Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sofia
I groaned and lowered my forehead to the shiny mahogany bar.
What a day. I finally had money for a fancy cocktail and now I had no one to drink with.
Natalie had left the country and I was officially friendless in a foreign land.
But there was no way I was not having a cocktail. Not after a day like today.
Noble Rot seemed like a very strange name for a wine bar, but it was two blocks from the office and boasted an inventive cocktail menu, which meant it fulfilled all the necessary criteria.
I passed the place every morning on my way from the tube, and I’d always wondered what it was like inside.
Turned out it was a perfect place to drown my sorrows.
Alone.
The bar only had three stools at it and I took the one on the left.
At least the place had a buzz about it as people congregated around the small wooden tables set out on the dark, planked wooden floor to celebrate the start of the weekend.
Thank God for the weekend. Two days of not seeing Andrew after I flashed him.
I groaned again.
“It can’t have been that bad,” Tony, the barman said, taking away my empty glass. I’d drained my Vivian Leigh cocktail a little quicker than I’d planned. It was just so good. Probably because I hadn’t had a cocktail in about seven weeks. Not since I’d left the states.
“It was worse.” I lifted my head. “Get me another. Quick as you can.” I needed to blur the edges of my truly horrible day.
“Same again?”
I squinted at the menu. “Next one down on the list.” Mixing my liquor seemed to be the easiest way to oblivion.
“So you said the F-word in front of your boss. Who cares?”
“It wasn’t just that I dropped an F-bomb. I did it naked.”
Tony chuckled. “If you went into your boss’s office naked, then swearing was the least of your problems.”
“Not completely naked. Just semi-naked. And it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t the best-looking man I’d ever laid eyes on. His ass is so . . .” I lifted my hands and made a squeezing motion with my fingers. “Tight. And hard. And he looks like John Kennedy. I mean he’s fucking on-fire hot.”
“Surely better to flash a good-looking man than an ugly one. And if that’s your deal, I’m happy to volunteer my services as your flashee. Anytime. Any day of the week.”
I smiled. He was trying to make me feel better, but it didn’t lift the utter humiliation that had cloaked me since I’d come out of Andrew’s office and looked down to see my boobs on display.
He must have thought I was a lunatic. Either I couldn’t dress myself or—I groaned again.
He wouldn’t think I’d done it on purpose, would he?
Like I was coming on to him? Sweet baby Jesus, I needed a do-over.
Tony put the fresh cocktail down in front of me and I scooped it up, barely tasting the flavor but feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat.
Please make it better. I sent up a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross before finishing the last of my cocktail.
“I think it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d said something. Like, ‘you’re having a wardrobe malfunction’ or ‘your blouse seems to have come undone.’ But he acted like nothing happened, which is ten times worse.”
Tony shrugged. “Is it, though? I mean, sounds like he was being professional.”
I guffawed. “Are you kidding me? This guy is not professional unless you mean he’s a professional asshole. He’s an absolute dick.”
I put my head back on the bar, wondering how I could salvage the situation.
I should call Natalie when she landed and see if she had any ideas.
The only problem was I didn’t want her to be right.
I wanted to nail being Andrew’s assistant.
She’d warned me against taking the job and I’d honestly thought I could handle it.
But I had to admit, he was getting to me.
Tony picked up two drinks and headed out from behind the bar.
“Do you know he can go days without uttering a word to me?” I called after him.
My mom tried to tell me that Andrew not talking to me was better than him yelling at me, but I wasn’t buying it.
The silent treatment must have been thought up in some kind of prison camp—a form of torture.
It was like pouring salt on a snail. It made me shrivel up into my shell and start questioning everything.
Was he mad at me? Had the research I’d done disappointed him?
Had I missed something? Should I be doing something I wasn’t?
I’d turned into a paranoid freak who walked around with her shirt undone, throwing drinks on herself.
The more I assured myself I was doing a good job, the more doubt kept creeping in, and the louder Andrew’s silence became.
It was like two summers ago when I swore off cannoli for three months.
I ended up eating double the amount I usually would because all I could think about was cannoli.
The more Andrew didn’t speak to me, the more I thought about what he wasn’t saying.
And, apparently, the more idiotic I became.
This was all Andrew Blake’s fault.
Tony reappeared behind the bar, the drinks dropped off at one of the tables behind me. “So, he sends you to Coventry. Let him.”
I glanced up at Tony to check he was talking to me. “He’s not sending me anywhere. I barely move from behind my desk. I said he doesn’t speak to me.”
Tony chuckled like I was being cute. He was clearly missing a beat. Or I was. I glanced down just to check my blouse was done up. I was going to have to start making hourly trips to the restroom to make sure I was dressed properly.
