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I’ve gotten to see him once in person since his transfer; however, their lead shark biologist constantly sends me photos and swears he’s happy.
Assisting in the care of our new baby hammerhead – that I affectionally named Bruce – has been helping me cope.
He’s definitely not the same.
Has an entirely different personality.
But I can already tell he loves me the most in the whole building regardless of what Calen claims.
Inside the underwater themed event, Lurch lingers near the front doors – close to, yet not in interfering range of the already established security – while Wes and I politely conversationally swim around the patrons over to the bar to order ocean themed beverages.
“Mocktails,” my fiancé grunts in an almost confused fashion. “I can honestly say this will be a first for me.”
“I thought the princess was supposed to be the virgin in these fairy tales,” I teasingly wink.
The sight of his cheeks growing a crimson shade instantly gets me giggling, a sound that prompts a wide mouth grin despite his obvious embarrassment.
Thank fuck, Evie isn’t around tonight.
I would have to keep these top of the food chain quips to myself.
“I’m curious what the current profit margins are for mocktails as well as non-alcoholic beer.” Wes’s hand adoringly lands on the small of my back. “And now I’m even more curious as to what the trajectory for such might be in the coming decade.” Our eyes lock about the time the bartender begins shaking around the container. “Perhaps investing in non-alcoholic spirits is the new business endeavor I didn’t know I needed.”
It's impossible to keep a smile off my face. “Never wonder what you bring to the Wilcox legacy, Weston.”
“Never doubt what you bring to me, Brynley.”
A faint swoon slips free prior to our mouths gravitating towards one another.
Unfortunately, what would’ve been a sentimental kiss is interrupted by a surprising voice, “How are you late to your own event?”
Angling ourselves to face Puppet Boy occurs at the same time I snip, “I’m not late. The gala started at eight. It’s only eight fifteen, which means I arrived within the allotted range of reasonable or dare I say fashionable in this gown.”
“It’s a great dress,” he flatly compliments in hopes of avoiding his other best friend’s wrathful grumbles, “however, you’re still late.”
“Eight fifteen is not late!”
“It’s eight forty-two.”
“Since when?!”
“Since eight forty-one left.”
His snarky response sparks Wes to chortle under his breath, something he does his best to hide by gliding me over my blue ocean mocktail.
“Maybe the question shouldn’t be why am I possibly tardy-”
“Definitely tardy.”
“-but why are you punctual for an event you weren’t even invited to?”
“Except I was invited to it,” Puppet Boy’s clarification precedes a hand motion for the bartender to make him one of the drinks too. “Wilcox Enterprises is a major donor for The Bower and Powell Institute therefore physical representation of the company is highly encouraged by the PR department.” Impishness invades his expression. “I feel like as an employee of one and on her way to being a shareholder of the other you should really know that.”
“And I feel you only get this cheeky when your balls have been emptied in the last twenty-four hours.”
Wes damn near chokes from abruptly swallowing his beverage.
“Name?” I interrogate on a swift retrieval of my glass.
