by Aiden Bates
Still, he thought as he smoothed his hair out for the umpteenth time and gave up on trying to get that one little cowlick of hair to do anything but stick straight up in the back of his head, at least the restaurant had alcoholic beverages—a cocktail would go a long way to loosening his nerves. More than once, he had pondered coming up with an excuse to Tristan so that they could perhaps do it another day (or never, but he managed to keep that particularly ridiculous part down), but he knew he had no real reason to not to go and get to know his new vice president; all he would be doing if he went straight home was showering, crawling into bed, and falling asleep. Perhaps he would choose to read a book, if he were feeling particularly adventurous.
Going out would be better, nerves be damned, he decided.
Despite the panic that gnawed at his gut, when Tristan sent him a text message letting him know that he was calling it a night and confirming that he was still interested in going out for dinner with him, he sent back a reply that he was on his way to meet him at the elevator. He was sweating—was it nerves? Was he just warm? He’d been feeling warmer than usual lately, and he faintly wondered if he was coming down with something. To say he hadn’t been feeling like himself in the past couple of weeks would be an understatement. Still, he removed his suit jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out into the hall, not even remotely surprised Tristan was already there, his own jacket draped over one of his massive arms.
Even wearing the rest of his suit Tristan looked like the picture of relaxed, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first couple of buttons undone, giving Myrick more of a view than he had been anticipating of the man’s muscular physique, the bit of deep olive skin that was showing strangely tantalizing, and even for someone as romantically and socially inept as Myrick, he had to admit that the presence that this Alpha exuded was striking.
“I'll be honest here and admit that I wasn't entirely certain you would actually take me up on my offer of dinner.” Tristan noted in an almost ashamed tone as he reached over and pushed the button to summon the elevator. He leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator, regarding his boss with what Myrick was realizing was his signature smile. It was a faint, easy curve of the corner of his mouth, not quite wide enough to be a smirk and while clearly a more reserved kind of smile, still felt soft and approachable. “I worried that it might come across as pushy. Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Nonsense,” Myrick managed to lie easily enough about his nerves; it wasn’t Tristan’s fault that he was the way he was, and he wasn’t going to make the man feel bad about something he had no part in creating. “This is hardly going to be the first time I enjoy a dinner with a colleague outside of work, especially in my time with this company.” He didn’t add this would be the first time that it would be only the two of them, though he knew this would be different; he’d be going in his own car, the setting would be public, and he would have total control of when he left. He was fine, and he had to remind himself of that.
“Yeah, you’ve been here longer than I have, right?” The elevator let out its usual ding, and they stepped in when the doors parted. “Is it by much? I’ve been trying to sorta map out when people started working here.”
“November will make my eighth year here.” Saying it out loud made him feel simultaneously proud and strangely old for a man scarcely in his thirties. “Feels like I’ve been here longer—I’ve seen a lot of people shuffle through the door over the years.”
“Do people leave here frequently?” Tristan’s brow furrowed in thought. “I mostly just focused on the marketing team, so I never really paid attention.”
“It's less that they come and go from the company itself and more that they just get shuffled around the building or get moved to a different building altogether.” He shrugged as the elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the parking garage. “This is the main building of the company, but there are other smaller ones in neighboring cities. It’s all a bit scattered.”
“I got that vibe.” Tristan nodded. “It seems like organizing it all would take a lot of energy.”
“A lot more than it should, to be frank.” Myrick nodded as they walked down the aisle of parked cars. “We used to be in one building before the company expanded. Now we’re a little all over the place, and there’s a lot of reorganizing that we need to do.” He shrugged. “It’s something we’re trying to work on. It wouldn’t be realistic to try and merge everyone under one roof again, but if we could have all the buildings closer together, it’d go a long way for getting our ducks in a row.” He stopped at his car, his keys fished out of his pocket. “You seem a friendly conversationalist.” He hovered by the door to his car. He hoped that didn’t sound like some backhanded barb; he’d meant it as a compliment, truly.
“I certainly try to be,” Tristan laughed, fumbling with his own car keys. “You got the address for the place? It’s just down the street, but still.” Myrick nodded. “Glad to hear it. I’ll meet you over there, then, and who knows?” He flashed a toothy grin. “Maybe I can keep showing off my conversational skills.”
They shared a chuckle as Myrick stepped into his car and pulled up the restaurant’s address. He gave himself a few moments to breathe, to remind himself that this was happening, and he was going out to dinner (not as a date, never as a date) with his new vice president with no one else to act as a buffer between them.
His stomach clenched tight enough to cause pain.
Then he was dialing Isabelle, because he really didn’t know who else he could turn to for this, and he didn’t want to bail on it now, even if he was feeling strangely warm and the thought of being alone, even in public, with someone else was enough to make him feel nauseated. He gripped his steering wheel tighter with his free hand as he heard the call being answered on the other end.
“Myrick?” He let out a shaky sigh when he heard her familiar voice on the other end of the line. His grip on the steering wheel loosened, if only marginally.
“I think I’m panicking.”
