My eyes track to the hostess and a few waiters in a circle, staring at us and whispering conspiratorially. Brijesh is watching them, too. Specifically, he’s watching a waitress with pink hair and doe eyes.
I don’t think Miriam minds when Brijesh hooks up with other people, considering their friends-with-benefits arrangement isheridea. Then again, I have no clue what’s really going on between the two of them. Mostly, I just stay out of it. But right now, there’s a carefully concealed smile of intent behind Brijesh’s eyes I can’t avoid.
He grabs his wineglass. Swirls it. Sips languorously.
I pin him with a knowing look. “You’re loving this, you attention whore.”
“You can’t prove that!”
After dinner, he takes home the hostess, and I take home the gnocchi.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m halfway through last month’s P&L prep when Alex swings into my cubicle. One of his hands is clinging to the flimsy wall’s edge, the other open and lifted. His hair is a wreck and he’s wearing a crimson-and-yellow tie striped on the diagonal. With a clip.
“Tie clip,” I comment dryly.
“Does it offend you?”
“Depends. Is it engraved with the logo of your personal clothier?”
“Of course,” Alex says, just as dryly. “I visit him in the South of France each June after the Cannes Film Festival. Where do you summer?”
“The Florida Panhandle.”
He whistles appreciatively.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “I could have met you in the lobby.”
The face Alex aims at me is triumphant, insufferable, and I can already tell he’s going to gloat about something. “I wanted to tell you right away that I got the budget expanded.”
“What? How?” I spin toward him in my swivel chair and cross my legs beneath my maxi skirt.
“With the right motivation, anything is possible.”
My eyes narrow. “Who’d you get fired to cobble together the money?”
“Looking at her.”
I blink in rapid succession. “You’re hilarious.”
He smirks. “Don’t worry, Simba. Much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t get anything done without you. The extra money came out ofGarden Girl’s budget. I now have enemies on thirty-eight who might try to off me with poisonous flora.”
“Worse ways to go.”
“Even so, I won’t be accepting strange teas for the time being.”
“Not even from me?”
“Especially from you.” Alex taps on the wall a couple of times, then leans against it, crossing his arms. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“Oh.” I rip them off my face. “They’re just blue light.”
He hums. “Here I thought we finally had something in common.”
“Contacts?” I ask.
He nods. “Since I was a kid.”
