“You look great,” she purred. “What do you do these days?”
“I’m a lawyer. And you?”
“I sell copiers.”
“Great. Great,” he sighed, thinking of an excuse to get away. “So, what’s your connection here?”
“My girlfriend works with these people.” Close enough to notice Megan’s sunken, glassy brown eyes and the dark circles under them, he attempted to back away. But she reached out and clutched his arm. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?” she asked with an annoying, animated frown.
“I have to get Rob because we’re meeting some friends downtown soon. But, wow, it was really nice seeing you again,” Adam said politely, as he made a beeline toward the portion of the white Formica kitchen counter masquerading as the bar.
Rob could hardly control his glee. “I never thought I’d actually ever meet the infamous Megan ‘scratch-the-shaft’ Russell. That was awesome! Are you going to meet her later for a little nightcap?” Rob sneered with delight.
“Fuck you, Rob. By the way, have you noticed that I’m the only one here drinking?”
“Obviously, you don’t go to too many of these parties. Rule number one: Everyone will think you’re an alcoholic if you have a beer. Rule number two: If you must have a drink, by all means don’t get fucked up. These people have outgrown the notion that having a few drinks is okay.”
“Like I care what anyone here thinks,” Adam said defiantly.
“It’s not what they think of you that matters, it’s how they can damage your reputation. You have a few beers and next thing you know, you’ll hear that you have a drinking problem.”
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