But it’s not like I’m going to deny her. She’s…happy. I don’t want to be the one to steal her smile.
“I can be your friend, Silvie,” I find myself saying against my better judgement.
It’s fine. I can keep my cool around her. Maybe this is better. I’ll get used to talking to her. Eventually I’ll even be immune to her pretty smile.
She sips her coffee and smiles at me triumphantly. “Thanks for being my friend, Cal. Questionable life choice, but I appreciate it.”
I grab my clipboard and settle in at the other end of the bar, pretending I’m not aware of her presence like gravity. “Don’t you have friends back in New York?”
She looks down and pretends to pick an imaginary piece of lint off her dress. “Yes, my best friend is a guy. He’s also...my assistant. Which might sound weird, but we’ve been best friends for over four years. It probably seems lame, but I work a lot and don’t have time for a social life. That’s why being here has been nice.”
I feel bad for her, but I get it. I, too, was once a city boy with big ambitions. It’s all too easy to get caught up with work and abandoning your personal life.
“Well, then, I’m honored to be your friend. You can come up here anytime I’m here if you need a quiet place to work.”
“Don’t worry.” She smiles, leaning back slightly, as if daring me to doubt her. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
I snort, glancing down at my clipboard, then back at her. “I don’t think anyone can go without noticing you.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, sharp and playful. “You won’t notice me. I promise.”
“I always notice.” I shift on my stool, trying to keep my posture casual, but my fingers tap the clipboard faster than necessary.
The words hang in the air a beat longer than either of us should let them. I shake my head, clearing my throat, and jab lightly at the paperwork. “I’ve got… paperwork anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” She leans forward just a fraction, tilting her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Paperwork?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting the clipboard like it gives me some kind of armor. “I manage the bar, too. Not just a bartender.”
I glance away because my heart is thumping louder than it should. Why does she do this to me? Why does one woman make me feel like I’m about to stumble over every word?
“Well, look at you, boss man,” she says, giving the chair across from her a sharp kick. It scrapes loudly against the floor in the quiet morning. She leans back, eyes on me, and I can’t help but read it as an invitation. Or a dare. “Let’s get our work done together, friend.”
I tell myself not to, that I shouldn’t. Still, against my better judgment, I pick up my coffee, head over, and slide the chair out, settling across from her. Somehow, despite every warning my brain throws at me, I’m drawn into the space she’s carved out.
“What do you do for work?” I ask, curious since she’s the boss.
She’s already started typing, her fingers flying, expression focused but calm. She’s wearing glasses now, the kind that make her look capable, serious… not just a girl in a sundress, but someone who could run a Fortune 500 company and make grown men cry. And I can’t deny it, she’s even more compelling this way.
She looks up. “I’m Vice President of Montclair Holdings.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. Montclair Holdings. Holy shit. I’ve heard of them. Big players, and serious money. She’s not just another visitor here, she moves in a different world entirely.
She continues when I don’t respond. “It’s a private investment company. Real estate, tech, hospitality. The boring answer of what we do is manage portfolios and partnerships.”
There’s a tone to her words that I can’t quite pinpoint the meaning. Almost robotic. Detached. As if she’s reading from the company manual. From what I know of her so far, it doesn’t quite connect with her personality.
“Anyway,” she quickly says. “The honest answer is we clean up messes and make sure generational wealth stays generationally wealthy.” She grimaces slightly as if that last part frustrates her. I can understand that.
I nod and utter out something stupid, like, “Cool,” but she’s too focused to pay attention to my lacking conversational skills. Her fingers are flying over her keyboard a mile a minute. Every once in a while, she mutters something under her breath that makes no sense to me. Deadlines. A call she doesn’t want to take. She wasn’t kidding when she said she had work to do.
Once I realize we really are going to work, I get to doing what’s on my list. I file invoices and check inventory. I lose my place twice, though, because I keep glancing up at her.
Silence settles in, but it’s peaceful and relaxed. Sunlight spills through the open windows. The ocean hums somewhere in the distance. I make us both a breakfast burrito and brew some coffee in the back since ours are long gone.
I carry out the burritos and the fresh pot of coffee, setting them on the table.
She looks up and says, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” But she must be eager to eat because she eagerly snaps her laptop shut to make space for the food.
