a partner. However, it was my designs that got the hotel mogul interested, the one that caught his eye. That said, I’m part of a team. Tonight, my team is celebrating on the company’s dime. Hell, The Rooftop is one of the nicest restaurants in Grand Rapids and one with the biggest price tags.
“Marshal,” the owner and CEO of our architectural firm, Jason McMann, says as he pats my back. “What can we get you for a before-dinner drink? As you know, I’m a whiskey man myself.”
“I’m a bourbon fan. I like it smooth.”
Jason grins. “I bet you do.” He turns to the pretty thing behind the bar. “Barbie” —yes, that is her name. It’s on a small pin-on tag right over her large left boob— “can you get my friend Marshal two fingers of Blanton’s.” He turns back to me. “On the rocks?”
“Neat.” My answer comes without emotion as I stare across the bar and clench my teeth.
This restaurant has one of those modern open-concept bars.
If it were warmer outside, the glass windows would be opened and there would be tables on the balcony overlooking the river and the city lights. As it is, the windows are closed, keeping the snow and wind outside. However, the bar is open. Blue lighting projects around the center cabinetry where hundreds of bottles are proudly displayed. From where I’m standing, I can see to the other side, to a group of people.
They’re dressed much as we are, in nice business attire. The women are a bit dressier. I can’t see below their waists, but I know a woman’s body well enough to know the way one walks in tall heels. There’s a rhythm to the way their bodies sway, as if they are asking for a strong hand to support them.
No, I wouldn’t take only their sway as an invitation.
Nearly a decade post-high school and I’m no more committed to a relationship than before, but I’m also not in danger of a sexual harassment lawsuit. I believe in consent.
For once, though, I’m not looking at a woman but at a man.
My jaw clenches tighter as a slimy smile curls his lips, and he whispers something to a woman I don’t recognize. One might wonder why it would matter to me that a man is speaking to a woman at too close of a distance. It does because that man is engaged to my best friend.
“Marshal,” Jason says as he hands me a glass and others from our office gather around. Jason turns to all of us. There are three men and four women. We’re the team that worked on the bid. We’re the team that just landed Jason the biggest (and potentially even bigger) deal he’s ever had. “You did it. Thank you,” he says.
We all clink our glasses.
The bar is getting more crowded as we wait for our table.
“Do you know Jackson Carmichael?” Melinda Beavo, a very talented architect and member of our group and a married woman, asks quietly, following my line of vision.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’ve been staring at him for the last fifteen minutes.”
“Do you know him?” I ask, keeping my voice and anger at bay.
“A little. I’m not a member of his fan club, but from what little interaction I’ve had with him, I believe it’s a club of one.”
She makes me smirk. “So you do know him.”
“My husband has done some work with their law firm. My connection is distant, but I’ve had enough encounters to know he is a conceited piece of...” She lifts her glass of red wine to her smiling lips. After taking a drink, she asks, “Why do you care?”
“His fan club has recently inducted a new member. He’s engaged.”
“To that blonde over there, the one he’s been schmoozing with since we arrived?”
“Nope,” I say matter-of-factly.
“How well do you know his fiancée?”
I like Melinda. She’s maybe ten years my senior and has worked hard for her place in our firm, yet she’s never talked down or acted like she knew more than any of the newer members. She’s been open to our ideas while willing to point out her own. She’s a team player, which is about the best compliment I could give anyone. I look directly at Melinda. “His fiancée is my friend. I’ve known her...forever.” I shrug. “She’s probably my best friend.”
“That explains why you look like you want to punch something.”
My poor teeth are ready to splinter as I increase the pressure. “I was thinking more of someone.” I