“Luz, would you do me a favor?” I asked. She glanced at me, looking like she hoped I was going to send her home. Not quite. “I think I’ve had too much beer and I’m feeling wobbly. Could you go to the bar and get us a couple of pitchers of water with ice and lemons, lots of lemons?”
It was not a total lie, I hadn’t hit wobbly yet, but it was coming. The look of relief on her face told me all I needed to know. There was most definitely some bad blood there. I glanced back at Carson. He seemed completely oblivious to Luz as she slid off her seat and slipped away. Shanna, who was one of our best graphic designers, excused herself to go help Luz. Solidarity. I liked it.
“Well, hey, kids, imagine finding you here,” Carson said. He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and sat down.
Nyah turned his way with a warm and friendly smile. Trent raised a fist, while still holding a chicken wing, for a bump, to which Carson obliged. Booker tipped his chin at Carson in acknowledgment while Christian was so fixated on the trivia board, which was gearing up for the next round, that he gave him a distracted wave.
Nyah leaned across the table and said, “You never join us for happy hour. What brings you by tonight?”
“FOMO,” he said. He spread his arms wide. “I don’t want to be left out of the water cooler gossip on Monday.”
“What gossip?” Trent asked through a mouthful of chicken wing. He paused to swallow and lick the sauce off his thumb. “I mean other than V2 kicking ass at the trivia match.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Carson said. He helped himself to a clean glass and filled it from one of the pitchers. “I hear Boston girls party pretty hard. I didn’t want to miss it if the new creative director started dancing on tables. Sophie told us it’s been known to happen.”
If it had been anyone else, I would have laughed it off as a joke, but somehow, I got the feeling Carson wasn’t teasing me so much as he was trying to get the others to see me in a less than flattering light.
I met his stare and forced my lips to curve up even though I didn’t find him amusing at all. “It’s a wasted trip for you then,” I said. I fought to keep my voice light and casual. “My table-dancing days ended my freshman year in college, you know, ten years ago.”
“Did they?” he asked. His eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise. “That disappoints. I bet you could give it the old college try, you know, if you really wanted to. Heck, you might even score us some free beer if you work it hard enough, flash some cleavage, or hike up your skirt a bit. Don’t be shy, Annabelle.”
His voice was low and calculating. Did he actually think I was going to take the bait, climb up on the table, and shake what my mama gave me to prove something to him? The man was mental. I glanced around the table to see Nyah, Trent, Booker, and Christian, who had finally turned away from the trivia board, watching us as if they sensed they were in the midst of a power play but were uncertain of how they’d gotten here and why it was happening.
I picked up my beer and took a sip. There were a variety of ways I could react. I could bristle, toss my beer at him, and call him out for being a sexist pig. No, that would likely make my new coworkers think I was oversensitive and had a temper. I could laugh, as if he were funny, which he wasn’t, and pretend it was all a big joke. Nope, I was not that good of an actress. I figured my best strategy was to take the passive offensive. Bullies hate that.
“Wow, as I mentioned, those days are long over for me, but you seem to know an awful lot about table dancing, Carson,” I said. My voice came out a little higher than normal, and I added a hair toss and a beaming smile to my next words, you know, to keep it friendly, when I added, “Why don’t you show us how it’s done.”
I spread my arms wide, indicating that the table was all his. I glanced at our coworkers and with a hearty laugh asked, “Who wants to see Carson twerk for his beer?”
Trent and Christian hooted and slapped the table. Nyah laughed and clapped, and said, “Yeah, come on, that would be hilarious!”
My gaze held Carson’s. I had outmaneuvered him and he knew it. He glowered. I batted my eyelashes. He tossed back his beer in one gulp and stood. Forcing his mouth into a toothless smile, he pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off a ten, and tossed it on the table.
“Maybe next time,” he said. “I’ve gotta bounce.”
The others booed good-naturedly as he left, but I didn’t, and when I scanned the table, I noticed Booker didn’t either. Instead, he held up his beer to me and said, “Well played.”
I clinked my glass with his, and as my gaze held his, I knew I wasn’t the only one who got a hinky feeling from Carson West.
Luz and Shanna returned with the water. Shanna didn’t seem to notice that Carson had already departed, but I watched Luz survey the area and visibly relax. When her gaze met Booker’s, he jerked his head toward the door. I suspected he was letting her know that Carson had left. Interesting.
I switched over to water. It helped until someone ordered a round of shots, more beer, and more appetizers. It was only ten o’clock when I left happy hour but it felt like midnight. Nyah had a ride share picking everyone up, and she insisted I join them.
On the way home, Trent began to sing “Danny Boy” because Saint Patrick’s Day was coming up fast, and he felt the need to practice. Not surprisingly, the rest of us joined in, much to the amusement, at least I hope it was amusement, of our driver. When he pulled up to the gate, the chorus had reached its apex, and I climbed out of the car and paused to conduct them through the last notes of the song.
I punched in the code and disappeared through the gate with a wave. On the walk up the drive to my house, I began to sing it from the top. “Danny Boy” was a favorite, after all. We’d sung it in my high school choir, and I remembered Mrs. Bodwell conducting us with her big grin and her blond bob bouncing as she kept time tapping her foot, which was impressive because being on the petite side, she always wore spiky four-inch heels.
A feeling of victory swept over me as I climbed the steps to my house. I’d wowed a client, gotten rid of Carson at the bar, and survived my first week at a regular job. Feeling relieved that I had two days to recover before it started all over again, I sang the last line at full volume. “Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you sooooooo.”
I held the last note as long as I could. It felt as if it echoed in the trees above me and shot up into the sky and bounced back down from the stars to echo long after I had stopped singing. Heaving a sigh of contentment, I went inside to brush my teeth and pass out.
* * *
I am not a morning person. While I love a good sunrise as much as the next person, I was rarely in a position to see one as I like to sleep through the dawn, rising at the more reasonable hour of seven or, if possible, nine.