Page 2 of Lying to the Boss

“Can you get my friend here another of what he’s having?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Monroe.” He heads off to make the drink.

“Mr. Monroe, huh?” the man beside me says. “Sounds important.”

“It is.” I sip my scotch and glance at him from the corner of my eye. “And what’s your name?”

“Tage.”

“Interesting name,” I say. “I never would have guessed that.”

“No one ever does.”

“But they try?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes. They all think I’m a Zach or a Lucas or a Jackson.”

“Boring names.”

“Right. Doesn’t fit. I’m far from boring.”

His drink is placed in front of him. I thank Will before he moves on to make a drink for the person who took up Tage’s empty spot. The Revere is always steady. Not busy in the way there is a line, but in the way that the bartender never gets a moment to do nothing.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Tage lifts his drink, using the straw to mix it before taking a long sip. Judging by the color, I’d guess it’s vodka and cranberry. When he looks at me again, I see something else in those honey eyes. Mischief. This boy is trouble.

“How old are you, Tage?” I ask.

“Twenty-eight.” Older than I thought. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two.”

“Fourteen years…”

“You can do math,” I point out.

“I can do a lot of things.”

I smirk, reaching for my glass again.

“Well, you haven’t proven to me that you aren’t boring, but you have proven that you’re entertaining.” I take a sip. “Where are you from?”

“Boston.”

“Without the accent?”

“They sound uneducated.”

Now I laugh. “And you’re funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny. Where are you from?”

“Here. What takes you away from the east coast?”

“Work. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully?”