by Claire Adams
Daisy
It looked like Jonathan wanted to say something, but Ian herded me out the door before he was able to.
“Don’t worry about him,” Ian said. “He’s got a bunch of stuff he needs to handle there right now. Plus, he can’t hold his alcohol for shit.” A half smile curved the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. “I’m just kidding, of course. Jonathan could outdrink an Australian.”
“An Australian?”
“Yeah. Drinking’s like the national past time there. Dan, our field manager, he’s originally from Australia. Not Sydney . . . Brisbane, I think it is.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“He’s only got a little bit of the accent left, which comes out a lot more when he’s drinking. So,” he said as we walked down the sidewalk. “What do you think of Jonathan?”
The question caught me off guard. “Jonathan?” I said. “He’s great.”
“Yeah, he is a good guy.”
“I really appreciate that he was able to get me a job interview with you, and that you decided to hire me.”
“Anything to help a friend out,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he was referring to me as a friend, or to Jonathan. “You want to take a cab or drive?”
“Where are we going?”
“Back Bay. The Knock. Ever been?”
“No.” It was an upscale bar that Caroline had been to once before. “Um, we can drive I guess. My car’s right here.” I pointed a few feet ahead of us.
“This little thing?” he said. “Jesus Christ, you drive a Prius.”
But he said it with a smile on his face, like he was giving me a hard time, but in a good-natured way.
“Yes I do,” I said. “I don’t think I’d be able to manage to parallel park anything bigger.”
We got in and he directed me to The Knock. I tried to remember what Caroline had said about the place, but I couldn’t really recall anything. Right away I could tell it was filled with people I wasn’t going to feel very comfortable around. Everyone in there looked like they could be on the cover of a magazine—handsome men and beautiful women all dressed immaculately, exuding an air of confidence that seemed to saturate the place. The walls were backlit with a warm pink light that cast everyone in a cheerful glow. I felt shy as we stepped through the door, though I shouldn’t have; no one was going to notice me.
But people were certainly going to notice Ian.
He was just the sort of person that couldn’t go somewhere without being checked out, and heads immediately swiveled our way. There was music playing, some sort of electronica that sounded like it had been mixed with jazz. The whole atmosphere felt very elegant and grown up; this certainly wasn’t Failte’s, the dive bar that Caroline and I most often frequented.
“You want a table or you want to sit at the bar?” Ian asked.
The tables were circular and small, meant for two, maybe three people. I let my gaze travel around the long, narrow space and saw that every table was already taken.
“It doesn’t look like there are any tables available,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. I can get us one.”
“The bar is fine.”
I didn’t want to be that person who walked into a place and got special treatment for no good reason. Maybe Ian had a reason, but I certainly didn’t.
I followed him over to the bar where there were a few empty stools.
“So you’ve never been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I said, sliding onto the seat. “I haven’t. It looks pretty nice, though.”
“It is; if you like this frou-frou sort of thing.”
The way he said it, I couldn’t be sure if he was into it or actually didn’t like it at all. But then the bartender sauntered over, a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and full lips, and gave Ian a look that told me she knew him quite well, which meant he probably had been here a number of times before.
“What’s your poison?” he said to me. “Shellie here makes a great flirtini.”
“Flirt, you mean,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingertips lightly against his forearm. I looked at his face to see if he would be bothered by this but then realized how completely stupid that was—what guy would be bothered by a woman like that making physical contact?
“Um, sure, I’ll try that.”
Shellie’s eyes landed on me, took in my boring office outfit, my hair still pulled back into a ponytail. Why didn’t I at least pull it out of the elastic and muss it up a little before we’d come in?
“I’d normally ask to see some I.D. first,” she said, “but since you’re with Ian, that won’t be necessary.” She’d gone back to looking at him, making it sound like it was actually him she was doing the favor for.
“Shellie, you’re too kind,” he said.
She winked. “You’ll have to make it up to me later.”
I felt my face get red. Ian seemed completely oblivious and continued to talk to Shellie while she mixed up the drinks. I had no idea about the people they were talking about, or the little inside jokes they were making that cracked both of them up. Obviously, this had been a bad idea. I was not one of these people; I did not belong in a place like this. I was way out of my league.
But then Shellie came over and slid my glass across the smooth counter to me, and one in front of Ian. He casually slung his arm over my shoulders as he picked up his glass, waiting for me to pick up my own. There was a wedge of pineapple on the rim and a maraschino cherry floating in the bubbly amber liquid. It looked like beer, in a martini glass. I picked up my glass, clinked it together with his, and we both took a sip.
“Oh!” I said after I’d swallowed. The drink was sweet and bubbly and tasted nothing like I’d been expecting. “That’s really good! What’s in it?”
“Pineapple juice, champagne, vodka,” Shellie said.
“And some extra lovin’, of course, because Shellie made it.”
