Chapter 9 #3
A dizzying whirlwind of names, faces, handshakes, eyes on him, and Nate would nudge him forward, saying his name, bragging about him. The things Nate said, it was like he was talking about a completely different person, Connor unable to recognize himself in those compliments and praises.
And when their drinks melted down, Connor was the one going to the bar, replacing them both with glasses of ice water and wedges of lemon.
“Beats having a drink you don’t want to drink,” he’d said out of the side of his mouth while Nate grinned.
“Sure does,” he said, clinking his glass against Connor’s before taking a hearty swig. And all Connor could do was stare, transfixed, watching the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
Nate noticed him staring, giving Connor a puzzling look that had the back of his neck burning before he was looking away in shame, pretending his gaze was elsewhere.
But when Connor chanced another glance, Nate was the one staring now, something unreadable in those dark eyes of his as he sipped his water.
The hairs at the back of his neck stood straight up, but before he had a chance to react, Nate caught his elbow and pushed him towards another small group, greeting each of them by name and then following up with, “Have you met Connor Hayes?”
“Mr. Hayes, pleasant to meet you,” answered the older man Nate had led him to, offering his hand for Connor to shake. “Don Wehr. I hear you’re quite the investment analyst.”
“I think his brain is the one you wanna pick for your next forecast,” Nate grinned, while Connor somehow managed a calm smile and polite expression.
“Good meeting you, too, Mr. Wehr.”
“Please, call me Don. Mind if I ask you a few questions about your department’s next quarter?”
“Of course not. Ask away,” Connor replied, his mouth answering before his brain could catch up, before his doubts could creep in and leave him panicking.
He was pulled into conversation with Don, a back and forth of ideas, numbers, projections, figures, something straight out of Connor’s fantasies. And then he started asking Connor’s opinions, questions, “What do you think about this retention strategy?”
And when Connor answered, he listened.
“Well, I certainly hope I’ll be able to count on you when the time comes for Q3 analyses to be conducted,” Don said, clapping Connor on the back before he was pulled into another conversation.
Connor turned, looking for Nate, only to find that he’d disappeared somewhere. Connor scanned the faces around him, this the small gathered crowd making their way in and out of the terrace, until he spotted Nate off to the side engaged in conversation with Berkshire.
Berkshire’s hand at Nate’s shoulder, but Nate wasn’t smiling.
He better be proud of you, Connor thought as he finished his water, letting Don pull him away to join others in conversation.
And when he looked up again, Nate was standing alone, sipping what might have been water out of a clear glass. Pupils blown dark, something hungry in his eyes as he looks at Connor.
That was a look Connor knew well. This time, he didn’t avert his gaze. No, he stared back. He watched as Nate seemed to lick his lips, looking at him. A question?
Connor only arched an eyebrow in response. Was that his answer? Or was he imagining all of this?
“Of course, all of this depends on what changes will come when Lou retires.”
“Lou. Can’t imagine what we’ll do without him,” he heard Don say. “You can’t count on every director to prioritize their department the way he does.”
This had Connor’s attention returning to the conversation, forgetting Nate for a moment.
“He’ll be leaving some large shoes to fill,” Connor commented.
“Well, perhaps the person to fill them is already with us,” he heard someone say in a familiar voice.
But Connor wasn’t sure who was speaking, because someone stepped close to him, walking past him, shoulder brushing his, a confident hand at his lower back for the briefest of moments.
He didn’t even see who it was, not at first. He only heard his voice.
“Room 221.” Said, and nearly lost over the drone of conversations around them.
“What was that?” Connor asked, turning around. But he only saw Nate’s retreating back, the distinctive crimson of his stylish suit as he disappeared into the crowd.
“Room 221,” Nate had said. Connor hadn’t imagined it, he was sure. Those were his words, that had been his voice.
Maybe he’d meant that to be their meeting place for tomorrow, wanting to find somewhere to connect before the day’s workshops began- but Connor still felt the lingering ghost of Nate’s touch at his lower back. That hadn’t been imagined.
He finished his water and set it down at the bar on the edge of the terrace, careful movements to disguise how rattled he was.
He couldn’t get the lingering way Nate looked at him out of his head, the way he’d crossed the distance between them like a predator spotting prey-
But Connor didn’t feel like prey now, and he didn’t feel hunted so much as he was… invited.
“Anything else I can get you?” asked the bartender, raising an eyebrow at Connor. No doubt he was waiting for Connor to order an actual drink, a cocktail or a beer of some kind, but Junie’s advice felt more like a commandment from a stone age god than gentle words of wisdom.
Always be the most sober person in the room. And even if you aren’t, you need to act like it.
He offered the bartender a polite smile.
“Just an ice water, thank you.”
If the bartender thought anything of Connor’s order–or his appearance–then he was a class act in keeping his opinions to himself as he passed over another glass
And this was all he would do tonight, Connor decided. He was going to cradle this glass until the ice melted, and then he would return to the Marriott, collapse into bed, and start again tomorrow morning.
What he would not be doing was going to Nate’s room tonight.