by L. K. Rayne
"No, that won't be necessary," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Then if there's anything else you need assistance with—"
"How about a drink?"
“A d-drink?” I asked, unable to keep the confusion from my face.
Ethan shrugged. "Order me a drink and we'll call it even."
"You...want me to get you a drink," I said flatly.
Ethan nodded.
I took a deep breath. My paranoia had gotten the best of me earlier. He hadn’t been looking for me at all, he’d probably come to the tea garden with the same idea I had, seeking a private corner to relax, and had run into me by accident. Now he just wanted someone to bring him a drink so he could enjoy his peace and quiet.
As for how he knew to call me “Nev,” he’d probably overheard April at some point.
"Okay, what would you like?" I asked. If all he wanted was for me to fetch him a drink, that was easy enough.
"Your choice.”
"Fine, I'll be right back," I said.
I walked past him toward the Banquet Center.
Ethan’s footsteps echoed behind me.
I stopped and turned around, confused again.
"Um..."
"I'm coming with you," he offered as way of explanation.
If he was walking with me all the way to the bar, then what was the point of having me get him the drink?
"You do know that, as a guest, you can order a drink for yourself right?” I offered politely, “There's an open bar right by the table games," I added, in case he had missed it.
“Good,” he said simply.
I didn't want to offend him, but I wasn't sure if perhaps he had so much money that he didn't know how open bars worked. A guy like that probably never carried any cash around. Instead of paying for anything directly, he had people who handled all of that for him.
I didn’t want to assume, but sometimes with the ultra-wealthy, you never knew.
“Um, complimentary," I further clarified, "Free. As in, you can tell the bartender what you want and they’ll serve it to you."
Ethan nodded. “Yes, that would be ordering a drink for myself. I want you to order a drink for me.”
This guy.
I turned away for a moment to compose myself. Ethan didn’t just want to kick back in the tea garden and have me fetch him a drink. He was doing this to be purposefully difficult.
This was some kind of power trip to get back at me for earlier.
It made me feel stupid for telling April that Ethan was only a sweet nerdy boy who happened to grow up and become a Fortune 500 CEO. Now I realized that he was just as much of a prick as every other entitled trust fund baby. Actually, Ethan had always had a weird streak when we were kids, coming up with the most absurd games, so I suppose he hadn’t grown out of that.
But I would have much preferred that version of Ethan over this one.
The more I learned about “Mr. Thorne,” the less I wanted to find out.
He gestured toward the hallway leading back to the Banquet Center. “Shall we?”
I drew in a slow, steady breath.
As much as it irritated me, if he wanted me to order him a drink from the open bar for dirtying his pants, then I was getting off the hook relatively easy.
I strode down the hall without checking if Ethan was following me, but I could feel his silent presence behind me all the same.
We approached the side of the casino floor and I located the bar. Unlike the open bars at events that April and I were used to attending, the crowd tonight was much classier, so there wasn’t a line stretched halfway around the block waiting to get free booze.
In fact, there was hardly anyone around and the bartender looked a little bored, waiting patiently with both hands behind his back. He was a somber, older man with high cheekbones, wearing an old school saloon vest. I recognized him from our mad dash to move the equipment from the Royal Ballroom to the Banquet Center, he’d been pulling a dolly piled high with coolers out of the service elevator.
The bartender’s eyes lit up the moment he spotted us and he started moving to meet our approach.
Before I could even speak, the bartender pulled out a leather box, opened it, and presented the velvet-cushioned bottle inside. Ignoring me completely, he said to Ethan, "Mr. Thorne, may I offer a pour of the Glenn Mackay, fifty-five year, compliments of the Conservation Fund?"
Recognizing my exit, I jumped on the opportunity to bow out gracefully.
"It looks like you will be well taken care of Mr. Thorne. Enjoy your evening."
"Please call me Ethan," he said, "and you haven't made good on your word, Nev."
