Chapter 22
It wasn’t the same guy.
Tristan was wearing a suit (a rich, dark lavender paired with an ivory shirt), and he was tall, quiet, and a tad angry-looking, with sharp enough features to justify the “severe” descriptor. But it wasn’t the man who’d stepped out of the black Cadillac.
Still, I liked him. Rachel had been right.
Well… mostly.
He was funny. He was charming. A little shy at first, but very kind. Not to mention polite, handsome, successful, and, of course, gay.
“He’s not gay!” Rachel exclaimed for the umpteenth time as I reached for another fuzzy peach shot.
We were tucked in a corner, away from all the ruckus, and crouching a bit so we wouldn’t be spotted and pulled back in. I just needed five minutes.
Who knew accountants could get so rowdy?
“Rach, I love you, and I know your heart’s in the right place, but there’s no universe in which that man is even remotely attracted to women.”
“Liking interior design and fruity cocktails doesn’t make him gay.”
“No, it doesn’t. Being gay is what makes him gay.”
“You only talked to him for, like, twenty minutes!”
“Yeah! Because he’s been busy flirting with the male bartender for the last two hours!” I pointed at said bartender, a total cutie who’d spent the night giving us more free shots than half the accountants could count in their current state.
“They’re friends!”
I fixed her a look. She didn’t budge.
“You said you always have your team drinks here, right?” When she nodded, I scootched closer. “When was the last time you were given a table somewhere that wasn’t in direct view of the bar?”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Tristan has an in with the owner, and these are the best seats in the house if you want quick service.”
I threw a thumb over my shoulder. “And when was the last time that specific bartender—”
“Darius.”
“And when was the last time Darius wasn’t working during one of your team get-togethers?”
“He’s always here, because it’s always the same staff, because we always do drinks at the same time, on the same day. Fridays at seven.”
“Today’s Thursday.”
She paused. I smiled and grabbed her wrist.
“Right. I know, but Tristan has an appointment…”
“And you had an overlapping client event a couple of weeks ago, didn’t you? Were drinks rescheduled so you could be there?”
“No, but I’m not covering the group bill. We usually only reschedule if he’s the one…”
Her voice faded out as we weaved through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. Darius reached for a pink bottle when he saw us approaching. Didn’t miss a beat.
He really was cute. Midtwenties, charming smile, fashionably tousled hair, and little to no spare fucks to give.
Tristan had good taste.
“Question for you,” I said, gripping the lip of the polished stone bar as I leaned into it. “Are you working tomorrow night?”
He slid the two pink shots in front of us, unfazed.
“No, why?”
“I was thinking of coming here with some friends, and you’re the best shot pourer in the city. Wanted to make sure you’d be here.”
There it was—that charming, lazy smile. Tristan noticed, too.
You know what he didn’t notice? Me or Rachel. We were all but two temporary obstacles standing between him and the next time he could be the reason behind that smile.
“Tell that to Bill,” Darius said, shooting a cheeky glance toward Tristan, who was trying to hide his grin behind a lengthy drag of his cocktail.
I didn’t get it. Rachel didn’t get it. Neither of us knew who Bill was.
“Inside jokes,” I mouthed to her. She rolled her eyes.
“Bring them next week,” Darius offered. “Your friends. I’ll be here.”
“What do you have going on tomorrow?”
Rachel gave my arm a little smack. I shrugged her off.
“It’s his birthday,” Tristan noted absentmindedly.
Two things happened at once: Darius stared at him, looking absolutely gobsmacked. And Tristan froze, realizing he’d slipped. Then went beet red.
I grinned.
My work here was done.
“Well, happy birthday to you, Mr. Bartender.” Seeing as how we were no longer needed, I snatched our shots and gave one to Rachel before herding her back to our little corner.
“You see? You see? How cute are they? Who would want to get in the way of—”
She halted so abruptly that I almost tripped trying to stop myself from running into her from behind. I waited for a second, thinking she was going to start moving again once whatever was blocking our path was gone. But she remained frozen, staring at something straight ahead.
“Rach?” I slipped to her side, trying to see what had stolen her attention, but couldn’t pinpoint anything specific. The place was still packed with drunk strangers and speed-walking servers, none of them recognizable. To me, at least. “What? Did you see someone you know?”
She recovered, giving her head a little shake. “No, what, sorry?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw… never mind.” She kept glancing back out the window, the door. Her movements seemed almost frantic, and her cheeks were pale. “You want my drink? I think I’ve had more than I…”
She went rigid, her lips parting as she sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.
The only other time I’d seen her this scared was right after her dad disappeared. When the authorities were still pounding down doors, and private trackers and bounty hunters were ripping up floorboards, looking for him.
I whipped around, heart in my throat.
But it wasn’t her demons that had made her freeze like she’d seen a ghost.
It was mine.