Chapter 14 #2
If that meant working all night to make it happen, hell, even through the weekend, that was a price Baz was happy to pay.
Which made Collin stopping by his office sometime later—with his leather jacket over his arm, messenger bag around his body, and a “see you tonight” on his lips—a curveball.
“What?”
“Sullivan’s birthday? You said you were coming.”
Ah. Baz had repressed that happening today.
A party was the last place he wanted to be when there was work to be done.
Well, getting in with the partners was hard work too. And a vital part of the promotion process. He’d be damned if Collin’s schmoozing got him promoted first, so in the spirit of not jeopardizing his career any further…
“Sure. I’ll see you there.”
Breathe.
Baz checked himself in the rearview mirror, fixed the same strand of hair that refused to stay in place for the fifth time.
This was a nightmare. People, noise, chaos, and he had to face it all alone.
On any other day, he might have managed to convince Aya to come along, but now…
Well. He had to toughen up and get through it.
Who knew, maybe he’d run into a friendly face.
One with hazel eyes and a scruffy, short beard, wearing that white, lacey shirt he had worn the night at the bar.
After all, the legal world was small, and Sullivan’s guest list all but exclusive.
Who was to say Sami hadn’t heard about the party and decided to crash it?
Maybe he had connected the dots that Baz would be here and used the opportunity to torture him by flirting in public.
They could hide in the bedroom together or lock themselves in the bathroom…
The thought had no business producing a smile on Baz’s face.
Getting caught with Sami again would be a disaster.
All he wanted was to get through the night somewhat unscathed.
With a final deep breath, he climbed out of his car and into the mild April evening. He smoothed the wrinkles out of his burgundy shirt, the same color as the bottle of vintage wine he had picked up for Sullivan on the way.
The bass pulsated onto the empty street. Silhouettes of too many people darkened the windows. Baz’s nails dug into the sweaty palms of his hands.
He didn’t have to stay for long, he reminded himself. Just long enough to make an impression.
If only that made it easier.
The door to the house was unlocked. The ungodly techno music crashed upon him like a collapsing building, and yet it still failed to drown out the yelled conversations of at least a hundred people on the loft-like ground floor.
Was this hell? Did he die, and this was his punishment for lying to Aya?
Ignoring the drumming in his head, he ventured deeper in search of the man of the hour.
The open-plan kitchen was bustling with guests emptying the platters of hors d’oeuvres or standing in line for the staffed cocktail bar.
The window front across the living room promised a dimly lit terrace outside—and at least five people on it.
Damn it. There was no lack of familiar faces, but a shocking lack of sober ones when it was barely ten pm.
“You made it!” Sullivan’s arm slithered around him, his hand—bear paw, more like—clutched Baz’s shoulder. The stench of beer, sweat, and AXE body spray burned in Baz’s nose. Everything in him screamed run.
He plastered on a smile.
“Wouldn’t have missed it. Happy birthday.” His throat strained from shouting. He offered the bottle of wine.
“Thanks, dude. I’ll take that, and you’ll take this.” Sullivan pressed his half-empty beer bottle into Baz’s palm. Gross. “Enjoy yourself, all right? Plenty of ladies here who’d love to talk to a handsome guy like yourself.” Sullivan winked.
Baz clung onto his smile like his life depended on it. He had no idea if he succeeded.
Sullivan released him from the prison of his embrace and joined a group of guys—all partners at Dunkeld Wilson, all wasted—without any horribly inconvenient questions like how are you.
Baz discarded the beer bottle on the hickory shelf he walked past, replaced it with a red cup of soda he’d claim was part vodka before anyone tried to dump more drink remains on him.
Some colleagues nodded in greeting. Baz raised his cup at them, forced his shoulders to move to the beat of the music until their interest had faltered and he could continue his search for a quieter refuge, a safe person, anything.
The DJ announced a new song Baz had never heard of—a wave of whoos erupted. The bellowing music drowned them out, growing louder and louder. The bass dictated Baz’s heartbeat, pushed tears into his eyes.
There was no escape; every corner he turned, blaring speakers continued their torture. Even the bedroom, the seemingly only enclosed room in this godforsaken house, was occupied by a group of women huddled on the bed, giggling about something. This was a nightmare.