For a moment, his eyes darkened as if he saw into my soul and every moment of our past was illuminated. A chill raced up my spine. Of course he meant when I agreed to order him a drink just now. He wasn’t talking about the past. He would have definitely said something if he recognized me, I told myself.
I spun around, fists clenched. "You're actually serious."
Ethan raised a hand to the bartender, "Hold the Glenn Mackay, but pass my gratitude to the host. Nev will order for me."
Then he took a seat on the bar stool, looking at me expectantly. The bartender played along, but flashed me a confused look.
I stood there for a moment fuming. Ethan’s stubborn insistence on seeing this thing through was bringing back familiar emotions. Maybe he hadn’t changed much at all. Then again, I didn’t remember ever getting this pissed off at him. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that now he was an irritatingly attractive billionaire that put the tuxedo he was wearing to shame?
Regardless, I wasn’t about to let any version of Ethan Thorne, past or present, get one over on me.
"Mr. Thorne will have a Cosmopolitan," I said to the bartender, smiling with all my teeth.
Cosmos had been April's favorite drink since college. I usually stuck to Diet Coke, preferring to save my allocation of carbs to something I would actually enjoy, like bread sticks.
Let the big bad Ethan Thorne be seen enjoying that.
Ethan shrugged. “I’m in her hands.” Then motioning smoothly to the bartender, he said, "And if you could pour the Glenn Mackay for Nev, please."
What the hell kind of game was he trying to play here?
I placed a firm hand on the bar to make sure the bartender wouldn’t miss anything. "Don't bother,” I said, “I'm needed in the back."
"Please," Ethan said, putting a hand on my arm before I could leave. "I believe I owe you my thanks."
I opened my mouth to say something cutting, but instead stood there confused. Thank me? For what? Ordering him a fruity cocktail that was popular at bachelorette parties?
"Uh...sorry?" I managed.
Ethan leaned casually against the bar. "I've been involved with the Conservation Fund for many years,” he said, “I appreciate what you've done tonight."
He looked at me with an earnest smile. At that moment he almost looked like the young Ethan I’d once known and an overwhelming wave of nostalgia washed over me. I wasn’t sure how to respond.
"Well, I'm glad you enjoy the flowers," I said eventually.
Ethan scoffed. "Don't sell yourself short," he opened his arms and turned to the murmuring casino tables behind him, "the guests are having a grand time. They've completely forgotten tonight's event was initially located in the Royal Ballroom. Creating such an experience is challenging in the best of times, never mind contending with a last minute disaster. As I understand it, you voluntarily stepped into the chaos to help make this possible. So if there is anyone who deserves the Glenn Mackay, it's you."
I stuttered, feeling my cheeks flush, and tried to search for an appropriate response.
It was hard not to be flattered by those words. I scanned his face for a sign that he was just trying to butter me up, but his expression matched his tone. He really did mean what he said. Had I judged him too harshly before? But more importantly, how the hell did he know so much
about my role in helping Giselle save the event?
Ethan smiled at someone over my shoulder. I turned to see who it was, taking advantage of the distraction.
April was scampering over, the bottom of her dress fluttering about, flashing her eyes at me as if she needed to unload some deep dark secret.
Either that, or to confess a mortal sin.
Why was I not surprised? The puzzle pieces were starting to come together.
"Nev!" she squeaked excitedly when she joined us at the bar and then caught herself. "Nev," she said more calmly this time. "I just wanted to let you know that I have everything under control and you can leave the breakdown to me. I also spoke to Giselle, who agrees that you deserve to take it easy for the rest of the event," she enunciated clearly, speaking loudly enough for Ethan to catch every word.
There was no telling what else she might do in Ethan’s presence so I pulled April to the opposite corner of the bar. Had she acted as the hand of the universe to bring Ethan and me together? If so, we were about to have some words.
"What the hell is going on?" I whisper-shouted when we were far enough away. "You went out of your way to blab about me?"
