3. Cora #2
“He’s super excited about launching this drink line. I really think you two will hit it off if you try again.”
“We’re gonna hit something,” I muttered under my breath. Probably my last nerve.
Aiden came waltzing over, all suave in his suit, his curls perfectly tousled. He shouldn’t be allowed to walk around looking that perfect. He staggered to a stop as our eyes connected.
I wasn’t wearing my mask, but I was pretty sure he’d recognize me as the Masked Mixer anyway. I half expected an eyeroll after the way we’d left things at the bar, but his eyes widened comically instead.
“Zelda?” he said with a note of disbelief, and I immediately wanted to crawl out of my skin at the nickname I hadn’t heard since high school. “Is that…Wait, is that really you? Hold on. You’re the Masked Mixer!”
Oh, sure. Now he freaking recognized me? God, this was almost worse than him not recognizing me at all.
I needed to get out of here. “I think this meeting’s over,” I said to Allie.
Aiden’s jaw hung open, his brows drawn together like I’d just slammed my foot down on his toe. He sifted his fingers through his hair, displacing the curls. “I mean, Cora. God, it’s been so long.”
Yep, years since you broke my heart, asshole. What a nightmare this was turning out to be. “Nice of you to finally recognize me.”
“In my defense,” Aiden began. “It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen you. You look…You’re older.”
Older? Jesus Christ. Why was I being subjected to this man over and over again?
Had teenage me not suffered enough? And sure, I’d changed since I was sixteen, but I hadn’t changed that much.
He didn’t have to be a jerk about it. “Glad all those football tackles in high school didn’t rattle you so much that you forgot how the aging process works. ”
His reply must have gotten caught behind his tongue because he closed his mouth and glared at me.
“We were just talking about Elixir’s new nonalcoholic line!” Allie interrupted loudly.
Aiden hummed sarcastically. “I’m just dying to hear what the Masked Mixer thinks about that.”
I bristled. “I think I have better things to be doing with my time than sitting here.”
“Hang on,” Allie said, holding her hands out, asking for a pause. “We were getting somewhere. Let’s all sit down and talk about it. I’ll order lunch on Elixir.”
“Cora doesn’t accept brand gifts,” Aiden cut in with a snide smile. “I’m assuming that extends to brand-paid-for lunches.”
“Correction,” I said. “I don’t accept gifts from brands I have no intention of working with. And as I made abundantly clear last night, that includes Elixir.”
Aiden sneered. “This is a waste of time.”
“Agreed.”
“Wait,” Allie said. “Let’s discuss the new line some more. Cora, I think partnering with Elixir could be mutually beneficial for us both.”
“I doubt it,” I said. Nothing about a partnership with Aiden was ever going to be beneficial.
“She didn’t really seem to be showing Elixir any love last night,” Aiden pointed out. “I don’t see what we would gain.”
I shrugged. “I had other, better options on the table. I saw no reason to water down my drinks with Elixir.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched, and it gave me an insane amount of pleasure.
“Okay,” Allie said, cutting Aiden off before he could respond.
“Think of it this way, Cora. This is your chance to make something you genuinely do love. Something you can be proud to attach your name and your brand to. Something you will happily endorse because you’ve had a hand in crafting the recipes and selecting the ingredients. ”
“We want something that’s never been done before,” Aiden said. “Unique flavor profiles, playing with combinations, turning the expected on its head. Think the Masked Mixer could handle all that?”
What a dick! That’s exactly what I did on my socials, and he should know that, if he’d ever actually watched them—which, to be honest, he probably hadn’t.
Not recognizing me when I’m wearing a mask in a bar with atmospheric lighting is one thing, but if he’d watched hours of my content online and still didn’t recognize me? There really would be no hope for him.
Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t work for him whether he recognized me or not. I wouldn’t work for him in a bar; I wouldn’t work for him in a car. I wouldn’t work for him here or there—I wouldn’t work for him anywhere.
You cannot buy me with your bling; screw you, Mr. Cocktail King.
As if on cue, the next words out of Aiden’s mouth were, “Did you already discuss salary?”
Allie pulled another document from her bag. “I didn’t have a chance before you got here.” She shoved it in my direction, motioning with her pen. “But salary-wise, this is what we’re talking about.”
My eyes almost bugged out of my head. That was easily fifty grand more than I was making now even with my added Masked Mixer gigs.
With that kind of money on the table, my speakeasy could go from a dream to a reality in no time at all.
No. No! I’d just settled on the fact that I would never work for Aiden.
“Of course, this is just a starting point,” Aiden said, taking the pen and scratching out the number on the contract. “For someone with your knowledge and previous experience, I’m sure we can bump you up another…” He glanced at Allie. “Twenty grand?”
She shrugged.
“Forty?” he suggested.
Now he was just throwing his money around. I opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove his assumptions about me being a sellout without morals or a brain in my head.
“Fifty,” he jumped in, clearly assuming my silence was me waiting to see how high he would go.
“Why is everything about the money with you?” I asked, so offended my hands clenched into fists.
“Why do you have such a problem accepting my money?” he countered. “You’re the one shaking up drinks for a living. I’m just trying to pay you for it.”
“And you’re still shaking up the world with your ego, I see. I can’t believe your head ever fit into a football helmet.”