“Not my boyfriend.”
The crowd in the skybox parts. There’s a spread laid out. No one’s touched it.
“There’s, like, ten thousand dollars’ worth of crab legs here.”
“I brought Tupperware, girls.” Gran opens her enormous bag. “Get cracking on those crustaceans. Winnie, you’re making your lobster salad tonight.”
“I need a cocktail first.”
Kathy is miserable next to me as the bartender mixes up our drinks—Orcas Frosties—bright blue like everything else.
“Do you have anything that’s not blue?” I ask him.
“You’re here to work, not drink.” Gran dumps a tray of lobster in front of me. “We’ll deal you in if you keep your mouth shut,” she tells the bartender. “She”—Grab points at me—“has a café. She can hook you up.”
“I didn’t see shit,” the bartender swears.
“Good man.”
He slides us our drinks.
My wine has a blue orca floating in it.
“Your boyfriend does know how to theme.” Carolina toasts me.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I sip my wine. “We’re, like—I don’t know—not friends? Work colleagues?”I look over to Fitz.
As soon as we walked into the suite, he was immediately surrounded by fawning men and their wives. It’s one thing to know he’s a billionaire. I’m no stranger to being around men with money, not in this city.
But the fawning—Fitz doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it.
Maybe that’s just how he wants people to act around him.
Maybe that’s why he’s lost interest in me.
Is he doing this to be polite, or worse, as a joke?
His mouth quirks, and he winks over the shoulder of some sports-news writer who’s trying to pump him for information.
He excuses himself and strolls over.
“Hide the lobster!” Carolina shrieks.
“I can just have already-shelled lobster delivered to your house, Creampuff.”
“Waste not, want not.”
He leans in. “If I get a bite of your famous lobster salad, I’ll pretend I don’t see your granny dumping trays of crab cakes in her purse.” He blows me a kiss as he’s swallowed back up by all the brownnosers.
“Fitz is so nice.” Carolina rests her chin on my shoulder.
“Nice, yeah.”
“Oh my god, you’re still thinking about that crazed sex addict in the alley.”
“You shouldn’t accuse people of being sex addicts.”
“You have an actual billionaire after you.” She jabs me with an empty crab claw. “And instead of locking that down, you’re obsessing over a guy who, for all we know, could be a wanted felon.”