"No-no,” she protested, “as soon as I got back to the vendor lounge, I saw him wandering around asking for you! So—"
"So you went up to him and told him my entire life story?"
April shook her head, "No, I knew that if he found Giselle, she would've told him your real name. First and last. She doesn’t know to hide your identity from him, so I had to give him something to make him leave."
“And that’s when you told him my nickname.”
“I had to get him out of there before Giselle showed up!”
I wanted to say something angry but nothing came out. In the end, I grumbled, "Great, now he's under the impression that I saved the day, even though Giselle's in charge."
"Well, you kind of did, didn't you?"
"I helped, but—"
"Aw Nev, don't be mad," she whined. "You know I babble when I'm nervous." She held her right hand up like she was on the witness stand. "But I swear, that's all I told him."
I couldn't really blame her, especially under these circumstances. I looked back over my shoulder. Ethan was chatting easily to the bartender, but he still glanced over to us from time to time. He smiled when he saw me looking his way.
I sighed and turned back to April. "Okay, okay," I said, surrendering. “You did the best you could, considering.”
She immediately broke into a wide grin. "So I still have a seat in your time machine?”
"I get to decide what time period we go to though, I don't want to end up in one of your Regencies."
April positioned herself so that she would be out of view from Ethan on the other end of the bar. Her eyes glinted mischievously. "I told you he'd recognize you."
“I seriously doubt that.”
"Even without your name he recognizes something familiar about you, like a—" April's eyelashes fluttered, "like an indescribable feeling deep in his being."
"Deep in his being, huh?"
April leaned over my shoulder to get a good glimpse of Ethan, then gave me a coy look. "Remember our bet?"
"In the stairwell?"
April nodded. "Wouldn't you say I've won?”
"You're kidding right? He's only interested in me because he thinks I saved the day, plus I spilled water on his crotch. It is definitely not because he recognizes me."
"He just needs a bit more time,” she shrugged. Then she started flipping her hand back and forth on the bartop making sizzling noises. “I can almost smell the L.A. Kalbi already," she taunted.
I was getting sick and tired of April not dropping the Ethan issue. It was past time to set her straight.
"Don’t count your Kalbi before it hits the grill,” I said. “Alright, I'll show you that Ethan doesn’t have any idea who I am. I’m going to have this one drink with him, and he’s not going to notice a thing. And after, I don't want to hear another word from you about Mr. Thorne ever again. Got it?"
"Sure, a deal’s a deal.” April handed me the long blazer I kept in the van. I hadn’t noticed until that moment that she had been holding it, and now she was giving it to me like she’d known I’d give in.
She held her palm out to collect my work apron, which I grudgingly handed to her.
“Have fun,” she said. She poked me in the ribs playfully, then scampered away.
Tit for Tat
After April left, I took a moment to compose myself. All I had to do was make it through one drink with Ethan to win the bet and then I’d be dining on juicy, marinated Korean BBQ this weekend. Besides, April, Giselle, and even Ethan thought that I deserved to take it easy for helping out. Who was I to argue with that?
I returned to Ethan's side of the bar. The drinks had not been prepared yet, as if Ethan had frozen the moment in time.
"Shall we continue where we left off?" he asked. His tone indicated that he never had a single doubt that I’d return. Where had Ethan learned such self-assurance? There was just something so infuriating about his demeanor that made me want to see him off balance for a change.
“Sure,” I said. I turned my attention to the bartender, "Mr. Thorne will enjoy his Cosmopolitan now."
Just because I was here to prove April wrong, didn’t mean that I had to put up with all of Ethan’s bullshit. I hadn’t forgotten his little power trip of making me order him a drink, and I wasn’t about to let him off the hook.
Without missing a beat, Ethan nodded and the bartender went to work. I noted with annoyance that the bartender had waited for Ethan’s go ahead instead of mine.