“And when he does speak to me, he’s monosyllabic or rude or both.” I pushed my empty glass toward him. “Next one on the list,” I said, realizing a second later that Tony had moved off to serve someone the other side of the pillar to my right.
“Cocktail number three coming up.” He flipped the shaker around on his arm a couple of times and I pulled my mouth into a smile. Why did men think juggling was cute? “You know what I’ve always done when I’ve been unhappy with my job?” he asked.
“What?” I said, moving closer so I didn’t miss what he was about to say.
“Found another job.”
It was the obvious answer but not so easy when I had to make rent and bills.
Plus, if my father didn’t stump up all the cash for my mom’s entire operation, I’d need to squirrel away all I could to pay for it myself.
“Yeah, but I can’t find another job and I don’t have anything to fall back on.
Believe me, if there was anything else that paid just as well, where my boss wouldn’t be a total asshole freak, I’d be—”
I stopped midsentence as I heard a familiar voice beside me say, “When you’ve got a minute, Tony?”
It couldn’t be.
This couldn’t possibly be happening.
Could it?
Andrew Blake was standing right beside me, facing the bar. Holy mother of God, had I just called my boss an asshole to his face? Or at least . . . the side of his face?
“Ready to settle up, James?” Tony asked Andrew.
Wait. Who was James? My head was entirely too fuzzy for this to be happening. I must be hallucinating.
In my alcohol-induced haze, I turned to face Andrew, leaning on the bar next to me, just to make sure I was definitely looking at who I was looking at.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge me. It was like I didn’t exist. Of course, because why would he have had a complete personality change in the last hour and a half? “Yes, please,” Andrew said, pulling out his wallet.
Tony set down one of those coaster-sized silver trays and the check. It said one hundred and eighty pounds.
A hundred eighty pounds? How was that possible? Things started slotting into place. He must have been here for some time. Sitting at one of the tables. Had he heard everything I’d said? Every complaint I’d lodged about him?
Andrew slid a bunch of notes onto the tray. “Keep the change.”
Tony’s eyes lit up. That was one of the cute things about the UK that Natalie had told me about.
Bar staff didn’t expect tips. I was surprised Andrew was being so generous.
I thought he’d be the type to ask for a refund on everything that wasn’t entirely perfect.
“Thanks, James. I really appreciate it. See you again.”
Andrew nodded and slid his wallet back in his pocket, then turned and started toward the door. Just as he came level with my seat, he paused and leaned toward me.
“You know, your boss sounds like a real arsehole.”
All the blood in my body sank to my feet. I gripped the barstool to stop myself from toppling over. Before I could think of what to say in return, he left.
I slumped back on my stool like I’d been shot. I should remember not to ever tempt fate by saying that my day couldn’t get any worse. Tonight was proof that however bad it was, there was always a path down further into the gutter.
“A Kate Winslet,” Tony said, sliding a drink toward me. I tried not to gag. What had just happened?
“That guy,” I said, nodding toward the door that Andrew had just gone through. “His name is James?”
“Yeah,” he said. “A regular. Why? Did he say something to you?”
I shook my head, entirely confused. “You’re sure he’s James?”
Tony laughed. “I’m sure. You just heard me call him James. Twice.”
Why on earth would Andrew be going around calling himself James?
“You think he heard me complaining about my boss?”
Tony shrugged. “I guess. I mean, he was at the table directly behind you.”
I turned on my stool to see exactly how close Andrew had been when I was describing him as a prison camp guard. My heart hitched itself up into my mouth. There was a two-foot gap between my stool and his table. There was no way he couldn’t have heard.
“And he was there for how long?” I didn’t know why I was asking. He’d managed to run up a hundred-eighty-dollar check. He must have been there a while. I just wanted to understand exactly how much he’d heard.
“He was there before you, wasn’t he?” Tony asked. “Or maybe he came in just after you. I can’t remember. But don’t worry about it. Plenty of people have sat on that stool and complained about their boss. It’s not like he’d care.”
I pushed my fingers through my hair. This was horrendous. I needed to get home and crawl into bed and hopefully wake up and realize this entire day had been the worst dream in the history of dreams.
“I need my check, please,” I said. More alcohol wasn’t going to help.
Nothing would. Not only was my boss an asshole of epic proportions—he also knew that I thought so.
Was it even worth going into the office on Monday?
He was bound to fire me. I wasn’t sure why he’d waited.
Why hadn’t he fired me on his way out? Probably so he could torture me a little more by making me come in and face the music.
Today had been a disaster. I might hate Andrew Blake, but I really needed this job. Maybe if I apologized, this time without throwing my beverage down my front. I could explain that I was just disappointed about Natalie leaving and feeling a little sorry for myself.
Nope. That wouldn’t work. Not on a man with an ego like Andrew Blake’s. I was going to have to come up with a miraculous idea between now and Monday morning or face the prospect of unemployment again.