An awkward silence falls over the table. Derek clears his throat. Dennis mumbles something about getting another round and practically bolts for the bar. Priya suddenly finds the ice in her glass fascinating. Even the music seems to fade into the background.
Great. I just made everything weird.
“Well,” says a familiar voice from behind me, “this looks like a party.”
I turn around to find Menlow standing at the edge of our booth with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, like he just wandered over on a whim. Like he hasn’t been watching me from across the bar for the past hour, and I didn’t just give an impassioned speech about his character to a table full of stunned colleagues.
“Mr. Karpov!” Derek scrambles to his feet, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. “We didn’t know you were here.”
Menlow’s gaze sweeps the table, lingering on each face before landing on me. “I was in the neighborhood. Heard there was a celebration happening. The Shyman deal, right?”
“Yes, sir. We just closed this afternoon.”
“I know. Congratulations to everyone. It was a team effort, and you should all be proud. Shyman was a difficult client, and you handled them beautifully.”
A chorus of thank-yous ripples around the table. Even Tanya manages to recover enough to voice her appreciation, though her cheeks are noticeably pink. She’s probably imagining in graphic detail what she’d do to her boss in bed.
“I hate to break up the party,” Menlow continues, “but I’m afraid I need to steal someone away.”
“Of course,” Derek says. “Whatever you need.”
Menlow extends his hand toward me. “Shall we?”
Every eye at the table swivels to me. I can feel the questions forming. The curiosity. The confusion.
“Me?” I manage.
“My wife and I have dinner reservations,” Menlow says it casually, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just drop a bomb in the middle of our celebration. “I hope you don’t mind me cutting the evening short.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Your wife?” Tanya squeaks. Her face has gone from pink to bright red. “Kirsten is your wife?”
He smiles warmly at the group. “We got married recently. We’ve been keeping it quiet for obvious reasons. Office politics and all that. But I suppose the cat’s out of the bag now.”
I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. His palm is warm against mine. Familiar now, after everything we’ve been through.
“I… Congratulations,” Derek manages. He looks like someone just hit him over the head with a frying pan. “To both of you.”
“Thank you. And again, excellent work on the Shyman deal. Drinks are on me tonight.” He pulls out a black card and hands it to Derek. “Consider it a bonus for a job well done. Just get that back to me on Monday.”
More stammered thank-yous. More wide-eyed stares. I grab my purse and let Menlow guide me away from the booth as his hand rests possessively on the small of my back.
Once we’re in the car, Menlow pulls away from the curb. Through the tinted window, I can see the bar receding into the distance. Inside, my colleagues are probably still gossiping about what just happened. By Monday, the whole office will know. The whispers will start. The speculation. The questions about how, when and why.
Jesus Christ. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
Chapter 18 - Menlow
Kirsten hasn’t said a word since we left the bar.
She’s sitting in the passenger seat with her arms crossed, staring out the window at the city lights rushing past. I can practically see the gears turning in her head. The mortification. The anger.
It’s adorable.
“You’re quiet,” I comment.
She whips her head toward me. “Are you serious right now? You just told my entire team that we’re married. After I gave that ridiculous speech defending you like some kind of lovesick idiot.”
