Chapter 1 #3
"Well, apology accepted." I tip my glass at him with my most gracious smile. "And I'm sorry if I've come across a bit prickly. One too many glasses of wine and I let some old baggage do the talking. But I really am looking forward to this partnership."
About as much as I look forward to a tax audit, but he doesn't need to know that.
"Clean slate, then?" he asks, smiling brightly.
"Clean slate." I lift my glass. "With your reach and my expertise, this should be a great launch."
"Right." He clinks his beer against my glass, still smiling. "So, despite that lovely performance you just gave, I take it you actually despise me?"
Shit. Maybe he's more perceptive than I gave him credit for.
"What? No, no, that's not it at all," I say, maybe a little too quickly.
His grin only widens.
I clear my throat and try again, slower this time. "I don't dislike anyone, actually. I make a point of finding something to appreciate in everyone, even the people I don't click with right away. I just… wanted to clear the air before Monday."
In my head, of course, this conversation went very differently. He'd have recognized me right away and felt horribly guilty, and I'd have been gracious and devastating. Instead I had to remind him who I am. The whole thing is mortifying.
He stops, the bottle poised halfway to his lips. "Wait a second. Did you just claim you don't dislike anyone?"
"I did. Setting aside the obvious exceptions for murderers, bigots, the truly terrible.
" I shift my weight, wondering why he's fixating on such a minor point.
"But for the rest of us? Most people are just navigating life as best they can.
There's usually a redeeming quality if you're willing to look for it. "
"I see." He gives a slow nod, his expression unreadable. "I'm guessing you grew up here in California."
I feel a prickle of annoyance, like I'm missing the punchline. "Born and raised. Why?"
"That explains the outlook. You all are so optimistic. It's a bit jarring for those of us who carry a healthy dose of spite." He tips the beer toward me. "Because it's impossible to like everyone. For example, I'm fairly certain you don't like me at all."
"Well, I'm capable of anything I set my mind to, so let's be clear about that." I lift slightly on my toes, a futile attempt to bridge the eight-inch height gap between us. "Though I'll admit, some people make the effort significantly harder than others."
I shoot him a pointed look. He laughs, loud enough that several heads turn in our direction. A cluster of women by the bar shoot me dagger eyes over their wine glasses, clearly furious that I've stolen his attention. If only they knew. They're more than welcome to this asshole.
"And here I was told Carol's right-hand woman was the picture of sweet, endless patience. I'm assuming that's you?" He rakes his eyes over me, and I can feel a flush creeping up my neck.
"Er… technically, I'm not on the clock at the moment."
"Clearly." A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "So, on Monday I get the sweet, patient version? I'm looking forward to the introduction."
I desperately need to steer this conversation back toward professional territory before I dig this hole any deeper.
"Look, I really am sorry for the bad first impression," I say with a sigh. "I’m stressed because I want this partnership to be a success. I've poured two years of my life into this project. It's my brainchild, and I really hope you'll take it seriously."
"I will. You have my word on that." He sounds surprisingly sincere, which catches me off guard.
"Right. Well. I appreciate that."
"It should be fun working together, shouldn't it?" He gestures between us with his beer bottle. "Like oil and water."
I can’t help but smile despite my best efforts to remain irritated. "More like a lit match and a puddle of gasoline."
"Well, as long as you don't poison me with the good stuff, I'll take my odds."
"I'd never waste the good stuff," I laugh. "For you, I'd go straight for something that comes in a three-liter box."
He laughs again, and a small spark of satisfaction blooms in my chest. One I immediately try to extinguish. He certainly doesn't need any more encouragement, and I shouldn't be the person providing it.
"See, that's exactly the sort of expertise I signed on for." He tilts his bottle toward my glass in another toast. "To not poisoning each other."
I clink my glass against his bottle, and Carol materializes out of the crowd.
"You two have met!" she says. "Wonderful. Margot, he is your priority number one during this entire launch."
"Hear that, Ace?" Cillian says, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Priority number one."
"I heard," I say dryly, and take a long sip of my rosé.
A photographer materializes at my boss's elbow, lifting the camera. "Can I get a shot of the face of the label with our sommelier? Maybe an arm around her?"
"Oh, that really isn't necessary—" I start, but before I can finish, Cillian's arm settles around my shoulders, heavy and warm.
Heaven help me.