He nods our farewell to the group and steers me in another of those back-clapping maneuvers until we’re a few yards away.
“Mr. Walsh.” Davyeras smiles politely at someone who passes us. “We have put a great deal of faith in you and Mr. Tourael. Should we be worried?”
His mask of civility barely restrains the intent behind his smile.
“No,” I say immediately. “No, sir. Like I said, we’re getting foundations set in our projects before we come together. We know what an opportunity this is, and we don’t want to waste it.”
Davyeras stays quiet for a beat.
“That had better be the case, Mr. Walsh,” he tells me. “And we will be seeing you both, with ajointreport, at the first check-ina few weeks from now?” It’s a question but it’s definitely not a question.
“Of course, sir.”
He studies me a beat longer before gesturing toward the bar. “Good. Now get that drink you’re after.”
“Thanks,” I say and all but catapult my body to the bar.
Elethior’s still at one end, still talking with that blonde woman, only there are a few other people with them now, too. He looks as comfortable as I did in the group with Davyeras, gritting his teeth with a strained smile and death-gripping a glass of red wine.
The bartender approaches me. “What’ll you have?”
I collapse on my elbows. “Literally anything with gin.”
He grins. He’s cute, around my age, clean-cut with glossy dark hair. He gives a flirty wink when he says, “Sure thing,” and turns away to mix something.
I take the moment to regroup.
Until a presence at my side has me smirking to the polished mahogany bar top.
I turn my smirk on Elethior.
He’s in another expensive, sleek black suit like he wore at the awards brunch. His hair’s braided down his shoulder this time, the shaved side showing the faintest shadow of hair starting to grow back. He’s glaring at me, but he doesn’t get a chance to speak before the bartender comes back over.
“Here you go, handsome,” the bartender says, sliding a drink to me.
I take it; it’s less liquid courage, more liquid lidocaine at this point. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
The bartender winks again, and my ears heat, but I’m in no state to see if that was a real wink or anI’m in customer service so I flirt for tipswink.
It’s an open bar, but I throw a few bucks down.
Steeling myself, I turn back to Elethior, my shoulders straight, chin up—
—when his disdainful nose curl stops me dead.
His eyes swing to the bartender, back to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Yourdatelast night didn’t go well, then?”
I cringe. “Excuse me?”
He kicks back the rest of his wine unsteadily, and I get the feeling that’s not his first glass.
But—wait. I’d told Elethior I had a date last night. That’s what he’s talking about.
I laugh. It’s shockingly real and feels like a life raft in what has been my emotional state the past twenty-four hours.
