“But who pays?”
She gives me a look. “Ray.”
My stomach flips. “That feels wildly inappropriate.”
Holly snorts. “He told me to bring you here. He told me to make sure you ate properly. And he specifically gave me the rest of the afternoon off so I could drink cocktails with you.”
I gape at her. “He said that?”
“Yes.” She grins. “Which means I’m getting the T-bone.”
I drop my gaze to the card sitting beside my plate. Sleek. Black. Like it means something. Somehow, without me noticing, I’ve stepped into a world where people assume I belong to Ray simply because I carry something with his initials on it.
“I’m not sure I like this,” I mutter.
Holly rolls her eyes. “You say that now, but are you seriously going to walk out after Miss Ice Queen at the front desk practically sneered at us?”
I bite back a smile. “She definitely hated me.”
“She hated that she was wrong,” Holly corrects. “And now, she’s probably in the back trying to work out how the hell you ended up with one of Ray’s infamous black cards.”
I look down at it again. “He just handed it to me like it wasn’t a big deal.”
Holly gives me a knowing look. “It is a big deal.”
I groan. “Please stop saying that or I’m going to be sick in one of these crystal water glasses.”
She laughs. “Alright. No big deal. Totally normal. Men hand out mysterious black cards every day.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“A little bit,” she admits.
“Does every employee have one?” I ask, with hope in my voice. She smirks. “Please,” I hiss, “Tell me everyone has one.”
“Totally.” But there’s no conviction in her tone.
In the end, I order salmon because it feels like the safest, cheapest thing on the menu, but every bite comes with a side of anxiety. What if Holly’s wrong? What if they bring the bill and it costs more than I’ve earned in a month? What if the card gets declined and I have to crawl under the table and die?
Apparently sensing the meltdown happening behind my polite smile, Holly insists we move to the bar afterwards.
The bartender gives her an easy nod when she hands over the black card. He scans it, glances at the screen, then gives it straight back.
“All sorted,” he says.
Holly smirks at me. “See? Meal paid for. No dramatic dishwashing required.” I exhale for what feels like the first time in an hour. Then she turns to the bartender and says, “We’ll start with two Champagne cocktails.”
“Don’t you feel weird letting your boss pay for lunch?” I ask quietly once he’s gone.
Holly laughs. “God, no. He can afford it.”
“That’s not really the point.”
“It kind of is.” She leans against the bar. “Ray doesn’t offer things he doesn’t want accepted. So, stop panicking and enjoy it.”
I look around the bar again. The gold lighting. The polished shelves. The women in silk dresses. The men with perfect teeth and effortless confidence.
And me.