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Touché.
“I’m not on the clock,” I remind him, aware I sound defensive. There’s no morality clause in my contract, but if someone had snapped a photo of my performance, I doubt it would help my chances of getting the promotion.
“I’m not a prude,” he says in a way that suggests he’s anything but. “I don’t give a shit what you do in your free time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
His eyes are green. A green so stark it doesn’t seem natural. My eyes are green, sometimes, but they’re a normal green. Hazel, really. It’s hard to look away.
“I have to go,” I start when his artist friend comes back and hands him two drinks. One a beer, and the other . . .
“Here you go.” He hands the glass to me as his friend walks away.
“What’s this?”
“Your drink.”
“I said I didn’t want one,” I say, trying to hand it back.
“No, you said you didn’t want me to buy you one. So I didn’t.” He nods toward a small group that now includes the guy who brought over the drinks. “He did.”
“Do you know him?”
Hayden shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer. “No.”
“Then why’d he get these drinks? How did you know what I was drinking, anyway?” Because it’s a vodka and club, just like I’ve been drinking all night. I peer down in the glass. “And how do you know it’s safe? I don’t typically take drinks from strangers.”
I try to hand it back again.
“Because I paid him to get them. Quickly. As for the drink, I guessed after seeing your empty glass. I watched him the entire time. It hasn’t been tampered with.”
He’s so arrogant, part of me wants to stop this conversation immediately. But the other part of me is curious.
“You didn’t give him any money, though.”
That same smile he gave me outside the ladies’ room appears now. The one that nearly made me forget I was being picked up by a guy in my own office building.
“I did. You didn’t notice.” And then he lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers. “They’re highly skilled.”
Which was a little heavy-handed, really, but I’ll hand it to him. I’m imagining what those highly skilled fingers can do.
I pretend not to pick up on his innuendo.
“So if you paid him to get these drinks, then you bought it for me. In which case, I refuse.”
But he still won’t accept my drink.
“Wrong again, Doctor.”
I notice my friends are moving toward the bar, now that the entertainment is gone. Looks like we’re staying here for a bit.
Which makes me really want to take a sip of the drink, but I refuse on principle.
“Enlighten me.” I try to sound bored, but I really am interested in his answer. How many steps ahead did he plan within the few minutes available to him?
“Grab a Stella for me and a Belvedere and club for my friend and make it quick. Tell the bartender I need them on the house. Here’s a hundred.”
He was actually serious.
