“Compliments from you feel like traps,” she said.
“Only the expensive ones.”
Her shoulder brushed mine and neither of us corrected it. Her knee touched mine under the bar. Neither of us moved. That was the exact moment I should have understood the evening had shifted into dangerous territory.
Instead, I ordered her water.
Ten minutes later, she stood to inform our accounting director — loudly, with conviction — that his cologne was “an assault with cedar undertones.” She stepped down off the bar platform, missed the drop, and grabbed my tie.
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