Ian pulled out a handful of bills and laid them on the counter for her. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, sweeping them up. She went over to the cash register, and when she was done there, I expected that she was going to come back over to us, but she didn’t; there was another customer waiting for a drink, so she went to help him instead. I half-listened as he ordered a Manhattan; Shellie was just as flirty with him as she had been with Ian. Maybe that’s just how she was.
I took another sip of my drink, and then another. I could barely taste the vodka at all. Actually, I couldn’t really; it was just like drinking a glass of fizzy juice. My face felt warm, and I suddenly found myself smiling, on the verge of laughter, even though no one had said anything funny.
“So,” I said, feeling emboldened by the alcohol. “Why did you bring me here?”
He took another sip of his drink and gave me an amused look. “Why did I bring you here? Ever hear of getting drinks after work? That’s something I rather enjoy doing. Also, it’s not always possible to really get to know someone during the workday; there’s always some sort of distraction or something going on. I like to get to know my employees.”
I realized that he had shifted on the bar stool and his knee was now resting against mine. Had he done that on purpose? Did he even realize it?
There was a tiny little voice in the back of my mind that was saying this probably wasn’t totally appropriate. Or maybe it was? I’d gone out and gotten drinks with everyone at the salon before; though it had been all girls, minus the two gay guys that worked there. It hadn’t been this small, intimate outing, and no one’s knee had been brushing up against my own. I also wasn’t sexually attracted to anyone there—and there was no doubt that Ian was sexy as all hell. Was the alcohol just making me realize it even more? Was it playing tricks with my mind? Because as we sat there talking, he seemed to be getting better and better looking by the second, which really didn’t seem feasible considering how good-looking he was to begin with.
“Are you enjoying the job so far?” he asked.
<
br /> “Yes,” I said. I picked up my drink to take another sip and was surprised to see that it was nearly gone. There was really only one sip left. “Whoa!” I said. “How’d that happen?”
“Magic,” he said with a wink.
His knee was still touching mine.
I took the final sip and set the empty glass down on the counter. I nibbled at the wedge of pineapple. I was usually pretty good about nursing a drink, but that one tasted so good it was all but impossible not to keep sipping it until it was gone. “I would just like to thank you for hiring me,” I said. “The job is great so far. What made you want to start a security company?”
“It seemed like the sort of work that would suit me. I was in the Marines for a while, and I definitely got some life experiences there, but I’ve always liked being my own boss, being the one in charge. Having a private security firm just sort of seemed the natural progression of things, especially when Jonathan and I reconnected. We went to school together. I’ve known him a long time.”
“That’s so cool you guys have known each other for so long. And now you get to work together.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
I reached for my glass, momentarily forgetting that it was empty, but it wasn’t where I’d left it. A few inches over, though, was a new glass, brimming full with that same bubbly amber liquid was in its place.
“When did that happen?” I asked, reaching for it.
“I told you, it’s magic,” he said. He picked up his first glass and downed the rest. “What do you like to do in your spare time? When you’re not busy being someone’s secretary?”
“Um . . .” I picked up one of the square paper napkins and fanned my face. “A lot of things. I go to the gym, which is where I met Jonathan, as you know. I hang out with my best friend. It’s weird—in college, I had a ton of friends, but then we all sort of drifted apart. Everyone seems so busy now. We’re still in touch on Facebook and stuff, but I really only hang out with my one best friend now.” I was racking my brain, trying to think of other things I liked to do. I sounded so boring! “And . . . I’m a writer.”
“Really? What sorts of things do you write?”
“Oh, all sorts. I’m actually not really working on anything at the moment.”
“Why not?”
“Well . . .” Well, because I have a stalker and that’s stressing me out so every time I try to sit down and work when I’m at home, I’m too distracted, wondering if he’s out there lurking in the bushes or something. But I didn’t want to talk about Noah right now. I never wanted to talk about Noah again, actually. “I’ve just been busy, I guess.”
I finished the second drink, and I pushed the glass away, hoping that a third would not appear. I’d be in pretty bad shape if that happened. “So there’s no boyfriend that you’re going to go home to after this?” Ian asked.
This struck me as particularly hilarious, and I burst out laughing. “Ha ha, no. Definitely no.”
“I kind of figured; most guys wouldn’t be too psyched about their girl going to get drinks with some other guy.”
Especially not one who looked like you. How was he so good-looking? I blinked, then blinked again, trying to figure out if this was all just some sort of mirage. Ian looked at me closely.
“Are you all right? Is there something in your eye?”
I shifted on the barstool, so instead of just the sides of our knees touching, my whole upper thigh was pressed against his. I leaned my torso a little too, and felt my shoulder brush against him. I could still smell the faint traces of whatever aftershave he used, a light cedar smell, with a little bit of spice. He had a perfectly square cut jaw.
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just funny—I’m not really that successful when it comes to the dating department.”
“Is that so? I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
Did I really just say that?
“No, I am most certainly not involved,” he said.
