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She considers, but it only takes a moment. “All right.”
I stand tall, happy we finally finished. “Well, we did it.”
Paige smiles. “We did it.”
“We survived our first day together.”
“Looks like.”
“I say job well done. And when I say job well done, I say that deserves a drink.” I point up at the ceiling. “You. Me. Bar. My treat.”
Paige hesitates. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oliver.”
“Why not?” I ask. “What, you and Graham never wound down the night at the bar after an audit?”
“No, we did, but Graham and I are friends. We...” she gestures between us, “are not friends.”
“Sure, we are. Professional friends. You said it before.”
“That’s not friends friends,” she argues. “Friends can get drinks at the bar. Friends of a professional nature cannot.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Then, give me the chance to upgrade my status,” I say. “Let’s become friends. Let’s go upstairs, grab a drink, and you can ask me anything. I’m an open book.”
“Oliver...”
“Winter is my favorite season,” I say. “Real winter. With snow and ice and all that.”
She sighs, but I detect the hint of a hidden smile.
“I think it’s pretty,” I add before she protest again. “My favorite color is blue. That shade, actually.” I point to the frames of her glasses. “The way it blends together right there in that spot.”
“Oliver, I’m kinda beat,” she says. “I’d very much rather head to my room and get some sleep. We start New York tomorrow night, and that’s a big job.”
I bite down, slightly swayed by that argument. “Well, you got me there.”
Paige gathers her folders and clipboard. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says.
“Bright and early.”
“Bright and early,” she repeats.
“Maybe tomorrow night, then?”
She pauses, pressing her bare lips together as she shifts back a step. Her eyes show an obvious tug-of-war between the business side of her and the fun, casual girl I knew for one night before.
“Maybe tomorrow night,” she simply repeats. Graceful, elegant, and easy to get out of.
I smirk. At least it’s not a no. “Goodnight, Paige.”
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
Each clack of her heels echo throughout the archive as she leaves. She promptly closes the door behind her, leaving me in temperature-controlled silence.
I exhale hard. That wasn’t the response I hoped for. But maybe she’s right. Paige and I have never been friends, even before the night-that-shall-not-be-mentioned. She thinks keeping that barrier between us is the best thing for us and — goddammit — the businessman in me knows she’s right about that, too.
