* * *
On Tuesday after six, I go to the bar near the office where Aspen works part-time. Andreas fit me in at the end of his day, then told me everything I want can be done on my timeline.
I’ve been here a few times for happy hour with the people at GrantEm, but this time is different. I want to see what’s so special about the place that she won’t quit. Surely, she can’t be enjoying the bartending work. You’re on your feet the entire time and—worse—have to pretend you like listening to people’s drunken ramblings. Most people aren’t that bright to begin with, and alcohol only magnifies the effect.
Since it’s a Tuesday evening, the bar’s relatively quiet. I take an empty stool and look around for Zack. He wasn’t anything exceptional fourteen years ago, and I don’t see how he could’ve become someone worthy of Aspen’s consideration since. But regardless, I love a challenge and competition as long as the prize is worth it—
Wait a minute. Aspen is “the prize”?
Before I can dig deeper into that, Satoshi greets me with raised eyebrows. “Happy hour? On a Tuesday?”
“No. Just me today.”
“Okay. Whatcha in the mood for?”
“Pick me a beer,” I say, not caring.
“Coming right up.” He hands me a bottle of blackberry beer from a local microbrewery.
I take a sip. It tastes vaguely like the fruity beer I had in Germany.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s fine.” I don’t see anyone except Satoshi and another bartender whose name I don’t remember. “Zack coming in today?”
“No,” Satoshi says, wiping down the counter. “He generally works on weekends. Sometimes on Wednesdays and Thursdays.”
Damn it, I missed him by a day. But I can’t come by tomorrow or Thursday. I have business dinners on both days. “Does he work a lot with Aspen?”
“They’re both in here on weekends.”
I bet that isn’t by accident. He must’ve engineered it—he’s always wanted her. Even now, he’s probably thinking of a way to sleep with her.Over my dead body.
“Grant?”
I turn and see Huxley taking the empty stool next to me. “What are you doing in this part of town?” I ask.
“Had a meeting with a pharma client.” He jerks a thumb outside. “And I need a drink before heading home.”
“That kind of a meeting?”
“Yeah.” He asks for a finger of whiskey. Satoshi places a glass in front of him and pours the liquor. Huxley swirls the amber liquid, takes a sip and looks at me over the rim of the glass. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You go for a beer when you need to think. And you’re in a bar, which means you’re having a problem serious enough that you don’t remember you don’t think well in bars.”
I sigh. “I’m having an HR issue, and your mom’s out of the country.”
“She’s on vacation. Andreas made her because she won’t use up her PTOs, and HR doesn’t want to cash her out. She’s very expensive.” Huxley shrugs. “Who are you trying to sue?”
“No one. I’m trying to get my assistant to quit her second job.”
“What’s she doing? Dealing drugs on the side?”
Normally Huxley’s joke would be funny. Right now, the only thing it elicits is a sigh. “No. She’s a bartender.”
“Offer her a pay raise. Problem solved.”
