Page 76 of Fireworks Flame
“Too many customers?” Zoe makes a show of scanning the mostly empty store.
“I’m seeing someone,” Deiss says, glancing at me.
He looks taken aback when he catches sight of my mannequin-esque face, but I’m locked down too tight to allow expression. Do I want him telling my future partner (boss?) that I’m the person he’s referring to? Do I want him to see that I’m elated by the implication that I’m the only one he’s “seeing”? My mask of indifference feels safest.
“Just one?” Zoe laughs and waves a dismissive hand. She’s like a stage performer, all broad gestures and commanding of space. “I figured a guy like you had at least a few of us on the line.”
“Just the one,” Deiss says. “She’s a cat person, though, so it takes up a lot of my time trying to convert her.”
“Didn’t you also tell me she’s way out of your league?” I ask innocently. “I imagine you’ll also be expending quite a bit of time on coming up with lavish dates to impress her.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I let her paint my bedroom. And I took her for fancy cocktails on Sebastian’s tab. What more could a woman want?”
“You made her do manual labor for you and had another man buy her drinks?” I flutter my hand over my heart. “Consider me misinformed. Sounds like you’ve nailed it.”
Deiss’s chin tilts up, and his grin widens. “Fine. I’ll take her out for a proper date then. Dinner and a show. French food, I suppose, and a film with subtitles. Do you think she’d like that?”
“I think she’d prefer to eat takeout on your couch,” I say. “Preferably while watching reality TV.”
“She would?” He slides past Zoe and tucks his thumb under my mouth, lifting it so he can kiss me. “That sounds perfect to me. But we’ll have time for both.”
I nod happily, buzzing too much to consider Zoe’s presence. Then I remember, and my eyes slide guiltily toward her. She twirls a lock of hair in a way that looks deliberately nonchalant.
“Oops,” she says with a shrug when our eyes meet. “I didn’t realize.”
“It’s new,” I say apologetically.
“Clearly,” she says. “I asked Deiss about you the other night, but he insisted you were just friends. It’s cute that you guys figured it out.”
“We’re cute,” Deiss says with a wink.
“Are you hoping the fried burrata is going to order itself?” Mia asks irritably. “Because it’s not.”
“Noted.” Deiss holds up his phone and pivots on one heel, then strolls toward his office.
I stare after him for a second, wishing I could follow. It seems easier than staying here with Zoe.
“Maybe we should get out of here,” I say, turning toward her.
“Your boyfriend is getting you lunch,” she says with a saccharine smile.
“He’s not...” I trail off, not sure how to normalize things. “I’m sorry if that was weird. It’s still really new between Deiss and me, so I’m not sure either of us knew how to address it.”
“What’s weird?” Zoe waves a hand and pulls out her laptop, placing it on the counter next to mine. I offer her my stool, and she takes it with a cool smile. “I’m here to see you. Deiss was just a fun distraction, which I’m sure you can relate to. Why else would you choose to work in this rat hole?”
“Excuse me?” Mia leans toward us, her eyes narrowing.
“No offense,” Zoe says, clearly intending to give quite a bit of offense. “All these old records. Some mustiness is only natural.”
I sniff furtively as Mia’s fingers curl like talons against the wood of the counter. All I smell is the aroma of coffee and a hint of my own perfume.
“So,” Zoe turns her attention toward me. “I’ve seen your wine label and flyer, but what else can you show me? Have you done any work on a beauty brand?”
I show her my portfolio, standing beside her and talking through some of the choices I’ve made. She nods and murmurs like she’s listening, but her gaze keeps drifting toward Deiss’s office. I glance at Mia, but she’s pretending we’re no longer here. Between the two of them, I feel like I’ve disappeared.
“This one’s my favorite,” I say, pointing Zoe toward a label I created years ago. I always return to it when I find myself doubting my talent.
Zoe pretends to study it, but her fingers tap restlesslyagainst the counter, offbeat of the song playing through the speakers. The room seems to grow chilly, despite the fact that Booker hasn’t yet arrived to mess with the thermostat.
