Of course Sloane had heard about all these things and freaked the fuck out, calling all of them into a meeting and reaming their asses out. The saddest part of that was, she was so fucking gorgeous in her wrath he’d gotten a semi during the meeting. He’d had to slouch lower in his chair so the board table would hide it, and then Sloane had looked at him with slitty eyes that had raked over his slouched posture and said, “Are you listening to me?”
She’d also continued to ride his ass about showing up at work on time and not taking long lunches. And he’d gotten the distinct impression she wasn’t happy about him taking out Bailey, Carly and Phoebe for lunch that day. Well, fuck that bullshit. He’d have lunch with whomever he wanted.
He downed the beer and rested his head on one hand.
Not only that, he still hadn’t come up with the genius ideas that were going to blow everyone’s boxers off. Especially for the big Cerone television ads. They were there, teasing the edges of his mind, so close. He and Scott had come up with some great ideas, sure. But he and Scott were…different. It wasn’t easy, like things had been with Fergus. But fuck, if those assholes would just leave him alone and quit messing with his head, maybe he’d get this done.
No doubt that was their intent. New guy in the office had to learn his place.
Well, maybe his place was out the goddamn door.
He’d wanted so much to be one of the “Brew Crew”, as they called themselves. He’d gotten the narrow-eyed looks from copywriters in other departments who’d clearly wanted his job. The guys working on fucking cereal. Everyone wanted to work on the beer account. Now he was starting to wonder why.
Someone slid onto the stool beside him. He turned and his heart lurched at the sight of Sloane.
She met his eyes, a veil of wariness in hers. “Hey,” she said. “I thought that was you.”
He straightened. “Uh, hi.” She thought it was him and still came to sit with him? That was weird.
“You okay?”
He blinked at her, not moving any other muscle in his face. As usual, her beauty rendered him an idiot. Her blonde hair brushed her shoulders, curving under her chin. Her eyes were big and shadowy, and her small pouty lips made him want to bite them. Today she wore a sleeveless pink blouse tucked into a pale gray pencil skirt and her usual spiky heels.
“Of course.” Usually his smile was easy to summon up no matter how shitty he felt, but at that moment, it had deserted him.
She lifted one shoulder. The bartender appeared and she glanced at Levi’s empty glass. “I’ll buy you a drink.” She turned to the bartender. “Another of those. And I’ll have the same.”
“Never would have pegged you as a beer drinker,” Levi said.
The corners of her sexy mouth lifted. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “You strike me as an expensive red wine kind of girl. Say, a nice bottle of Château Canon-la-Gaffelière Saint-Émilion.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “Wow. I’m impressed. Although I don’t even know what that is, so you could totally be bullshitting me.”
“Yeah, I could be. I’m a good bullshitter.”
Her lips twitched and she shook her head. “And so modest.”
“Modesty’s for pussies.” He was screwed no matter what. Might as well say what he was really thinking.
Her scent drifted to him, something luscious and expensive-smelling…raspberry and flowers and some kind of exotic spice…carnal passion in a fragrance. His cock stirred. What the fuck kind of perfume was that? It made him crazy.
Where was that damn beer?
“Seriously,” she said. “Is that a real wine?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you know that?”
He tilted his head to look at her. “My mom used to put it in my baby bottle.”
She choked on a laugh.
“Okay, maybe not,” he conceded. “But my folks drink shit like that all the time.”
“Shit like that.” Amusement gleamed in her beautiful blues. “Who are your folks?”
“My dad owns Wolcott International.”
Her eyes widened briefly. “Ah. No wonder, then.”
Yeah, his parents were filthy rich. Yeah, he’d grown up drinking hundred-dollar bottles of wine for Sunday dinner. Whatever.
Their beers arrived and he picked his up and chugged back half of it. Sloane took a delicate sip. She was no fucking beer drinker.