Page 36 of Merry & Bright
“Do you know what?” Sam interrupted with a cheerfulness he knew sounded horribly fake. “Let’s not. Not now. This is meant to be a party after all.” He gestured with his thumb in the direction Penny had just gone and added, “I think I’ll, um—catch up with the others.”
And with that, he turned away and began jogging towards them.
***
AS ITALIAN BISTROSwent, La Scala scored pretty poorly. The food was forgettable, the white wine too warm. The best you could say for the place was that they delivered the food and replenished the drinks with admirable speed.
Sam’s neighbours at his end of the table ranged from so-so to setting Sam’s teeth on edge. Actually, in fairness, once the teasing about his shirt was out of the way, it was only Penny who set his teeth on edge, and even then, only periodically. Though he’d have a bruise on his side tomorrow from the elbow she shoved into his ribs every time she delivered one of her double entendres.
Nick sat at the other end of the table—next to Mike, of course, Nick’s biggest fan.The best young lawyer I’ve ever trained, Mike had told Sam once.
Not what a new employee wanted to hear from his boss, but once he’d been through Nick’s files, Sam had to admit, grudgingly, there was something in what Mike said. He hadn’t realised how narrow his own experience had been till he’d read those files. Nick’s sureness in dealing with such a broad spectrum of law intimidated Sam, his time records displaying that he didn’t take half as long to get up to speed on any area as Sam did.
At first Sam had comforted himself with the thought that Nick was probably a law geek with no social skills—until Nick had come into the office.
Every time Sam thought about their first meeting, he wanted to die. He’d been at his desk when his phone had buzzed with an internal call—Mike in a meeting room, asking if Sam could pop through for a minute?
He’d walked into the boardroom to find Mike drinking coffee with the most gorgeous bloke he’d seen in ages. And then? Utter humiliation.
“Sam, meet Nick Foster, your predecessor. I thought it might be an idea for him to chat you through a few things on your caseload.”
Two hours later, Sam emerged from the boardroom with a sheaf of notes recording Nick’s thoughts and suggestions and a brand-new nemesis.
Wonder Boy.
“Mi scusi.”
“Oh, sorry!” Sam jerked back and looked up at the waiter who was sliding a plate of mini mince pies onto the table to go with the coffee that was mostly being ignored by the increasingly drunken M&H crowd.
“No bother, mate,” the waiter replied, ditching the Italian accent for a Mancunian one. He took a moment to give Sam a slow once-over and a broad wink before moving on. He was a bit shorter than Sam with a heavy five-o’clock shadow and hair sprouting out of his open collar. Not handsome, but sexy in a rough-trade sort of way. In fact, he reminded Sam of Gareth with his stocky build and square, capable hands.
Oddly though, stocky and sexy didn’t appeal to Sam tonight. Tall and lean, however—
Midthought, he glanced at Nick, only to find that Nick’s eyes were on the departing waiter, his gaze hostile. An instant later, Nick seemed to realise Sam was looking at him and met his gaze with a guilty expression before hurriedly looking away again.
Weird.
It was eleven o’clock now, and the meal was winding up, though several new bottles of wine had just been plonked down, and Penny was pouring brimming glasses for everyone.
“You’re on white, aren’t you, Sammy?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The glass of wine she shoved towards him was as warm as all the others before it, but he took a big swallow anyway.
Just then, a loud posh voice at the other end of the table called out, “Oh, listen everyone! What’s that I hear?”
It was Monica. She was standing at the other end of the table, a hand cupped behind her ear. There were a few muted cheers, and Sam looked round, puzzled. Some general shushing resulted in the table quietening down. Then the sound of reindeer bells, followed by a big cheer from everyone round the table.
“Yeah! It’s time for Santa!” Penny yelled. And yes, Father Christmas had indeed arrived—or rather Mike had nipped off to stick on a cheap Santa suit that looked like it had seen better days.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa Mike bellowed. “Me-e-e-erry Christmas!”
The whole table whooped and cheered.
“Well, hello Monica,” Santa Mike said once the noise had died down. “Are you going to be my little helper this evening?”
Monica simpered her agreement—her crush on Mike was gigantic and the subject of much office hilarity—and fished in the sack for the first parcel.