Page 17 of The Vegas Rerun
He controls the room with an effortless confidence that makes my stomach tighten. One thing that hasn’t changed is Joshua’s charisma. This man oozes sexiness. He’s still talking but I hear none of his words. I’m too busy analysing his every movement, searching for any sign that he remembers me. But there’s nothing. Not a flicker.
I reach the end of the table, where a crystal jug of milk sits beside the coffee pot. My hand closes around the handle, my grip unsteady.
I should leave. I should get out of here before my knees buckle beneath me. Before I do something humiliating. But of course, I can’t just leave in the middle of serving the refreshments. All I have to get through is pouring the milk for those who want it, then the cream and sugar. I can do this.
I start adding milk to the drinks. I reach the final cup that requires milk, and I start to pour, but just as I do, Joshua says something particularly loudly and I jump. I feel the milk jug slipping and I try my best to save it, but it’s too late. The jug slips from my fingers.
I feel as though time slows down as I watch the arc of white liquid cascading through the air, a shimmering, milky waterfall that lands squarely in the lap of a distinguished older man seated near the head of the table. The jug lands with a bang on the desk in front of him, the perfect punctation to my misfortune.
Gasps ripple around the room. Someone lets out a muffled laugh. I stand with my mouth open in horror, waiting for the man to yell at me, for Joshua to yell at me. No one does, but the man does look down at his milk-soaked clothes in abject horror.The movement of his head breaks my own paralysis, and I jump into action.
“Oh my God. I am so sorry,” I blurt out, scrambling to grab the napkins from the tray. My hands fumble as I press them toward the unfortunate board member, whose expensive charcoal grey pants are now splattered with milk. I’m careful not to dab too low down, but there is a fair bit of milk pooled in his lap, and I don’t know what else to do.
The man watches me dabbing at him, and his face is a mixture of shock and annoyance, his lips pressed together in what I can only assume is an effort to maintain his dignity.
Joshua glances in my direction. For one terrible second, I think I see something in his gaze. Amusement? Curiosity? A flicker of something deeper? But it’s gone before I can be sure. If I saw anything, let’s be honest, it was most likely anger.
I force myself to breathe, to remain composed as I stammer out another apology, still dabbing at the man. The older man waves a hand, though his expression is still decidedly sour. He waves me away from his clothes and to my relief, he doesn’t yell at me.
“Accidents happen,” he mutters. He takes the balled-up napkins from my hand and begins to dab at his own crotch, not something I expected to see when I came into the meeting.
I nod, forcing myself to give him a tight-lipped smile as I step back, my heart pounding against my ribs. I need to get out of here. Now. But there are still drinks to finish. I go back to the tray, and I pick up the jug of cream, but before I can start doling it out, the nearest board member takes pity on me and gets up and takes the jug of cream from me.
“Why don’t you let me finish up here,” he says.
I feel like I will be forever grateful to the man because he doesn’t make any snide comments about not wanting to end up being my next victim or anything similar, although I’m surethat’s at least part of the reason why he has taken over. I glance at Joshua, my expression asking his permission to leave. He gives a barely perceptible nod of his head.
Gathering what little dignity I have left, I make my way toward the door, my hands clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails bite into my palms.
I can feel Joshua’s gaze on me as I leave, burning into my back like a question unspoken. But I don’t turn around. I can’t bring myself to do it. Because if I look at him again right now and see the silent anger etched into his expression, I might just break down, and I think it’s fair to say I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for one day without bursting into tears here.
As soon as I’m out of the meeting, I scramble back to the safety of my work area. The other three women look up when I burst into the area and practically throw myself down in my chair. I put my hands over my face, resting my elbows on my desk.
“Molly? Are you ok? What happened?” Frieda asks, her voice laced with concern.
I remove my hands from my face.
“Well,” I say. “Let’s see. I met the hot CEO. And then I managed to spill a jug of milk over one of the board members. And another board member took over making the drinks because I clearly can’t be trusted with liquids.”
I guess I expect some sympathy, maybe an anecdote or two about when one of them have fucked up. What I don’t expect is what I get – the three of them look at each other and burst into laughter. For a moment, I just look at them, feeling like I might cry, but then the absurdity of the situation hits me, and I find myself joining in with their laughter.
As the laughter dies down, and we wipe tears from our faces, I shake my head.
“I hope I don’t get fired,” I say.
“Mr Redfern won’t fire you for that,” Patty says. “As long as it was clearly an accident, and you apologized.”
“I apologized like a hundred times,” I say. “I hope you’re right. Hopefully he’ll just yell at me.”
“Which board member was it?” Sarah asks.
“I don’t know his name. He was a bit older than the others, glasses, slightly balding,” I say.
“That’s Mr Redfern senior. He’s the current CEO’s father and he was the company’s founder,” Sarah says.
My eyes widen in horror. I threw milk over Joshua’s father. I am definitely getting fired for this, no matter what Patty thinks.
“I might as well pack my things now,” I say.
