I balance on an elbow, glancing at the drink. “So you can throw a beer on me and finish the job?”
“How about I just buy you one instead?” He gestures to the empty seat beside me, and I nod, rolling my eyes and crossing my legs. He doesn’t hold himself with the same buzzing energy most in this room do, like they are desperate to impress their bosses and one another. He has a commanding presence, a mixture of laid-back and authoritative that I can’t quite get a handle on.
He settles into the chair and leans his forearms onto the bar, his shoulder muscles tensing under the crisp white shirt. I feel a quiet thrill in his company, like an echo of adrenaline.
His chin shifts to me, the tea lights in red jars on the bar casting his cheekbones in a devilish glow. “What made you decide to come?”
I shrug, glancing awkwardly from him to the shelf of bottles with brightly colored Italian labels. “I was having a mental breakdown in the area so thought it would be rude not to.”
He huffs a laugh, hazel eyes twinkling. “Bad day?” The words roll off his tongue so smoothly that I imagine he was a cigarette-lighting bartender in another life.
I contemplate lying, but something about him is making me want to tell him the truth, to drop the pretenses. I lean my elbow on the bar, resting my chin in my palm. “Bad year.”
He whistles, almost impressed. “We better make it a double then.” He gestures to the bartender with two fingers.
I shake my head, the background noise returning to the room with a pop as I come out of the minor trance. “You don’t need to buy me a drink.”
He shoots me a fake-appalled look. “Listen, I’m just trying my best to charm you over from the actively disliking me camp to a more neutral zone. I owe you at least one.” He holds up a shiny black credit card. “Besides, this is my boss’s card.” He hits me with another winning smile.
“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll have a Negroni.” I sit back, relaxing into the chair. “How come your boss lets you run amok with his credit card?”
He taps the short edge of the plastic on the wooden bar. “Because I’m the only one who knows how to get his coffee order right, and knowledge is power.”
“The keys to the caffeinated castle,” I add with a nod.
He points at me with the shiny card. “Exactly.”
“If only you could deliver them in one piece,” I add, brow arched.
“Well, then I’d be running the whole company, and nobody wants that.” He turns to the bartender as they approach.“Due Negroni, per favore.”
“He knows coffee and Italian?”
Oliver lets out a breathy laugh before running a hand through his hair and lowering his eyes. “Exclusively fluent in food and drinks.”
“Negroni, margherita, risotto, pasta alla vodka, gelato!” I count on my fingers before shifting into jazz hands.
“Fast learner!” He gives me a light applause as I bow my head cartoonishly.
A blond man with navy suit trousers and a light blue shirt half undone approaches us and slaps him on the back. “Hey, man. Has he gone to dinner?” Another American, this one with more of a Southern twang.
“Yeah, I’m off for the night. This is...” He squints at me curiously. “You actually never told me your name.”
“I’m Je”—fuck—“uuust Violet,” I stutter. “Just Violet.” Shit.Violet, Violet, Violet.
“Hello, Violet, I’mjustDavid.” The man holds out his right hand for me to shake.
“I’m guessing you already read my note but... Oliver.” My drinking buddy holds out his left hand. I use my free hand to meet his, a jolt shooting up my arm as his fingers grip firm but soft against my palm.
I crack a wide smile as they both continue to shake my hands and our drinks are placed on the wooden bar in front of us. I lean down to the bar and take the little red straw in my mouth.
The cool air hits my palms as they release my hands, laughing.
“So are you an assistant too?” David asks.
I take a large sip of my Negroni. “Mmm-hmm.” I nod. If I don’t say anything, it feels slightly less like lying.
“Great, that means she qualifies,” he says to Oliver.