“You mean, probably,” she said, and he could see her nodding in his mind’s eye with a wry grin on her face. It was the same look she would get when she knew she was going to have to talk him into believing things he already knew; mainly that he was going to be okay. “But tell me about it anyway, just in case.”
“It’s about Tristan—”
“Is he not working out?” He knew her well enough to pick up on the tinge of concern in her voice.
“No, no,” he realized how that must sound, and opted for a different response. “He’s been settling in well, but he wants me to go to dinner with him!”
“Not even out of his first official week, and he’s already wanting to take you on a date?” She clucked her tongue. “I expected more out of him.”
“It—” He realized he had raised his voice, so cut himself off with a wince and tried again with a softer tone, “It isn’t a date—he wants us to get to know one another so we can work better together.”
“I mean, I can’t say I haven’t done that with some of my coworkers.” She sounded thoughtful, if distantly so, like she was mulling it over in her head to divine her successor’s intent. “Hell, we did that.” He recalled, though it had still been with two other people even then. “If that’s all he wants, what’s the harm?”
“There isn’t any, I know that,” he swallowed. “But it’ll just be the two of us.”
“And you’re worried something will happen.”
“I’m always worried something will happen, Isabelle.”
“Just remember you said that, not me.” She snorted a laugh. “Still, I wouldn’t worry about it—if nothing else, think of the fact that he just got this job and doesn’t have tenure over you—he literally can’t afford a scandal of any kind.”
He’d been so focused on what could happen to him, he hadn’t taken time to wonder what Tristan would have to lose in things going sour for him, and felt a little st
upid for not considering it. “I hadn’t thought about that, to be honest.”
“Help you feel at least a little better?”
“Yeah, yeah, I think I got this.” It was only slightly better, and he was still nervous, but he felt the muscles in his stomach slacken, ever so slightly. Enough that he could turn the key in the ignition and fasten his seatbelt. “Okay, I got this.”
“You got this.” Isabelle confirmed, laughing softly. “I’ll let you get to that then, but if you feel uncomfortable and you need to get out, call me, and I’ll make sure to give you a solid reason to have to leave, all right?”
“You’re the best Isabelle,” he sighed. “Are you sure I couldn’t persuade you to come out of—”
“I’m not coming back to work, Myrick.” Her tone was flat but had a hint of her hiding a smile behind it. He sighed.
“I can try.” They said their goodbyes, and he took a deep breath before pulling his car out of the parking spot and going on his way, heading out of the garage and toward his destination. The drive was short—shorter than he anticipated even with looking up where it was beforehand, but thankfully the place didn’t look overly crowded. Once he’d managed to find a spot to park his car, he took one last bracing breath, and stepped out ready to face his fate for the evening.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost!” Tristan greeted him as he neared, leaning against the wall beside the main entrance to the establishment.
“Nah, got a call from a relative,” he let the lie slip out easily enough. He supposed it was more of a half truth these days, though it was all semantics at this point anyhow.
“Ahh, those are always a pain to get off the phone once they start,” Tristan held the door open for him as they stepped inside. “No emergencies, I hope?”
“Thankfully, no, just asking about holiday plans.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t even know what mine are at this point. Too far out to plan around business.” Myrick managed to refrain from wincing at the lie; while Tristan didn’t need to know that he had to be talked down from his panic, it didn’t stop Myrick from feeling at least a pang of guilt. They were shown to a table, and they took their seats.
“Almost impossible to plan further ahead than a month or so.” Tristan nodded. “Even then, things are always up in the air.” He thanked the waitress when she handed them their menus. “Ahh, no talking about business right now—we’re off the clock!”
“We’re salary,” Myrick said flatly. “We’re never off the clock.”
“All right, fair enough—we’re out of the office, then.”
“Better.” Myrick gave a nod, smiling in spite of his nerves. “If you don’t mind my asking, though, before we step off the topic of work for the evening,” he leaned back in his chair, curious. “What made you want to transfer out of the marketing team? Apart from wanting a different position, I mean.”
Tristan tilted his head, considering the question. “As much as I led the team, it didn’t really feel like I connected with them on a personal level.” He shrugged a shoulder. “My colleagues were all nice to talk to, don't misunderstand, but none of them were really interested in coexisting as a team instead of a bunch of coworkers that happened to have similar jobs.” He crossed his arms, mulling over his words. “That’s probably not a great description—they weren’t bad people or anything, but in the years I spent on that team, I only had a handful of conversations that didn’t involve a project we were working on.” He grimaced. “I admire focus and dedication, but no one on the team was ever interested in just…I dunno, shooting the shit during downtime. Didn’t want to talk about a book they just read, or a movie that came out, or even what things interested them outside of work. As successful as we were, I felt isolated.”
He smiled wryly at Myrick. “You’re at least willing to indulge me every so often.” He sighed as he opened the menu. “At the end of the day, we’re all different forms of pencil pushers—I'll bet money we’re all nerds about something or other, but now it’s like a good chunk of us don't know how to work around that and just talk about what makes us happy. Like we’re afraid of being mocked for it.” He spared a glance at Myrick from over the top of his menu. “I'll admit, I was like that for a long time when I was younger. Too long.” He set the menu down on the table, still open, and let out a sigh. “I just...I just want to be happy now, y'know? And I want to make others happy. We just,” he shook his head. “We just make ourselves too lonely these days.”
