Chapter 9 #2
“The East Terrace,” Connor repeated, and Nate grinned. Wide, pure, uninhibited.
He’d never noticed it before, the way his canines were just a little bit crooked. Not artificial. Not sculpted to perfection.
Genuine.
Real.
The way his smile might have looked if he never had braces.
Connor was still thinking about that smile nearly an hour later, making his way back to the Les Grandes. He studied a directory near the entrance for a moment, scanning down the list of points of interest.
Spa, ground pool, heated pool, gym, before he found the path to the east terrace.
Whether or not to go in the first place hadn’t been a decision that came easily. But after texting about it with Junie, Connor decided he might as well experience what these events were like, just once.
And he had the good sense not to show up as he was. Connor took that hour to head back to the Marriott just long enough to freshen himself up, run a comb through his hair, change into something he hadn’t been wearing all day.
The last part had been Junie’s suggestion, part of a long list of advice she’d texted him in a rambling order.
I don’t care if everyone’s doing it. Don’t take any drugs they offer you. It looks worse for us.
Make sure to shake everyone’s hand!! They’ll remember if you don’t.
Ellie always tells me to be the most sober person in the room, and even if I’m not, I need to act like it.
You brought an extra suit, right? Make sure you’re wearing that, just in case.
Don’t hook up with anyone!!
His phone had buzzed for almost ten minutes straight with incoming messages while he changed into a fresh suit, garment bag unzipped and abandoned on his bed.
No doubt, the volume of her texts was a sign that she’d started with an early afterparty, but the advice was welcome all the same.
Junie had attended several of these officially sanctioned parties on Thornton’s invitation, although she always likened the experience to being trotted out as her boss’s prize showdog.
But Connor never had. Not once, not even under–
No.
No, he told himself he was going to have a good night tonight.
He wasn’t going to think about Devore, he wasn’t going to think about his past mistakes and hurts.
He was going to spend the evening with a drink in his hand, bumping elbows with C-Suite executives, playing the role of the supportive assistant who knew not to take up too much of the spotlight.
And if it so happened that Nate introduced him to the right people, well, that would only be a coincidence.
The East Terrace itself was a respectable plaza with what must have been a scenic view of the ocean during the day, although the sun was too far past the horizon to appreciate it much now.
Only the last remaining dregs of light filtered through the clouds on the horizon, a waning moon starting its ascent.
Any stars that might have started to make their appearance were drowned out by the strings of warm light around the perimeter.
But as he looked around, Connor found himself taken by how many familiar faces he saw.
He recognized every member of the board of directors, including department directors with younger women in tight dresses on their arms, as well as clients and even investors whose faces he’d only ever glimpsed from a computer monitor while sitting in on a virtual conference call.
And he’d never been more aware of just how out of place he was. He waffled just outside the plaza, wondering if it would be better to fake an excuse to leave. This wasn’t his world, this wasn’t a world he could ever inhabit. For fuck’s sake, he was still wearing his tie.
“There you are.”
Three little words that had his knees buckling. He’d never needed to hear a familiar voice so badly, even if that voice happened to belong to Nate. He’d take it right now. It was small, that knowledge that he wasn’t alone, navigating a situation so far out of his element.
This was Nate’s first time at one of these afterparties, too.
“Hey,” Connor said, turning around, taking in Nate.
He looked as flawless as ever, hardly carrying any evidence of the day’s exhaustion under his eyes.
Still wearing that crimson suit, still looking every bit his role and pedigree.
No one in their right mind could ever call into doubt that Nate Santos belonged here.
And somehow, Connor didn’t find himself feeling jealous or even bitter. He even smiled at Nate–small, calm, and familiar.
“You know, I gave up a pretty wild party back at the Marriott for this,” Connor told him with no trace of bitterness.
“Well, let’s make it worth your while then,” Nate replied. All smooth charm. Still riding the high of his panel, no doubt. “Let’s get a drink?”
Connor let Nate lead him to the bar at the edge of the terrace, stepping past who he recognized as the Barnum team with Cathy McGull at the center, holding a champagne glass. How strange, seeing her in person, seeing her smile.
“What can I do you for?” The bartender asked, but Connor wasn’t paying attention, still taking in the sea of familiar faces he’d never seen in such an environment. He felt too stiff, too tightly wound to risk letting his guard down.
