Jamie looks thoughtful as he chews his mouthful. “I think I could lift a vending machine.”
“What?” I snort. “No, you definitely couldn’t.”
“I lift a lot of barrels, you know. I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it, but I work in a small, independent brewery.”
The corners of his lips twitch into a smile. I don’t take the bait.
“A barrel is very different from a vending machine, which is a difficult shape and full of food and drinks and stuff,” I point out.
“Yeah, and a barrel is full of heavy liquid.”
“This is ridiculous, I refuse to argue with you any longer about whether or not you can lift a vending machine,” I say, stubbornly. “How did we even get on to this?”
“People reacting strangely to shocking situations,” he reminds me. He reaches over to grab a bottle from the middle of the table. “Top up?”
“Thank you,” I say, sliding my glass across to him.
“Your brother lives in New York?”
“Yeah, he works in recruitment there.”
“That’s cool. Have you been to visit him?”
I nod. “Yes, and it’s amazing. Have you ever been to America?”
“No, I’d like to go, though. They have some excellent craft breweries over there.”
“And some excellent whiskeys.”
He sniggers and then does a double take at my expression. “Oh, wait, you’re serious?”
“Um, yes? You ever heard of bourbon? Do you live under one of your barrels?”
“I wasn’t laughing about that,” he tells me. “I was laughing at you being a whiskey fan.”
“Oh my god, you are so patronizing!” I scowl at him. “What do you expect whiskey fans to look like? Old men smoking pipes and wearing trilby hats?”
He laughs at that, holding his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. I realize that came across as patronizing and I swear, I didn’t mean to be. It’s only because you work for Suttworth.”
“You know, some of the best drinks experts in Britain work for Suttworth.”
“Are you claiming to be one of them?”
“Of course not,” I snap. “But you seem to have written Suttworth off as a company full of people who don’t know what they’re talking about. That’s very frustrating. I reckon I’m better than you when it comes to whiskey knowledge and taste.”
“Huge, bold claim,” he says with a knowing smile. “But I like your confidence. Would you be willing to put your money where your mouth is?”
“You want to make a bet.”
“They have a few whiskey choices behind the hotel bar here. We could do a blind tasting and see who wins.”
I consider this proposition. I mean, he is so childish. Why dowe need to make this a competition? He seems incapable of acting like an adult. However, at the same time, it is quite tempting, because I know I’ll win.
An idea pops into my brain.
“If I win, you have to give me your cuff links,” I propose.
He gives me a strange look. “Slightly disturbing request. You collect items from your victims?”