It only took a minute for the bartender to prepare the Cosmopolitan and pour the Glenn Mackay. He set them down on the counter in front of us before drifting away to attend to the other guests, leaving the two of us alone.
The Cosmopolitan was perfect. The pretty pink cocktail came in a slim wedge shaped glass with a slice of lime balanced on the rim.
Ethan considered what I’d ordered him, as if deciding his angle of attack.
Let's see him try to drink that like he was James Bond. I watched him carefully to see if I could find a chink in his armor of suave nonchalance.
Ethan swept his drink off the bar, his fingers wrapping powerfully around the thin glass stem. He flashed me an easygoing smile, and held the Cosmo up in a toast. "To the tamer of chaos.”
He means me. I’m the tamer of chaos.
I hadn’t thought about it that way, but if I had already tamed an impossible situation, then how hard could it be to tame Ethan Thorne for the duration of one drink?
Growing bolder, I motioned to the nearby banner of a tiger with the Conservation Fund logo on it and said, “To big cats.”
I grabbed my drink—the Glenn Mackay something-something year—like how I imagined a sophisticated man might, clinked my glass against Ethan’s, and took a gulp. My mouth instantly felt numb from the spiciness. I forced the liquid down without tasting it, which did little for the burning.
Grimacing, I pounded the glass back down onto the bartop and then turned away to cough into the back of my hand. Jeez, when was the last time I had hard liquor?
Ethan didn't seem to notice or pretended not to notice. He took a pensive sip of the Cosmo, moved his lips slowly, like he was chewing, then swallowed and set his drink down.
“Quite,” he paused for a moment, involuntarily pinching his lips together, “tart.”
I studied him to see if he possessed any hint of self-consciousness, but he didn't even seem to notice the rest of the room.
Then again, if he cracked that easily, I would’ve been disappointed.
Still, I was pretty sure I caught an eye twitch there. Was there more of the boy I had known in Mr. Thorne than I’d previously thought? How much had Ethan changed, and how much had remained the same? Might one drink be enough to find out who the real Ethan Thorne was?
His hand still on the Cosmo glass, he pointed his i
ndex finger at my scotch. “How do you find the Glenn Mackay?”
The only whiskey I was familiar with was the kind that came mixed in a Coke, so to me, the fancy scotch tasted much like paint thinner. The drink was too high-shelf for my unsophisticated palate. I might’ve felt guilty about not being able to appreciate the drink, but then again, I hadn’t asked for any of this. Ethan had insisted.
Which gave me an idea.
I reached over the bar, to where the bartender kept his materials and snatched a couple of ice cubes from the tray. If Ethan was a connoisseur of fine Scotches then I’m sure he had an entire set of preferences for their enjoyment.
He had always been particular, so I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. When we were young, he was always lecturing me about shoulds and shouldn’ts, rules and consequences.
If my hunch was right, then this would drive him up the wall.
“Not bad,” I said with a shrug. "A bit too strong though, probably better if I diluted it." I dangled a single ice cube over my whiskey.
“The Glenn Mackay Fifty-Five year is hard to come by these days, most people—”
I dropped the ice into the whiskey without glancing his way. It made a satisfying plop in the amber liquid.
“—prefer to enjoy it straight.”
Making a show of it, I swirled the glass around to accelerate the melting, then took a sip. I hadn’t given the ice enough time, but that was hardly the point.
“Straight, huh?” I plopped the second cube in, and took another sip. Over the rim of the glass, I Iooked innocently at Ethan, trying my best to channel April’s puppy eyes.
He stared back at me, silent. There was a darkness in his half-lidded gaze. His mouth worked, probably deciding how to tell me off, but he continued to regard me, quiet and still.
For a brief moment, panic thudded in my chest. Had I crossed a line? Gone too far? Images of Ethan telling all his buddies at the country club to blacklist our shop flashed through my mind, but his expression suddenly shifted.
His eyes moved to the whiskey glass, then back to me, crinkling in amusement.
“So,” he said, “what do you taste?”