“I can't rightly argue that point.” Myrick had to fight against the desire to clutch at his chest, the sentiment hitting him a little too close to home, close enough that his heart ached with the weight of it. It was baffling—they hadn’t even ordered their drinks yet, and here he was, feeling like he’d been emotionally called out inadvertently by a man who, while a colleague, was nearly a perfect stranger to him.
“Still,” Tristan continued, his expression lighter and his tone brighter. “It’s good that we can take the opportunity to get to know one another!”
“What,” Myrick swallowed, “what do we even talk about?”
“Anything!” Tristan grinned. “Whatever we want to talk about.”
And so they did—after they ordered their drinks and the waiter let them be again.
“Do you like to read in your spare time?” Tristan began, leaning back in his seat comfortably.
“When I actually have spare time, sure!” Myrick laughed, feeling just a touch less pressured to put on a face in the wake of Tristan’s easy composure. “I’ve been mostly reading fantasy books—they’re a good escape for me.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes it’s good to just, I dunno, get away from whatever’s bugging me, y’know?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Tristan flashed him a toothy grin. “I like fantasy books, but I usually default to a good mystery novel when the urge strikes me.” Myrick blinked in surprise—he hadn’t pegged Tristan for a mystery novel kind of guy, though now that he had thought on it, he couldn’t rightly pin down what he had thought Tristan read. “But it’s kinda for the same reasons as you—I just get sucked into them, like I have to completely immerse myself in this fictional case and try to solve it before the detectives can.” Tristan’s eyes flashed excitedly, and Myrick could see how much Tristan enjoyed them from the way he gestured with his hands.
“Have you? Solved the case before the protagonists, I mean.” Myrick tilted his head. Now that he knew Tristan liked mysteries, it wouldn’t surprise him at all to find out that he was good at solving them—Tristan was a rather clever man, after all.
“A few times,” Tristan shrugged with a soft grin. “I don’t really keep track, though. I mostly just wind up wanting to know what happens next and getting all caught up in the plot.”
“I could see that.” Myrick found himself nodding. “Any particular ones that you’ve read that stand out?”
“Rogue Lawyer has been hard to put down lately,” Tristan admitted, tapping his chin as he thought. “There’s a few others that I’ve liked, but that one is utterly fascinating.”
“Oh?” Myrick quirked a brow in interest.
“It’s about this lawyer that’s managed to piss off almost everyone he comes across because he takes defense cases that most people wouldn’t find defendable.” He leaned forward in his seat and rested his arms comfortably on the table. “Like he takes cases with an almost ironclad case against them, but he abuses the loopholes in the legal system to win his cases. He’s so hated he has to work out of a bulletproof van!”
“That’s…wow,” Myrick breathed. “That’s no way to live.” His response was soft, at a loss but infinitely intrigued by the book. He made a mental note to check it out at some point later.
“Yeah,” Tristan agreed with an emphatic nod. “I haven’t gotten to the end yet, but it’s probably my favorite read this year so far, hands down.” He glanced over, as if he were searching for the waitress, though his focus quickly returned to Myrick. “I like a lot of other genres, t
oo, though I tend to stick with mystery novels.” He shrugged almost sheepishly. “It probably sounds a little weird to say that mystery books are my ‘cozy winding down for the day’ kind of book, but I think they help me to take my mind off of things that stress me out.”
“No, no, I get that!” Myrick said, eyes wide in excitement. “That’s why I read the books I do—it helps me relax!” He felt himself smiling—smiling wider than he had in a long time. He felt like he was beginning to get comfortable, and that surprised him—he barely knew Tristan, even less outside of the workplace, and yet, Tristan was so open and easygoing that he wound up loosening up without having to try. Myrick found himself nodding along as Tristan listed a few more books he was reading, glad that Tristan was able to give him recommendations that he hadn’t read yet. “I’m gonna be honest, though,” his lips twitched in the ghost of a snarky grin that he tried to hold back. “Mystery novels don’t really seem like they would go particularly well with metal or rock music.”
“You would think!” Tristan didn’t miss a beat, beaming from ear to ear. “But it works astonishingly well!” He let out a chuckle. “Sometimes hearing a heavy metal cover of a pop song is the perfect music for a tense scene.” Myrick let out a laugh, though he had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep it quiet—they were in public, after all.
“So you like metal covers the most?” Myrick asked when his chuckling had quieted.
“They’re not my most favorite.” Tristan shook his head. “But I enjoy hearing them—it’s a nice way to enjoy an old song like it’s new again.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “But my favorite song is probably ‘Dead Skin Mask’ by Slayer.” Tristan’s smile turned boyish as he mocked strumming the air as though it were a guitar. “I’m a sucker for power chords and heavy electric guitar.”
