Chapter 36 Andrea
Andrea
“You know, those cocktails are engineered to encourage optimism.” Toby crossed his legs at the knee and looked out as the opening notes of “Blurred Lines” slid across the dance floor.
“Is that so?”
I couldn’t care less what they were engineered for. Although something that repelled a man like Toby would have been useful.
“What’s in these, my man?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the bartender, like he personally employed him.
“Schnapps, white rum, orange juice, cranberry.” The barman pushed a menu toward him. “It’s a Georgia Peach.”
“Ethanol and sugar pretending to be special,” Toby said under his breath, smiling at me like we were somehow above it.
“One more, please.” He clicked his fingers at the barman before turning back to me. What an utter arse. “I’m sure it’s delicious, although you don’t strike me as the sort who enjoys being tricked.”
“By a cocktail?” I scoffed. “It’s a wedding. They’re meant to be pretty.”
“Ah, of course.” He nodded. “Social contracts. Temporary delusions. I forget people come for that.”
The music pulsed faintly, the bass thudding in the distance.
Toby leaned back in his chair. He didn’t look like he planned to move. He’d already made himself comfortable.
I glanced down at my Georgia Peach. Still half full.
“You disappeared,” he said. “I wondered if you’d had enough.”
“Of what?”
“Of all this.” He waved a hand in front of us. “The performance.”
“I was getting some air.”
“Mm.” His mouth tilted. “That tracks.”
I turned to look at him. “Why?”
He squinted, his gaze following the other guests as they made their way to the dance floor. A burst of laughter drifted past, followed by the pop of a cork.
“You’re not dazzled, which makes a pleasant change.”
I thought of Sveta’s hand on Liam’s arm. The way she’d leaned in. The confidence of it.
I picked up my drink again and took a slow sip.
“I can see why he likes you,” he said lightly. “You’re grounded. Different from his usual type.”
I didn’t want to think of Liam’s usual type. The thought made me feel sick.
“I don’t think we know each other well enough for you to be assessing me,” I said.
He laughed. “Fair enough, Andrea. Occupational hazard.”
“Right.”
“Pattern recognition,” he continued, as if I’d asked. “I work in finance. We spend an inordinate amount of time predicting behavior.”
“Fascinating.”
“Oh, it’s corrosive.” He grinned. “But useful.”
I took another sip, wishing the alcohol would hurry up and do something decisive.
His dark hair hadn’t moved all evening, not a strand out of place despite the heat and the crowd. He angled his knees in my direction, tilting his head toward mine.
“I’ve known Liam a long time,” he said. “Long enough to know which part he shows people.”
I’d felt this coming, like a pressure change before a storm. I kept my expression neutral, my eyes on the dancers. “Have you?”
A drink was pushed across the bar. Toby took a sip without saying thank you. Entitled prick.
“Yes. On and off. For years, actually.”
“Nice for you.”
“He’s very good at first impressions.”
“I’m sure.”
“No. I mean it. He’s charismatic. Convincing.” He picked off the garnish—a slice of fresh peach—and ate it. “Makes you feel as though you’re seeing the full picture.”
“And you’re suggesting that isn’t the case.”
“I’m suggesting,” he said, “that people fill in the gaps with Liam Roth. Especially people who want to believe the best.”
The music swelled, and the tempo increased. From the dance floor, the crowd cheered.
“You’re clever,” he continued. “I noticed that earlier. You ask the right questions.”
“Thank you for your appraisal.”
He laughed again. “It’s only good manners. You deserve to know who you’re standing next to.”
“I think I do, thank you.”
A lie. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
But also … I did.
“Liam’s very good at focusing on the part of a problem that lets him sleep at night,” Toby continued. He bent his fingers inward and inspected his nails. “It’s a skill. Essential for what he does. But you know that, of course.”
He leaned back in his chair. “There are things he simply … steps around. People, usually.”
I stared at him.
“What surprised me about what you said at dinner,” he said, “wasn’t your comment.” He threw the last of his drink down his throat and placed it carefully back on the bar.
“It was how quickly you drew a line. Good men on one side. Monsters on the other.”
His smile sharpened. I had done that, partly to put this egotistical arsehole in his place, but also because I knew that Liam was the better man.
“I’m quite confident I have a good handle on that,” I said.
“Are you sure, Andrea? A woman like you isn’t so naive as to believe a man like Liam could get to where he is today without leaving some damage behind him?”
A sliver of doubt slipped into my mind and settled there. What sort of damage? Not the sort you’d see on a Wikipedia page.
“You’re interested, I can tell,” he said with a smirk.
I looked away in disgust. But the image of the blond woman in the glittery dress drifted back into my mind, the photos in the tabloids, what Bonnie had said about him going back to his old ways. That didn’t sound like a man with a strong moral compass.
“Nothing against Liam, of course,” he added. “I’m sure it’s been difficult for him, processing what he did.”
What he did?
I turned back sharply, and Toby was smiling, his grin smug, like he knew he’d tripped me up.
“Another drink, Andrea?” He slid one across to me. I hadn’t even noticed him order it.
“I know who Liam is,” I said, but I was starting to feel less sure. “He’s a good man.”
Toby scoffed. “Of course. The little lies we tell ourselves so we can keep doing what we want, have the nice things. I don’t blame you at all.”
He was leaning closer now, and his arm had somehow dropped behind the back of my neck, the fabric of his jacket rubbing against my shoulders. He was so close I could smell his cologne, mingling with the alcohol on his breath.
“That only works until you realize you’re sleeping with someone who never has to look at the people his decisions affect.”
People I knew and loved.
I turned my head away. I was ready for him to leave now.
“I didn’t ask for a briefing,” I said.
“No.” He smiled again, picking up a tendril of my hair from where it rested against my collarbone. “But you stayed.”