“No.” The shake of her head is short and quick, almost a shudder. “It’s fine. I’ll see him when I get back.” She smiles at me, and something is definitely wrong, the lines of her face pulling at the wrong places, her eyes avoiding mine, her study of the menu uncharacteristically focused.
I fight a war between protective aggression and giving her space, my tongue poised, unsure of how to act. I catch her eyes and there is a flash of raw vulnerability, silently begging me to leave it alone. I reach forward, passing her the basket of bread, and eye the ring that still sits on her finger. “So, no Craig.”
“No.”
“And our meeting with the factory rep is at ten?”
“Yes.”
“I hope you use bigger words in our meeting. You’re the only chance we have to sound intelligent.”
The corner of her mouth twitches, and it feels like a monumental victory. “Okay.”
“And you know you’ve piled a lot of extra work on me.”
Her eyebrow raises, and a hint of life enters her eyes. “In what way?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Now I’ve got to entertain you for the next two days. Play host, get you drunk on Hong Kong sake, and give you a vacation you’ll never forget.”
She rolls her eyes and picks up the menu. “Shut up. We both know I’ll be getting room service tonight, and you’ll be banging some Chinese whore.”
“I’m canceling the Chinese whore,” I say with a hurt tone. “I mean, I was going to bang her, but you and your inconvenient loneliness just cost her the greatest orgasms of her life.”
“Oh my God.” She lifts the menu higher to hide her smile. “Please stop.”
Her foot bumps against my leg, and I look at my own menu, wishing that ring was off her finger and this restaurant was deserted.
Her
“I’m not drinking that!” I call up to Trey, hoping he can read lips because the noise in the club is deafening. He smiles down at me and I tug on his dress pants, smacking a hand across the top of his shoe to get his attention.
Standing on top of the bar, he calls out something and the crowd erupts into cheers, a chant starting which I can’t understand. I raise my hands in question and he points to the girl next to me, yelling something at her. The girl, a pig-tailed sexpot with cat eyes and combat boots, leans forward and presses her mouth to the ice block, her eyes flicking up to Trey. He tilts a bottle and red liquor flows down a gulley, through the ice and into her mouth. It looks unsanitary and extremely sexual, two directions I have no plans of stumbling down tonight. She closes her eyes and swallows, lifting her mouth from the ice and wiping across her lips with the back of the hand. She gestures me forward.
“No!” I wave my hands at Trey, shaking my head emphatically, but the crowd chants louder, fists pounding the bar top, bodies beginning to jump in concert. He winces, as if he is innocent in all of this, then holds up one finger.
“One shot,” he yells. “Just one!”
I can’t. If I do this, if I yield to him, he will be hell. It will be like giving the devil keys to my kingdom. He will know that if he flashes me that smile, and gives me that wink, that I will bend, will behave, will do whatever he wants me to do. And I do mean whatever. His eyes catch mine and he crouches, smoothly setting down the liquor and swinging off the bar, landing beside me, his hand cupping the back of my waist and pulling me against him. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Just one, Kate. For me.”
Maybe it is the proximity to him, or the way his voice softens on the last two words. Maybe it is the fact that I have to turn away from him and take that shot or I’ll tilt my chin up and kiss him. Whatever the reason, I step away and up to the ice.
I tell myself that ice is sterile, and it doesn’t matter that I’m putting my mouth in the same place where a stranger’s was.
I tell myself that because I didn’t tell Trey that I broke up with Craig. It makes this night fine, removes any romantic layers, and drinking with my boss is as inappropriate as this will get.
I close my eyes and wait for the alcohol, and tell myself that I don’t care if I look sexy, or if Trey is proud of me, or impressed, or anything else.
The liquor hits my tongue and it’s ice cold. I swallow it and stand, some leaking from the side of my mouth. As I go to clean it, Trey’s hand is there, his fingers soft against my chin, and our eyes meet as he wipes away the liquor and then moves his hand up, gently sucking the edge of his thumb into his mouth.
Good Lord. This man will be the death of me.
My flight to Hong Kong had been bearable, Craig and I lucky enough to be seated next to one of those scrawny teenagers who wears headphones and doesn’t hog the armrest. But flying back, Trey upgrades me to first class, an expensive transition I initially balk at. The mid-flight neck massage, private television, and sushi softens my resistance. The full bed, privacy curtain, and seven-hour nap have me swearing off coach forever.