“Uh, an old fashioned for me, and what’ll you drink, Connor?”
Nate’s voice caught his attention and he answered without thinking.
“Whatever you’re drinking.”
“Alright, an old fashioned for me, and a second one for him.”
There was something imperceptible in Nate’s smile, something he didn’t think much about as he was distracted by the sound of laughter.
He turned to find a nearby gathering of an unlikely group–Elle Thornton, Tan Atkins, and a few client service directors he’d only met a few times in the past, deep in discussion with Thornton gesticulating wildly as she recounted some story to their group.
Was that a side of her that Junie ever got to see?
“Here you go.” Connor turned to see Nate with two drinks in hand, offering him one.
Amber in a crystal glass, gem-colored cherry nestled between a sliver of orange peel, speared through by a toothpick with a little curl at the end.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting it.
“Cheers?”
What the hell, Connor thought, clinking their glasses together.
“Cheers.”
And they both sipped their drinks, Nate like a practiced connoisseur whiskey, while Connor found himself choking back an unseemly sputter, one hand coming to cover his mouth.
“You okay?” he asked, while Connor just made a face, embarrassed.
“Yeah. Guess I’m not much of a whiskey drinker.” What an embarrassing admission, but there it was. Connor didn’t drink much.
“Yeah, me neither,” Nate said. “But my old boss told me it looks weird if you don’t have something in your hand when everyone else does. So, having a drink helps you blend in.”
“Pretty good advice,” Connor decided.
But Nate didn’t respond. He was looking past Connor, like he was studying something. Then, he nudged him with his elbow and pointed out a nearby group of directors with a jerk of his chin.
“I think we’ll start here,” Nate said, as casually as if he was a fraternity brother scouting out a group of potential pledges.
Simmons, stout and wizened, stood near a round table chatting with Anise Trembley. Before today, Connor had only ever seen her in virtual conference calls, sitting just out of view behind his previous principals. Never in person.
Never this close.
Connor glanced back at Nate, eyes wide, and gave a slight, imperceptible shake of his head.
No way, he thought. No way are you expecting me to talk to her.
But Nate wasn’t psychic. He only beamed at Connor before he hooked an arm around his shoulders, leading him towards them.
“You’re going to be great,” Nate whispered in his ear, before addressing the two people whose conversation they were set to interrupt. “Lou, Anise. Great to see you both.”
“Oh, Nate. Yes. Splendid panel you led,” Anise remarked, her thin brows arched high as she nodded to Simmons. “What was it you were saying, Lou?”
Nate, she called him. Connor barely registered what was said next, his mind reeling at how casually Nate addressed her. Did they know each other? Had they been acquainted before?
“Smart, not letting the cat out of the bag,” Simmons said candidly.
As expected, he did not have a glass in hand; he’d likely be the only one among the crowd on the terrace.
No doubt he would retire for the night soon.
“Let them all find out at the party, I suppose. Isaac was right to have you close out.”
“He certainly had great instincts with this one,” Anise added. The way she smiled at Nate should have seemed pleasant enough, but Connor tasted bile. He started to sip his drink to get the taste out of his mouth, but thought better of it, only managing a polite smile.
“I appreciate that,” Nate replied smoothly, then nudged Connor forward. “Before I forget, have you met Connor Hayes?”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Connor managed, habitually offering out a hand to shake. He prayed, somehow, he looked more natural then he felt, that the drink in his hand was doing something to keep him from appearing stiffer than a board.
But by some grace of the universe, Simmons respected the offer and gladly shook Connor’s hand, his own warm and solid.
“Connor Hayes, is it? I don’t think we’ve met. And what department do you oversee?”
“Think of him as my right-hand-man in Investor Relations,” Nate answered smoothly. “Connor was responsible for the analytics found in our panel presentation.”
“Is that so?” Anise studied Connor, tilting her head to the side. “Insightful work.”
“Thank you,” Connor managed politely, his heart somewhere up near his throat. He passed his drink from one hand to the other, not chancing a sip.
But the moment was only just that–a moment, and then Nate wished them well before maneuvering him to another group. And this was the dance that they repeated, one Connor had never learned, didn’t know the moves for, but played passive enough while Nate led him around.