She doesn’t immediately shut that idea down. “If you could find out in casual conversation, then that could probably work.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ben
“I’m glad you changed your mind, buddy,” Sam says, taking a long pull from his third bourbon. “I really needed a drink after dealing with this consultant bullshit.”
“Yeah.” I nod in agreement. Picking up my domestic beer, I take a long swig. “Such bullshit.” And it is, but after talking with Alison this afternoon, I’m not feeling quite as angry about all of it as Sam is, apparently.
“You need to watch your back, kid.”
“I know.”
When the waitress stops by our table, I order us a couple baskets of wings. Sam seems to appreciate the gesture.
Leaning closer, he attempts to whisper, but it comes out a little loud and hoarse. “I’m going to tell you a little secret.”
“Yeah?” I lean in too.
“You need to fuck that chick if you want to keep your job.”
That chick? “Uh, you mean Alison?”
“Yeah, the fat one. You need to hide your salami in her—” He cackles, and I feel like I may puke. “—in her cunt.”
“Sam….” I’ve never heard him talk like this. Ever. I’m going to be honest with you right now. It makes me feel dirty, and not in a sexy way. It’s a disgusting thing to say. “No—”
“What? Like you haven’t thought about it?” He leans over and slaps my shoulder. Hard. “You’re gonna be out on your ass unless you do something about it. And fucking that… that consultant”—he says the last word with such contempt, I wince—“will give you the protection you need.”
I can’t keep going with this conversation. “Hey, what’d you do before coming to Morgan?” Probably not the best way to segue into this conversation, but I had to change the subject.
“More of the same.” He sighs as he throws back the last of his bourbon. Raising his hand, he searches the room. “Where’d that sexy little waitress run off to? I need another drink.”
Who is this guy? “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
Slamming the glass down on the table, he gives me a look that makes a chill run down my back. I half expect him to throw the glass at me, but in a millisecond, his expression changes to a big smile. “Nah, let’s have another. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh?” I hadn’t realized. “What are we celebrating?”
“You getting your dick wet in that fat chick.”
First of all, she’s not fat. Not in the least. Sure, she’s got curves, but they’re in all the right places. I choose to leave it alone and try to steer the conversation back to my question. “After college, I worked at a little software company in Jersey before landing the job at Morgan. It was a mom-and-pop setup, so there was no place for me to go.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, like you’re going anywhere at Morgan.”
I guess there’s no other place for me to go except into a job like Sam’s, so he’s right. I shrug. “Were you over your department in your last job?”
“Yeah.” He’s looking angry again. “Where the fuck is our waitress?”
I turn and see her heading our way holding two baskets. Hopefully those are our wings. Sam needs some food to soak up that booze.
“’Bout time,” he grumbles as she sets the food down in front of us. “Get me another.” He holds up his glass, wiggling it back and forth in front of her face.
“Sure. Be right back.”
“Right,” Sam mumbles.
I push one of the baskets of wings closer to him. “I ordered your favorite. With extra hot sauce.”
“Nice.” He smiles down at the food. Reaching out, he grabs two or three with his fist and brings them to his mouth.
“Bones,” I say, surprised. “There’re bones, man.”
He sneers at me. Literally sneers. “I know, you fucking asshole.”
Wow.
Pulling my wings closer to me, I dig in. I plan to eat fast so I can get the hell out of here.
I eat in silence as the waitress brings him another bourbon along with two glasses of water. Ignoring the water, Sam goes straight for the golden liquid. He sips and chews his food in silence. When he’s nearly finished with his wings, he sighs, wiping off his face. He’s missed a bit around his mouth, but I’m not in the mood to tell him. Let him walk around looking like an asshole. I couldn’t care less.
“My last job was in Chicago, and they were fucking assholes.”
Finally we’re getting somewhere.
“Accused me of a bunch of bullshit. I quit.” The last word causes some food to fly out of his mouth onto the table in front of me.
He quit? Not according to Alison. But I keep quiet, only nodding.
“Said I sexually harassed some of my coworkers.”
Some? How many is some?
“Fucking bitches. All of them.” He sips his drink, then points at me. “You need to watch your back, man.”
“Why?” I mean, I’ve never sexually harassed anyone.
I guess my question is funny, because Sam throws his head back and laughs. Hard. When he finally stops, his face turns serious again. “You think you’re above it all, don’t you, Ben?” He spits my name like he did the other word.
“No, I—”
“You and that fucking ridiculous superhero bullshit.”
Okay….
“You’re nothing but a fucking pussy wannabe.”
I stare at the man I used to call friend.
“So sick of hearing ‘how great Ben is’ from every single chick at work.” He snorts. “Hell, Clive used to be your biggest fan.” Sucking down the last of his drink, he turns, looking for the waitress again. I know I should stop him from drinking more, but he’s not driving, and this is getting interesting.
I decide to jump in with both feet. “Clive hates my guts.”
“Now.” He chuckles again. “Now he does.”
“Why is that?” I’m getting the distinct impression that Sam knows exactly why Clive hates me.
Leaning closer, he hisses, “He probably figured out what you’re really like.”
“What I’m really like?” This ought to be good.
“Yeah. You’re a guy who relies on his looks to get everything he wants.” Another chuckle.
What the hell is he talking about? “Interesting.” I’ve lost my appetite, so I do the only thing I can and sip my water.
“Isn’t it?”
“I didn’t realize you had such contempt for me, Sam.” I thought we were friends.
He sneers. “You think your shit don’t stink.”
“That’s not true.” I’m just staring at him now. I don’t know what else to say. The guy obviously hates me.
Pulling out my wallet, I throw down forty bucks. Standing, I slide my wallet back into my pocket and take my phone out. There are no messages, which isn’t a surprise. I turn to leave.
“Hey!” Sam shouts. “Where you goin’?” I keep walking toward the door. “Ben, man. What’s wrong?” Ignoring him, I get to the door just as he yells, “Fuck you, asshole!”