Thankfully, Monica is here as well as some other people I'm somewhat friends with.
“Alexa,” Monica calls from where she’s sitting at a long picnic-style table. I wave with relief, then walk over, glad not to be alone. “Happy you made it.”
“Me too,” I respond politely.
“What are we having to drink tonight?” she asks, even though all the girls at the table already have a drink in hand.
I don’t want to sound like a party pooper, but don’t want to get anyone into trouble.
“I, uh, can’t exactly drink.”
“Why not?” Caitlin, one of the girls from marketing questions. “Oh my god, are you pregnant?”
“No,” I blurt out, then look down at my stomach. “Why? Is it the jumpsuit?”
Caitlin and Monica laugh in unison. “It's just this thing when new girls start. They kinda know they’re pregnant but hope to secure a job. You know, cause firing a pregnant woman is so frowned upon. We have bets because it’s happened way too often.”
“Right, I had no idea,” I muse, then smile. “I'm not twenty-one.”
Monica places her arm over my shoulder, bringing me in for a hug. “Well, I'm twenty-one times two. I’ll get you a drink.”
Before I have a chance to tell her it's fine, I can drink a mocktail or even soda, she’s left for the bar. It’s not overly busy, so she returns soon after with a colorful-looking drink. It looks like juice of some sort with a bit of red, plus mixed fruit floating at the top.
Taking a sip, I try not to make any facial expressions from whatever alcohol is mixed into the drink. A few more sips and it becomes delicious enough, given the sweetness of the pineapple juice, but I try to pace myself.
As Caitlin tells us a story about this guy she met on Tinder last night, Monica orders more drinks to make the night more enjoyable.
Between the warm sea breeze and good company, I relax and enjoy the atmosphere. We laugh at all the gossip circulating in the office until the CEO of the company holding this event makes a quick speech. He thanks everyone for attending and makes sure to end by wishing everyone an enjoyable night.
I suck on my straw, emptying my second glass so easily. This time, Adeline, the other girl sitting with us, fetches the round of drinks. Monica appears to be too wasted already, singing loudly to the song playing in the background.
“So, have you met Kevin from the mailroom?” Adeline asks once she returns. “He’s notorious for delivering big packages.”
Monica and Caitlin fall into a fit of laughter. Even though I haven’t been formally introduced to Kevin, I have walked past him once or twice, and the only thing I noticed was his big biceps.
Caitlin is sitting across for me, but suddenly, her laughter fades, and her eyes widen. She’s staring directly at me, causing me to tilt my head in confusion from the sudden change in demeanor. She purses her lips as if to warn me of something, but my reflexes are slow from all the drinks. As I turn behind me to look at what she's glancing at, my stare hits a body a few inches away.
My eye level, from sitting down, is to the belt buckle of the pants in front of me. I lean back against the table, slowly drawing my eyes up until they meet Hunter Cash. Everyone at the table sits up straight, all with a smile on their drunk faces.
“Good evening, Mr. Cash,” they greet in unison while I sit here silently.
“Good evening, ladies,” he responds with a friendly smile, nothing at all like the cold-hearted CEO inside the boardroom. “It looks like you're enjoying yourselves.”
The girls nod while on their best behavior. If only he had heard Caitlin telling everyone how her Tinder date wanted anal on the first meet-up or about Kevin’s large package.
Unlike the suit I’ve seen him in, his attire is slightly more casual. Navy dress pants, a white buttoned shirt, and tanned-colored shoes.Why is he so sexy? Cocktail talking … just the cocktails … plural.
His eyes fall upon me as a smirk plays on his lips. God, they look so … don’t say it.
“It's nice to see you are fitting in well with the team, Alexandra.”
How he says my name triggers something inside me, or maybe the multiple cocktails. Either way, I start to feel dizzy, but I do my best to come up with something intelligent.
“Thank you,” is all I manage to say.
You idiot.
“Well, I'll leave you ladies to it. Enjoy yourselves.”