He prayed for hazel eyes to find him, for Sami to magically appear and help take his mind off things—
“Looking for someone?” a high voice screamed. A red-haired woman, easily a foot shorter than him, smiled widely. The paralegal he had met in Grash’s office—Katie? Cathy?—except she had traded her sensible work clothes for a daringly short cocktail dress with a low neckline.
“Uh.” Baz searched the room for an excuse. Found none. Would a ‘yes’ deter her? Would she try to help? Would she interpret a ‘no’ as an invitation to talk that Baz did not care to usher? “Yes. A friend.”
Please don’t ask questions, please don’t ask questions…
“I can be your friend,” she purred, shimmying closer. Her pushed-up breasts brushed over his chest. Fuck. How could he get away—oh! Baz pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Excuse me, I have to deal with this! So important.”
Her face dropped along with her shoulders, but she moved on. Thank god. Baz released a deep, shaky breath and double-tapped the screen. Please, let there be something. An emergency of sorts, anything that gave him an excuse to leave…
Annoying Stalker: 9 new messages
Nine? What the hell happened?
have you ever thought about mountains
because I just watched a documentary on climbing mount everest and let me tell you
ew
first of all why
second of all still why??
it’s a graveyard literally filled with human feces?!
imagine having like a hundred k and several months off
who the hell chooses to spend that climbing through other people’s shit and risking death? and for what?? do these people not know that drone footage exists??
also justice for sherpas they are the real MVPs they deserve a million bucks
Jesus. Baz’s huff turned into a breathless laugh. He had no idea why Sami thought Baz needed to hear about this—well, knowing Sami, he hadn’t thought at all. He had just told him because he wanted to. An admirable trait, sometimes.
It wasn’t awful to be entrusted with the random thoughts that popped into his handsome head.
What on earth makes you think I give a shit?
why would you NOT
its morbidly fascinating
the stories are crazy
im deep in the rabbit hole can you tell
Hard not to. Hearing Sami rant about Mount Everest would be infinitely more pleasant than being stuck here. Cuddled up under a blanket, researching together… There he went again with pointless daydreams. Parties always messed with his mind.
Good for you.
why do I get the feeling you’re grumpier than usual
I’m never grumpy.
only all the time haha
whats up honey
Honey.
Baz read the word over and over. It was just a joke, of course. Probably. Unless it wasn’t, and that… Baz pressed his lips together before they did something stupid, like smile.
I’m stuck at an awful party.
Was Sami the partying type or would he hate this as much as Baz?
have you tried leaving? hope that helps xoxo
Haha.
Can’t. Half the firm’s here…
oh one of thOSE parties
that sucks
anything I can do?
Not unless he could teleport himself over. That would be a crazy thing to ask, though.
Unless—what was one more person to stuff up the air? As long as no one learned who Sami was to him… But no. Well—no. He couldn’t risk it.
“Bazzy! You made it!” Collin’s voice pierced the bubble of dissociation that had kept the music out. It hit Baz twice as hard, ringing in his ears.
Collin stood with two partners, holding a beer bong while an associate kneeled on the floor and gobbled sixteen ounces of beer through a plastic hose.
“Hey, your turn, bro!”
Oh, hell no. Not for any promotion in the world. Baz’s breath hitched in his throat; the room spun around him. Air. He needed some, right now.
He pointed to his phone—texting hardly made for a good excuse. Before he knew it, he hit the call button and bolted past the DJ station onto the terrace. The embrace of the night cooled the boiling heat consuming him, tinged with the stink of weed.
He clawed into the wooden balustrade, away from the couple shamelessly making out in front of the backdrop of dark trees that rustled as loud as a power drill.
“Baz? Everything okay?” A quiet voice came out of his speaker.
“I-I’m sorry, I panicked.” Every word hurt in his tight throat. “They wanted me to do a beer bong. Taking a call was the best excuse I had.”
“A beer bong?” Sami’s chuckle was low, rough even, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. A shiver ran down Baz’s spine. Now he regretted not bringing a jacket. “What kind of weird networking event is that?”
“A partner’s birthday.”
“Oh. Wait, what’s the problem then?”
“That is the problem!” Wasn’t that obvious?
A beat.
“I’m not following.”
Baz pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course not. No one ever did, that was why he hated explaining this.
But… Sami trusted him with all of his thoughts too, unashamedly spammed his phone whether Baz cared or not. Maybe his aversion to parties wasn’t so weird in comparison.
“Sucking up to people? Easy.”
“It is?”