He blinks. “Dates?”
“Lead times,” I say. “Realistically, not your best-case scenario. When can you deliver for real if we place today?”
He scrambles a beat, not because he doesn’t know, but because he’s been putting the show before the numbers. “Right,” he says, throwing the phone more squarely into his palm. “For you, we could—”
“For anyone,” I interrupt smoothly. “We don’t do one set of times for pretty and one for the rest. Give me the times.”
His ears go a little bit red at that, and Olivia goes still ina way only I catch.
Marco clears his throat again and finds the facts. “Rocks and highball are in stock. Etch adds three business days. Coupes are two weeks out. If we stagger, we can do the first drop on rocks Friday next week, highball Monday after, coupes the following Friday. We can hold the second half and release on your call so your dock doesn’t back up.”
I nod. “And samples need to match delivery. If this base weight changes, it goes back.”
“Of course,” he says. “No substitutions.” He looks to Olivia for rescue from me. She doesn’t give it.
“We’ll need a simple slip case for the VIP sets,” she says. “Black. No shine. The logo blind-pressed. No ribbon.”
Marco laughs like the ribbon was a great joke they’re sharing. “No ribbon,” he repeats, dutiful. He taps his screen. “Got it. You’re killing me, but it’s chic.”
“It’s on brand,” she says mildly.
He leans in, not as close as he wants to, close enough to make me want to rearrange his feet. Or his face. “You’re good at this,” he says to her. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
She smiles, the one she uses when a conversation is done, but the other person hasn’t noticed. “Good. Then we’ll get what we want.”
He doesn’t entirely hear the boundary in that. He lets his gaze fall, just for a second, to the line of her scarf where itcrosses the hollow of her throat. It is not a leer. It’s a man’s eyes doing what men’s eyes do around beauty.
I swallow something I don’t want to taste and step a half-inch closer to the bar, not enough to spook anyone, enough that I am in the conversation.
Olivia doesn’t flinch. She drops her pen on the pad and looks at me as if I’m another vendor who needs information extracted. “We’re good with the counts,” she says. “We’ll need confirmation today so the receiving schedule can lock.”
Marco nods. “Today,” he says quickly. “I’ll send the confirmation in an hour. Once you sign, we’re off to the races.”
He means well. He’s not the problem. The problem is the way my body reacts to the simple fact of him enjoying her smile in a way that isn’t his to enjoy.
This is unreasonable. I know it. I am not the man who chases off professionals for doing their job, or men for losing their minds around a beautiful woman.
I also know that if he keeps grinning at her with that twinkle in his eye, I’m going to rip his schedule out of his hands and… rewrite it for him.
He opens his mouth again—another joke, I can hear it forming in the warm air between us—and I cut it off before he canget it out.
“Marco,” I say, easy, like we’re old friends. I can play the game too. “Give me windows of time in the confirmation, not just days.”
He blinks again, calibrating. This time, he adjusts faster. “Right,” he says, with a little apology smile. “I’ll do that.”
“Good,” I say and gesture at the box. “We’ll keep these.”
“Of course,” he says again, relief washing his face now that we are back on the samples. He reaches for a card. “And my—”
Olivia raises her hand, and he stops. She smiles. “Already in my file,” she says. “Thanks, Marco.”
This time, he reads the tone right. He tucks the card away, shoulders straighten, smile tones down to professional. “Pleasure,” he says, stepping back. He pats the bar a little as if it were a dog that did a trick. “I’ll get that confirmation out in an hour.”
Feeling a little mean, I say, “Make it thirty minutes.”
That puts a little hitch in his step as he backs up. He looks like he wants to protest, but decides against it. Unless he’s new to Atlantic City, he knows better than to object.
“Thirty,” he repeats, a little quickly. “Will do.” He backs up, turns, and walks out a little too fast, leaving the two of us alone in the empty lounge.
