Page 22 of The Revenge Game
Xander barely looks up from his phone. It seems Xander engages with Friday night drinks with the same enthusiasm as with other work activities.
However, Adam stiffens like he’s trying to smuggle a ruler down his spine.
“I’ve been mentoring Drew quite extensively,” he says to Kieran, his smile thin.
After Kieran nods and drifts away to the bar, Adam turns to me with narrowed eyes.
“Exactly what did you do to the marketing system?” he asks.
“I just adjusted their access permissions and added a custom integration layer to prevent token overlap.” I keep my voice carefully neutral.
Adam’s face contorts. “Drew, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm. But you can’t just go poking around in the system like it’s some kind of amateur coding project. Next time, please consult me before attempting anything beyond basic troubleshooting.”
“Okay.” It seems easier to agree with Adam than to argue. Besides, my attention has been distracted by a figure across the room.
Justin’s standing by the dart board, sipping a pint, surrounded by his sales department cronies. The sight of him makes my stomach tighten. I force my eyes away from him.
“I’m just going to get a drink,” I tell Adam and Xander. After today, I really need a drink. “Do you want me to get you something?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” Xander doesn’t take his eyes off his screen.
“I’m going to take some time to consider my options,” Adam says primly.
I nod, then head to the bar.
I stand there trying to get the attention of the bartender, who seems to have perfected the bartender’s art of maintaining eye contact with literally everyone except the people trying to order drinks.
“Hey, Drew.”
It’s Justin’s voice.
I spin around.
Justin has ditched his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The top button of his shirt is undone, his tie loosened.
It appears the Casual Friday Night Justin is even more devastating than Corporate Justin.
“Can I buy you a drink to say thank you for saving my ass this morning?” he asks.
“I was just doing my job.” The words come out flat, and Justin’s eyebrows knit together. He’s obviously not used to people rebuffing his charm.
“Please.” Those blue-green eyes, framed by ridiculous long eyelashes, don’t leave mine.
I should accept a drink from him. It will look suspicious if I don’t.
Besides, maybe getting closer to him is a good idea. It will give me more chances to execute my plans.
But that thought makes me sick to my stomach.
Somehow, in trying to make Justin feel as small as he once made me feel, I’ve managed to make myself feel even smaller.
“Okay, I’ll have a Pale Ale,” I say.
“One Pale Ale coming right up.” Justin’s voice is cheerful as he turns toward the bartender.
Of course the bartender practically teleports to us in response to Justin’s wave and fills our drink order with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen from British hospitality staff in my time so far.
“Cheers,” Justin says once our beers are in our hands.