The energy between us felt so intense that it was like something I could reach out and grab. The whole right side of my body where we were touching felt electrified—hot and sizzling, though I knew that was just my mind playing tricks on me. I felt a warm happiness spreading in my chest when he said that he wasn’t involved with anyone, and even though our glasses were empty, I held up mine up, waited till he picked up his own, then clinked them together.
“Cheers to that,” I said.
When I got home, I called Caroline. I’d still felt fairly buzzed when we left the bar, so I let Ian drive me to my place, then he caught a cab home. He’d walked me up to my door, and I thought that maybe he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead, he reached out and lightly squeezed my upper arm.
“Thanks for the great evening,” he said. “Make sure you drink some water. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It felt a little like walking on air as I stumbled into my apartment and found my phone. “You won’t believe where I just was,” I said when Caroline answered.
“Where?” she said. “Don’t make me guess. I’ve had a really long day.”
“I was at that bar, The Knock. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, once or twice. Once with that guy, Derek. It’s a little . . . upscale for my tastes, though. Or maybe not upscale—pretentious? I do remember that everyone there was like a supermodel or something. That made me feel great.”
“You’re just as gorgeous as any of them,” I said. “More so.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, even if it is untrue. So you went to The Knock? Who with?”
“Ian.”
“Your boss?” I could hear the surprise in her voice.
“Yeah. He randomly asked me at the end of the day today.”
“Wow. How’d that go?”
“It was all right.” I thought back to sitting there next to him at the bar, feeling his knee resting lightly against mine, how exciting I had found that to be. Caroline was my best friend, yes, but even still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell her this small but important detail. It sounded rather pathetic, even to me, even though I was the one who had found it so thrilling. “It was almost like an extended job interview or something. He was asking me all these questions.”
“Yeah? Like what?
“Like . . . how I was enjoying the job so far, and what sorts of things I liked to do, and whether or not I was seeing anyone.”
Caroline was quiet for a moment, and then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Daisy,” she said.
“What?” I asked when she didn’t say anything after that.
“Daisy. I love you; you know this. But sometimes you can be so dense! Especially when it has to do with men! He is interested in you!”
I felt my heartbeat accelerate when she said that and a warmness rise in my cheeks. If I were to look in the mirror right now, my face would probably be red.
“I don’t think so,” I said, glad that we were just talking on the phone and not in person. Did my voice sound different? Did I sound a little . . . giddy? I cleared my throat. “You should see what he looks like, Caro. He’s gorgeous. Like, he totally fit into the scene at The Knock; me, not so much.”
“That’s bullshit, and he obviously is interested in you if he took you out and is asking you all these questions! Why else would he be doing all this? There’s no other reason.”
She sounded so sure of herself that I could almost believe her. Part of me wanted to believe her. But another part of me didn’t want to have anything to do with any guy, not after the way thing with Noah had gone.
“And I know what you’re thinking,” Caroline continued, “I know that you’re thinking that you don’t want to do this because you don’t want him to turn out to be some psycho like Noah was, but I’m telling you—not all guys are like that.”
I smiled. “Well . . . yeah, that is kind of why I don’t want to
think too hard about this. Also, I just can’t really fathom the idea how someone like that could be interested in me. He’s older, too.”
“Like how much?”
“I don’t know—probably in his thirties. I can ask Jonathan.”
“That’s hot. Holy shit, I’m so excited for you! I want to meet him.”
“You can. Just not yet, maybe. I don’t know what is going on, but I cannot remember ever feeling like this toward someone. And I just met him, which is the crazy thing.”
“Sometimes it happens that way,” Caroline said. “Consider yourself lucky.”
The next morning, I was up well before my alarm, and I didn’t feel the least bit hung over. I was too excited to get to work to see Ian, but when I arrived at the office, he wasn’t there. Jonathan was, though, and he smiled when he saw me and asked me how last night had gone.
“It was fun,” I said. “You’ll have to come with us next time.”
His face lit up. “Yeah! I’d love to. Maybe the two of us could go somewhere.”
I looked toward the door, wondering when Ian would be showing up. “Hey,” I said. “How old is Ian?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious.”
“Oh.” The look on Jonathan’s face was hard to read; maybe a little perplexed. Was it a weird thing to ask?
“I was just . . . um . . . people’s ages are interesting to me.” I cringed inwardly. That sounded so lame.
“You don’t know how old I am,” he said.
“You’re right; I don’t. How old are you?”
“Do you want to guess?”
“Sure. Let’s see . . .” I gazed at his face, taking in the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the clump of gray hair that had started to grow in amongst the light brown hair right above his ears. He was in good shape, though, and his eyes had this sort of youthful quality to them. “Twenty-eight?” I said, deliberately shaving a few years off what I really thought.
His face lit up when I said it. “Thirty-four.”
“Wow,” I said. “You don’t look thirty-four at all.”
“All that gym time, I guess. And Ian’s thirty-four too. We’re the same age—we went to school together.”