I was back at Noble Rot because I wanted to know I wasn’t hallucinating on Friday. The way Andrew had reacted today when I’d asked him if I was going to get fired—it was like nothing that happened on Friday had actually happened. Either he was in denial or I was, and I wanted to know which one.
I didn’t expect him to be here again tonight. He’d left early for some meeting across town. Which made it easier to do what I was going to do. My plan was to simply ask Tony whether Andrew was “James.”
I’d brought up a picture of Andrew on my phone and I was just waiting for Tony to start his shift. Four minutes to go.
“Hey, Sofia,” Tony said.
“You’re early,” I said.
He winked at me. “You’ve been waiting for me. How sweet. What can I get you? Are you going to keep going down the list? I think the Emma Thompson is next.”
I smiled, trying to ignore the swirling in my stomach at the thought of a cocktail—Oscar-winning or otherwise. “Can I just get a glass of red wine? A Barolo if you have it?”
I’d let Tony settle into his shift and then I’d ask him.
Tony placed a glass of velvety red wine in front of me and I took a sip, enjoying the heat that trickled down my throat and pooled in my belly.
“Your usual?” Tony asked. I was just about to tell him I was fine with my Barolo when I realized he wasn’t talking to me. I glanced over at the man who’d just slid onto the stool next but one to me.
Fuck. My. Life.
It was Andrew.
“Thanks, Tony.”
“My pleasure, James. Good to see you again.”
I hadn’t been imagining it. Andrew was being called James. Maybe Tony got his name wrong and Andrew was too polite to correct him. I had to stop myself from laughing. Of course that wasn’t it. Andrew wasn’t polite.
But why was he here? And why was he still pretending he didn’t know me?
Tony put a drink in front of Andrew, who nodded in thanks. He turned to me, his glass in the air. “Cheers,” he said. His voice was deep and thick with a hint of grit that I felt between my legs. I hated that I found him so goddamn attractive.
On auto-pilot, I lifted my glass. “Brindisi.”
We both took a sip of our drinks. As I drank, I watched Andrew out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t seem to be laughing at me.
What was his deal?
He slid his glass back on the bar before turning to me once again. “I’m James.” He reached out his hand to shake mine.
I took it, a little stunned. “Sofia.”
He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Sofia. I hope you sorted it out with your boss.”
There was only one explanation—Andrew must have an identical twin. Two explanations—Andrew had intermittent amnesia. Was that even a thing?
Nope, that was the plotline of some ridiculously cute rom-com starring Reese Witherspoon. It was not my life. My life included flashing my boss and breaking the heel of my brand-new shoes. Nothing in my day-to-day was Hollywood-worthy. Except maybe Andrew’s face and ass.
Like the man sitting next to me at the bar.
“Not really,” I replied. “But I wasn’t fired. So there’s that.”
“You don’t seem happy about the fact that you still have a job.”
Was this a test? Would James morph back into Andrew if I said the wrong thing? “Oh, I’m very happy about it. Deliriously happy. Incandescent with pleasure.”
He chuckled. Chuckled! Like someone with an actual sense of humor. It didn’t make any sense. Andrew was a man of few words—I’d learned that quickly enough. But he wasn’t just not mentioning the fact that I worked for him, he was pretending we were strangers. A rush of lust licked up my spine and I tried to hide my shiver by having another sip of wine.
“What about you?” I asked. “Do you have an asshole boss?” I told myself the alcohol made me brave, but really, if he wanted to play this game, I was going to see how far it could go.
This time, he turned his entire body so he was facing me and held my gaze, the John Kennedy Junior smirk in full force. “Nope. I am the asshole boss that, no doubt, people who work for me sound off about in bars.”
Anticipation danced down my limbs. “That doesn’t bother you?”
He pulled in a breath and gently exhaled. “Nope. People will always complain about their bosses. And the way I see it, their opinion of me is none of my business.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at things.”
“It’s the only way. Your employees are never going to agree with you all the time. I’m not at work to win a popularity contest. It doesn’t matter to me whether or not people like me. I don’t expect them to. I tell the truth. I don’t like to waste time, pander, or play favorites. That tends not to make me especially popular.” He shrugged and turned back to the bar.
Was he trying to explain himself? Justify the way he was?
“You’re abrupt,” I said. He could take it as a question or a statement—depending on whether he was Andrew . . . or James.
“Yes.”
At least he knew himself. He wasn’t one of those guys who thought he was something he wasn’t. There was something very sexy about a man with a little self-awareness.
“And you think people take things too personally?”
“I’m saying it doesn’t matter to me either way. If the people who work for me don’t like how I operate, they may leave. I’m busy. I’m focused. I like to concentrate on what matters.”
“And people don’t matter?” I asked.
“The people who are going to lose their jobs if I don’t figure out how to save the businesses they work for matter. The legacies of the people who founded good businesses that have been run by incompetent managers matter. Employees who get offended because I don’t chitchat about the latest Netflix show don’t matter.”
I exhaled a long breath, letting his words sink in. I saw him as curt and rude and demanding. He saw himself as efficient and focused and dedicated.
We were both right.
“I understand,” I said.
“Good.” He took the final swallow of his drink. Immediately, and without Andrew having to ask, Tony replaced it with a fresh one.
He’d said more to me in the last ten minutes than he had in the last two weeks. And the way he spoke—it was like he’d chosen each word deliberately, so he wouldn’t waste his breath on anything superfluous. Like he was in complete control of everything in the universe. If he needed to, he’d stop time before he allowed himself to be rushed. It was completely infuriating in the office but entirely intoxicating under the dimmed lights of this cozy bar. I had the urge to trace the outline of his lips with my fingertips and ask him to keep talking, so I could enjoy the power and vibration of his words against my skin.
I squirmed on my seat and Andrew held my gaze like he could read my thoughts. His eyes burned. Sexual energy seemed to reverberate off him.
“You’re very attractive,” he said, and it was like he’d sent a thunderbolt of lust straight to my vagina. Such a blunt statement shouldn’t be so sexy, but Andrew could pull it off. Or maybe it wasn’t Andrew that was making me feel like a thousand bubbles were popping on the surface of my skin. Maybe it was James.