Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Definitely another round of drinks,” Mike adds. “The gin and tonics here are killer.”
Nora glances around the restaurant for our server. “Aren’t they delicious? Wish we had a place that made them half as good in Charlotte.”
She orders for the table—several small plates, plus a chicken and chorizo paella served family style—then clasps her hands and smiles.
It must be exhausting to smile so damn much.
“Y’all will never guess what I caught Morgan doing last weekend.”
“What was that?” Brian asks.
“Scootin’ his boots to Brooks & Dunn.”
Brian leans back, clearly surprised. “You like country music?”
In any other professional setting with any other people, I’d be pissed Nora brought up Coyote Joe’s. I’d never, ever talk about my family, or my love of 90s country for that matter. Doesn’t exactly jive with the company I’m used to keeping in the banking world.
But tonight I have nothing to lose. Maybe it makes me a chump to trust Nora, but what choice do I have? Being the Bull only backfired with her and BamCo. And yeah, maybe the fact that she’s opened up to me makes me want to open up a little too.
“I was raised on it,” I reply. And then, because I still have nothing and everything to lose: “Some of my earliest memories are sitting in my dad’s truck, listening to Tim McGraw cassette tapes. Mind you, this was when Tim had a mullet. Pretty sure my dad and I did too.”
“Really?” Brian says. “I had a mullet back in high school.”
Nora laughs. “You did not! And neither did you, Mr. Tim McGraw.” She looks at me.
I look back. “Yup. I was so proud of it.”
“Only the cool kids had mullets,” Brian says. “Well, everyone on the lacrosse team did, anyway.”
“I was pretty cool,” I say.
“Not with your mullet you weren’t,” Nora shoots back. Her eyes are lit up again, and a spark ignites inside my chest.
She actually likes it when I talk about shit I’d ordinarily be embarrassed to mention in a setting like this.
She likes it when I’m not playing the chameleon. When I don’t put who I am away in a box so I can be who I need to be to fit into this rarefied world we inhabit.
Or maybe she just pretends to like it.
Then again, Nora may be playing nice with clients tonight, but from what I’ve seen so far, she’s genuine in everything she does. Moderated, yes. But still real. She drinks and she eats and she enjoys the flow of conversation. And it does flow, even from my side of the table. It’s easier to talk to people when you aren’t constantly policing what you reveal.
Go figure. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.
Some client interactions are less painful than others, but they’re rarely, if ever, fun.
This one is fun.
Or it is, until Mike drapes his arm across the back of Nora’s chair. She glances over her shoulder, her easy smile flattening. I wonder how many times this has happened at all the meetings and dinners and conferences I’ve been to over the years, and I was too self-involved to ever notice.
“Nightcap?” I ask. “Let’s head to the bar.”
Nora shoots me a grateful look. “Let’s.”
I make sure to stand between Nora and Mike as we gather at the counter. Everyone orders another round, but Nora only sips hers. I do the same. We have another early wakeup call tomorrow for our flights home. It hits me that she also has to be more careful around alcohol than we do. I’ve never considered that angle before.
Now that I’m aware of the double standard Nora deals with every day, I see its residue everywhere. The way Mike reaches around me to touch her elbow when he asks if anything’s wrong with her drink. How she shifts on her feet, eyeing the bar for an open stool, because those heels look great but they probably hurt like a motherfucker. It’s late; we’ve been here for hours now, I’m tired, and she must be too.
To his credit, Brian notices. He steps forward to claim a barstool beside him when it becomes available.
“Thank you,” Nora breathes, plopping down with her tote in her lap. She gives him a weary smile. “So do you forgive us yet?”
He glances at me. “Not gonna lie, I was prepared to walk out of here after telling this guy to go fuck himself. Yeah, yeah, Morgan, I know you lost money on the trade, but that doesn’t excuse the things you said to me.”
“Still sorry about that,” I say, running a hand over the stubble that’s appeared on my cheeks and chin.
Brian claps me on the shoulder. “Shocks me to say this, but I know you are.”
I blink. “How?”
“Because you didn’t flinch when Nora accused you of having a line dancing habit. And you’re not too proud to own up to the mullet you had for most of your childhood. Shows me you’re not afraid to own up to your mistakes. You’re certainly not afraid to tell the truth, even when it proves to be a horrific embarrassment.”