“Don’t worry about that,” I say.
Lucy will forgive me if she finds out I used her name for an invite. Better that, than ask Paul for a favor he can throw back at me later.
“Let’s grab a drink,” I say and head to the outside terrace, hoping I’ll be able to hear myself a bit more clearly and avoid running into Paul.
The barman leans across the bar and puts two coasters down.
“What can I get you?”
A bespoke cocktail list of five Alexander-themed drinks stares at us from the counter. There’s not a single mocktail. Paul clearly isn’t caring about Alexander’s sobriety.
Julie points to the deadly mix of spirits.
“I’ll go for the Stolen Memory,” she says.
“I think I’ll play it safe, go for the Morgan kiss.”
Maybe the bubbly from the champagne and sweetness of the raspberry syrup will work its magic. Help settle the growing sense of unease within me.
“This might be the most celeb-packed party I’ve ever been too.” Julie’s mouth is ajar as she spots a bunch of actors vaping in the corner of the terrace. Their jaws are all working overtime, though not from talking.
“Christopher! We were just talking about you.”
Paul’s unexpected arrival lifts me clear off the ground. I flinch when he leans in to hug me. Pietro follows behind him. Both wear nearly identical blazers and black jeans. Their blue and white shirts are the only thing distinguishing the two of them.
You take your eyes off scanning the room for one second.
“I was just telling Pietro he needs to give you a bonus, given the amazing job you’ve done on the Brewed campaign. I don’t think we’d have the number one single today without you.” His pearly white veneers stare back at me.
“Thank you,” I say. My voice is clipped and formal.
A calculating look appears in his eyes, prompting me to put my hands into my pockets. He’s clearly not drunk, judging by the way he carries himself.
“In fact, I was even suggesting that now that this Brewed campaign is ending, we should look at working with you directly. Have you come on board as a consultant to help with Alexander’s projects next year. What do you say?”
He lifts an eyebrow and a lump forms in my throat, not at what I want to say, but at the thought creeping into my head.
Does he know Alexander wants to fire him?
Is he trying to use me as a pawn in his game to prevent that from happening?
“We’d love that.” Pietro beats me to a response. His face beams with joy, no doubt aided by the espresso martini he’s been drinking. Three coffee beans are all that’s left in his glass.
Fuck off, Pietro.
“Damien, Damien.” Paul waves down the photographer. “Let’s get a picture.”
Paul muscles his way between me and Julie, pushing Pietro to the other side. The photographer lines up the shot, moving us slightly away from the vines hanging down above us. The flash catches me off guard as I straighten my back.
Paul grabs me tightly around the waist and whispers behind his gritted smile, “Don’t think I don’t know what you and Alexander are up to.”
His grip tightens as the photographer continues to snap away, and one of my shirt buttons pops open as the camera flashes. The cameraman has captured the shock on my face when he spins his camera round for us to see the shots.
I give a muffled response and shake Paul’s had off me.
His taunt is the equivalent to calling outcheckin a game of chess.
My mind races to work out what move to counter him. I coulddeny any knowledge of it. It’s Alexander’s decision after all, not mine. Or I could own it and wipe the smug look off his face, but leave Alexander exposed.
