food situation, really—and somewhere in the back of my mind I always worried I was being judged. “A, uh, personal peculiarity,” I finally mumbled because he was still studying me.
“Fascinating.”
I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do, and Mr. Guidry still didn’t look away from me. My heart hammered. I loved being near him and this was so stupid. I was going to feel worse later because I’d gotten to spend time as the center of his attention. Out of desperation I pointed at the bar across the street. The faster we got this over with, the better. “Want to go there?”
His eyebrows rose. “The Dame Enchanteé?” He shrugged. “Why not? Haven’t been there in a while.” His tone alerted me that maybe I should ask a few more questions, but I didn’t, and together we crossed the street. He opened the copper door, standing aside to allow me to go first, which I smiled at him for because I never knew what to do when someone did things like that. The music washed over me—a low bassline and light piano notes raced together, then a beautiful deep voice swelled, not singing words, just belting out a melody. A woman joined in and started singing about love. Mr. Guidry rested a hand on my back and ushered me in.
“It’s a jazz bar,” I said over my shoulder, and I shivered as we walked into the dimly lit room, the stage the centerpiece with the brightest lights focused there. Small round tables with candles flickering in the center were scattered throughout the area, and half-moon booths took up the wall to the left. On the right side of the space, a copper bar gleamed under the red lights above it. Nearly every seat was taken, and people stood in clumps around the room, talking.
“We could go somewhere else,” I said, leaning closer to Mr. Guidry so he could hear me. He rested his arm across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. I almost stopped breathing.
“No, this is fine. Grab that booth.” He pointed at the corner closest to the stage where a small group of people were leaving, and I kicked into work mode, immediately following his order. I felt a little silly as I slid around the tabletop into the center of the curved booth that nearly wasn’t big enough to give me room to sit. The black leather was supple under my fingers when I ran them across the seat, and I paused. I’d never touched anything quite so soft. It felt expensive.Damn it, how much will our drinks cost?
Mr. Guidry came over with a smile and leaned across the table. “You left in such a hurry I didn’t get to ask what you prefer to drink.”
“Oh.” I wanted to hide under the table. He stared at me expectantly, and I bit my lip while he flicked his head to get a strand of silver hair out of his eyes. I wanted to say a beer, but half the time when I tried to order one, the people I was with would tell me all about the calories, and I didn’t want that lecture tonight. No, I never wanted to see disappointment slide across Mr. Guidry’s face. “Vodka tonic on ice.”
He smiled and walked to the bar, shoulders back and head high, as if he owned the whole planet, and people moved out of his way and let him get right in to place an order. I shook my head—some men had all the luck. The song switched to something slower with more saxophone that reminded me of long, lonely nights, and the spotlight shifted to the man as he eased into a song about being left for someone else that twisted up my heart. I was startled when a tumbler slid in front of me.
Mr. Guidry took a seat at my side. “His voice is amazing.”
I nodded, and awkwardness paralyzed my tongue, so I sipped my drink. Mr. Guidry had what I thought might be a porter because the beer in his tall glass was dark, and I was instantly jealous. I glanced at him and froze because his gray eyes weren’t on the stage—they were on me.
“Wick.”
“Excuse me?” I choked on my drink, covering my mouth with my fist, and he patted my back as I coughed.
“My friends call me Wick.”
“Oh, well.” I slapped my chest, and he smiled. “My friends call me Reece.”
He frowned.
“What?” I asked with a laugh.
He reached over and moved my tumbler away from the edge of the table where I’d slammed it when I started coughing, and my entire body warmed as he raised an eyebrow at me and centered the tumbler in front of me. “You are more refined than a Reece. Would it bother you if I call you Maurice?”
“No, it’s my name.” I grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes, and I thought maybe that was the first time I’d ever seen him do it. “Well, my name is Fenwick and I hate it. Please abandon it first chance you get.”
Laughing, I shook my head as I picked up my drink. I took a sip and almost choked again—whoever had poured it went heavy on the vodka, and I’d forgotten to ask for a semipalatable flavor.
“What’s that about?” Mr. Guidry asked.
I set the tumbler down. “What?”
“You made a face.” Both of his eyebrows were nearly at his hairline now. “Didn’t they mix it correctly?”
“Oh, I hate vodka.”
He blinked at me for a moment, then glanced at the stage and back again. “Why did you ask for it, then?”
